Second Post of the Day
Have you ever thought, "If only ------ could talk! The tales they could tell!"
I have. And last week Emily and I took the kids to the battlefield of the Battle of Tippecanoe where I often think along those lines.
It's a national park now, and a very quiet, wooded spot on the banks of Burnetts Creek. Sometimes it's difficult to comprehend the extent of the massacre that happened here.
In 2017, my mother was honored posthumously for her work in recording the local history of the Battle, Fort Ouiatenon, and Lafayette/Tippecanoe County. A burr oak was planted in her memory on the grounds.
Our family was invited to help plant it.
Leslie looks on as Vanessa and Mila water the roots and Ian rakes.
The tree is now eight years old and is very close to the road that runs alongside the park so it can be easily seen when driving past.
Burr oaks are slow growing, but the tree is thriving and has gotten very big.
Emily and I told the kids some of the history about Granny Slash's tree as well as the battlefield itself. There are some marked graves of those who died, and then a very large and unmarked mass grave where, several days after the battle, kind souls gathered up and buried together all who had lost their lives.
The location of the mass grave is kept quiet out of concerns for it being disturbed, but I know its location and always go pay my respects when I am out there. And while standing at the edge of it, I showed the kids some "witness trees" that are close to the mass grave.
It's hard to see, but there are two witness trees in this photo of the path going down to the creek. (I've ridden my horses down this path.)
The bottom circle shows a tree that is nearly gone and the top circle one is that is living and still in good shape. Sadly, many of the witness trees are reaching the ends of their life spans. The Battle of Tippecanoe happened in 1811, so the witness trees are all over 200 years old.
A cool thing that has been discovered is that the witness trees are riddled with musket balls and the trees have grown around them and buried them within their trunks. An ice storm recently brought several of the site's oldest trees down and when the grounds crew was cutting them up and putting the wood through a wood chipper, the chippers kept hitting the musket balls! (Photo by Alexey Sergeev.)
So, as I walk around the battlefield, checking my mom's tree and honoring those buried in the mass grave, I look at those old, old trees and wonder. What could they tell me if they could talk?
I'll never know, but while they live, I will honor them, too, as still-standing survivors, living reminders, of a sad and terrible event.



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