Valley Forge at the Dawn of a New Millennia
Fall had come to Pennsylvania with its brisk winds and bright palette of autumn leaves. Walking in my ten year old stride I took in the rolling lawns. Not the patchy dried and dead turf I knew from Southern California. Stretches of green at the feet of changing trees. A dense forest lined the horizon setting the stage for a simple moment I would remember for decades to come.
At ten years old, this was not my first time on the Eastern Seaboard of the Americas. We had visited Boston to see where the Sons of Liberty first gathered and the site of the Boston Massacre. We had seen Ellis Island and The Battery at Manhattan. But the serene simplicity of Valley Forge stuck with me and would be one of the greatest tutors of my life.
A Stranger’s Sacrifice
As we walked through the valley’s winding trails we passed the replica cabins that would have been built by the Continental Army as they dug in for the brutal North Eastern Winter in 1777. Small, I thought, even though I was barely five feet, if that. Men must have been huddled together for warmth, crammed into a space so small. The stench, the lesser evil than the snow.
Continuing our walk, we came to a battery of canons arranged in formation similarly to how Alexander Hamilton would have called up his men and guns. I vividly remember slowing down thinking how cool it was to be seeing a life size canon up close. My slowing pace came to a stop not more than a few feet in front of one of the barrels and in a swell of emotion I began to tear up.
The men who encamped on that field would never know a single one of us. How could they have known their mission would change the world forever and grant even a little boy like me his freedom? There was nothing I could do to repay such an extravagant gift. It was as though one could have walked to the holy land and seen the cross on which Jesus hung and the stone he rolled away. But none of these men were gods. They were just men. Sacrificing themselves.
What a lesson to teach a ten year old kid.
Reflections on the Forge
In my twenties, as I faced challenges of moving cities, making money, and finding friends at moments of discouragement, I would often reflect on what I saw at Valley Forge. How could my troubles compare? When I couldn’t afford an apartment and was sleeping in my car or on the floor of a friend's place, it was luxury over that winter encampment outside of Philadelphia. When I had to work 60, 70, even 80 hour weeks, I would think about how the Continental Army couldn’t clock out. When I needed to make a sacrifice for my family, it was nothing compared to the gift that had already been bestowed to us all by the men who stood unwaveringly against the batteries of the British.
My most encouraging reflection today from Valley Forge is that George Washington’s win rate as a general was abysmal. He lost the majority of the engagements he commanded. Yet he won the war. All too often the temptation for a quick win can seem more tantalizing than fulfilling a vision. I have taken work for the pay, the status, or sometimes without any greater purpose other than I feel like I am supposed to. But that is not a worthwhile life. The worthwhile life is seeing out a dream, even if it means standing up to a superior enemy and sleeping in the snow.