Buried History

They say history repeats itself. I’m not sure who they is, I suppose the repetition of history through the generations has created this statement and proved it true. As a result, everyone knows and believes that history repeats itself, but does nothing about learning from history that is quoted repeatedly. I’m getting off track here.

My Minnesota history class has a site review assignment coming due, too soon for comfort. I referred to it during my grading conference on Monday. My history instructor, upon informing the class, described it as a book report only based on a location rather than a book. I groaned inwardly when I heard about the assignment’s existence. I’m still not looking forward to completing the writing. However, I did enjoy visiting the site that I chose, the site being the old CCC camp across from my parents’ house.

I have always known that it was over there, but I never actually knew that it was over there, if you know what I mean. As I walked through the woods with my mom and two of my siblings, we came into clearings that were abnormally square and walked alongside concrete foundations hidden by trees and moss. It is as if nature herself has tried to eradicate the camp’s presence from the earth. Just as we, the human race, have tried to erase the Great Depression from our minds. The Great Depression was a time in America’s history that we appeared weak and feeble, unable to cope with the effect of war and ignorance. It took a lot of work and ingenuity to pull the United States out of the hole. Part of the process was the creation of work camps where men could make money to support their families. CCC camps served their purpose back in the day, now we move on. I suppose in a way it represents a time in the United States that brings back memories not easily erased from the older generations. A time of trials and tribulations that they only came through with hard work and sacrifice. I wish that my generation could hear and learn from the examples that went before us.

Walking the barren land that once held the hustle and bustle of human life working to rebuild a way of life and to support their families back home made me really think hard about my life. Will the steps that I take and foundations that I build be so easily covered up and forgotten as those of the men from the Baptism CCC camp? Some camps have been made into historical markers but even then we have covered them up with our idealism that the life our ancestors once lived can remain untouched by our humanly, futuristic hands and unskewed by our impractically, progressive minds. Yet, the fact remains that history leaves undeniable and permanent marks on our land and our lives. We can never escape the creation of history, because time does not stand still and we can’t go back.

This is a letter that I recently wrote for my Comp class about my history class, I enjoyed writing it so I thought I would share it with you all. :)