As of today (Mon, Jan 19), we are four weeks from the close of registration for Into the Piney Woods. Registration ceases on Mon, Feb 16. Your form and fee need to be in my hands by that date to ensure that we have a space for you.
You need to arrive on-site by late afternoon/early evening of Monday, March 9. We step off at first light on the 10th and the bus waits for no one.
We buy the $600 weapons and pay a few hundred more to defarb them. We get the $150 hand-stitched cartridge box, the $100 blanket, the $100 shoes, the $350 frock, the $150 trousers. On and on. The goal of owning such bits and pieces of pain-stakingly crafted finery is to replicate what a Civil War soldier wore and carried.
Into the Piney Woods is a five day opportunity to put all those purchases into action. To use them as they were intended. Why buy the dandy sportscar and never take it out of the garage?
Actually, the gear is secondary. None of us remember the jacket that John wore or the hobnail pattern on Jim's shoes. Rather, we remember the experiences, good and bad, tough and humorous, that we all shared. Gear can be loaned. If you're lurking, biting your nails, thinking Into the Piney Woods sounds like a blast but you're afraid you'll be judged- DON'T BE! Likely what you've got will work and if it won't we'll get you kitted out.
The rolls of registered folks continue to grow. Tom and I are humbled at the distance from which soldiers and civilians are coming.
We want and need you to be among them. You can read the posts by Terry Sorchy and Frank Aufmuth. Both sides need able-bodied men. Sign up. Join a five day adventure you'll not ever forget.
This isn't a road-march. There aren't folks around us. It's two battalions of men cast out in the midst of a large expanse of pine forest. The nearest bergs are miles off and have names like Flora, Ajax, and Bellwood. The food we need is carried in our haversacks and in the mule and ox-drawn wagons that we'll depend on. We'll take water from creeks and learn the value of operating in teams with our comrades. The only sounds you'll hear with be the crackle of musketry, the distant rumble of 155's down at Ft. Polk, and perhaps Frank's whistle.
Come. Join up. Don't miss the chance to truly taste soldiering.