Presley Carter Balderson

I wrote earlier about my great-great grandfather Presley Balderson and his 3 brothers who were all members of the 40th VA Infantry regiment during the Civil War (The AWOL Season, 5/12/16.)

As a recap, Presley, the youngest of the 4,  enlisted in Warsaw, VA on June 4, 1861 along with his older brother William, into Company D.  Charles and James had enlisted 10 days earlier into Company B; they were both musicians, and both were shoe/bootmakers.  Presley was first sent to Chimborazo Hospital beginning a month after the death of William (wounded fatally at Gaines' Mill on June 27, 1862) and Charles' illness and discharge (in mid-late July 1862.) This was immediately following the regiment's engagement at Cedar Mountain, and he may have been the one casualty listed on the muster list.  The reason for his hospitalization was "debilitas," in other words, weakness or feebleness: exhaustion.  He remained in the hospital until October 23-- a period of over 2 months, after which he was furloughed and instructed to report back for duty on December 1.  He was absent without leave for the month of December, but returned in January, along with his brother James.   Presley was readmitted to Chimborazo in May of 1863 after receiving a gunshot wound through the left shoulder at Chancellorsville. This wound is renowned in family lore because of the harrowing treatment it received from the surgeon:  a red hot poker was driven through it. It's moments like this that can change the trajectory of the future.  The furlough that followed meant that Presley missed the events in Gettysburg, which proved close to disastrous for his regiment.   

Earlier this week, I was poking around at some research and found two wonderful things:  First, a labeled copy of an unlabeled photograph that I have at home.  I love the photo; it's more casual and candid than the posed formal photos you usually see from this era.  The man in the photo has always reminded me of my dad, Carson...just something about his height, build, and kind face.  I knew that he must be a Balderson, but I didn't know which one, or even from what decade the photo might be.  The labeled photo confirmed that it is none other than Presley Carter Balderson and his wife Mary Ann Coates Balderson.  This dates the photo to sometime before 1904, when Mary died while sweeping the floor at home.  

On the same day, I found the obituary shown below, which is lovingly written and detailed, AND adds important information about Presley's service during the war as well as his character.  I didn't know about his participation at the Bloody Angle (the Muleshoe) during the Battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse, although I had heard a snippet about him supposedly rescuing the colors at some battle; I figured it was at Chancellorsville.  So it was great to read his story as he told it just before he died.  ---Yet another instance where fate intervened, the universe watched over him, and he summoned the courage to do his best for his regiment ("team.") And he was rewarded with survival, and a long life.  He outlived Mary Ann by 21 years, and lived to the ripe age of 88.  He met his death with courage and a peaceful heart, it seems.

Two Sides to the Coin of Creepy

.......

There's the warm side, of friends and firelight, holidays and companionship...romantic language and story-forms.  Tradition.  Tales told over and over but never written down...the same stories told in different ways in different places, the children of travelers, adept at blending in and looking at everything familiar through a different lens in each new location....and all the stories that have been written down.  Literature and folklore, transmission of cultures...Festive and social,  awash in spiced harvest foods, candy, and alcohol.  Creepiness as entertainment: a costume that can be put on and taken off with little or no risk in the comfort of society.  Quaint idioms to universalize and tie a clever bow around the primal reality symbolized and played out by the natural world at this time of year.

But the other side of the coin is not so much cold, as devoid of warmth.  There is no companionable feeling here.  No stories to distract and thrill.  Stories can be put aside, but what is here can never be put aside, because it is part of the whole fabric of which we are made. Nothing is familiar, there is no blending in.  No literature or art to make beautiful that which is inevitable and terrifying.
It is not human, not in our image or the image of any other creature we know.  It does not care or feel.  It is cold.  It is bleak, most of all.  It is what is left when there is nothing else.  Despair and emptiness.  Gray daylight ordinariness.  The most disorienting dream you have ever dreamed.
Sometimes you will catch a glimpse.  This is a warning.  Nothing lies beyond but more and more of the same.  This is what you have been looking for, and it's like nothing you could have imagined.  It is truth.