Disquiet at Fort Caswell as Freedom is Frittered Away
water
I had the opportunity to meet and travel with new friends last week, a group of LGBTQ+ writers I’ve met here on Medium. I packed my bags and set off from Michigan to North Carolina.
Like alto, I adore the water. My family goes swimming during the summer at in our local lakes and at least once a year we visit the beaches of Lake Michigan, but rarely do I get a chance to see the ocean.
Part of the adventure included an invitation to view the fireworks over the Elizabeth River from the banks of Fort Caswell. It was a strange place for us queers to gather, once home to confederate soldiers during the civil war; now home to the North Carolina Baptist Assembly.
Each of us commented on the unease we felt — I would even describe it as a sense of shame — over the state of affairs in our country on this, our 242nd Independence Day.
We were about to watch a grandiose fireworks display, while over 3,000 immigrant children are separated from their parents, many locked up 60 to a cage at the TrumpCamps along our border.
Eric shared with me that the coast of North Carolina is rife with old shipwrecks. His knowledge of the shipwrecks, along with the prominence of the lighthouse situated on the island, presage in my mind our national willingness to ignore history as our elected leaders sail us into the treacherous waters of fascism.
Before leaving North Carolina, I did eventually get to dip my toes in the warm waters of the Atlantic. As the sun set over the horizon, I walked along the beach, letting the waves crash against my legs and the hem of my skirt. I drifted to sleep that night feeling a tiny bit more grounded.
I haven’t told Eric yet, but I also received quite a few sand flea bites from that little stroll.
Let me guess. vinegar and emu oil?
