Pennsylvania monument under fog, from my Gettysburg 150 series (December 2013).

Call me a sentimental old fool but I believe that if you think or talk a lot about a person that’s passed away they may actually pay you a visit.  That’s what happened to me before our visit to Gettysburg in May, 2005.

I was working on genealogy, specifically ancestors who fought in the battle.  I uncovered a treasure trove of information and pension records about the brothers John and Josiah Boyer, both Privates in the 147th Pennsylvania Infantry.  Both survived the battle; but were separated after when John was sent on ahead with his company and Josiah was left behind with the gruesome job of burying the dead.  Josiah went on after the war to get married and have a happy peaceful life.  John was maimed by bullets, developed rheumatism from sleeping out in the cold and died a young and broken man.  He left behind his wife Lucy and their children.

John was my great-great-great-grandfather.

One night, reading the transcript of Lucy’s pension hearing [based on John’s service in the Union Army] I stumbled upon an extremely sad account of his death.  Wracked by disease and complications from his wounds, be began to have continuous seizures that caused him to expire.  I could almost hear her tearful voice as she recounted this event to the pension board.  She was denied any remuneration and I went to bed feeling sad for both of them.

During the night I dreamt that John visited me in a dream.  He was wearing a sharp new uniform and (what I later learned) a stylish 1858 model Hardee hat, complete with gilded badge on the front and a jaunty black plume.  He had black hair and a thick, glossy black beard.  But was struck me was his sparking blue eyes and happy, bright smile.  Mentally he conveyed to me how pleased he was that I was working on the history of our family-his history-and that I shouldn’t be sad.  On the other side he had returned to being the young, vibrant young man he once was.  I woke feeling content and peaceful.

Cut to May when my husband and I were driving over from Western Pennsylvania to Gettysburg.  We got about 25 miles outside of town when my husband and I both sensed a strong presence in the back seat of our car.  We weren’t frightened because the presence seemed calming to us.  Suddenly John’s image, resplendent in uniform popped into my head and I  knew  it was him.

We got to the outskirts, near Herbst’s Woods (where General John Reynolds was shot in one of the more well-known stories from the battle) when I felt his presence just leave the car.  My husband said he thought John had gone in country to find friends and comrades in arms.  He never visited me again but I will always remember his smile.

That summer we had several experiences related to our vehicle, especially during that ‘golden hour’ of darkness from 9pm until the park closed at 10.  One night, driving by the peach orchard, there was a bright flash—just like a strobe—that popped right between us in the front seat.  It was so bright it affected our night vision for a few minutes.

Another night we were out walking by the 147th’s large star-shaped monument when I started to say the Lord’s prayer and instantly felt we were  literally surrounded  by a huge group of people we could not see.  Now that was scary and I ran for our car with my heart in my throat.  But it got worse— I was panicking waiting for my husband to unlock my car door when I happened to glance left at a large boulder behind our vehicle that was visible in the moonlight.  There, sitting on top, was a formless black shadow outlined against the light colored granite.  It wasn’t my imagination because this thing was blacker than the night, like a hole in the darkness.  My husband was still fumbling around (in fear) and I was nearly hysterical trying to get in.  Finally the door unlocked, I dove in and we got the hell out of there.  It still scares me just sitting here writing this.  Real, unmitigated terror.  Jesus.

A warning: there are so many lost souls out at Gettysburg, possibly thousands, and if you even have a smidgen of psychic ability, they will see you as a candle flame in the dark and rush to you.  I know.  I learned that the hard way before I learned how to close myself off.

Please follow me if you would like to read on about our experiences at Gettysburg.  Many (like this one) I have never written down before.  Thank you💀
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)

Pennsylvania monument under fog, from my Gettysburg 150 series (December 2013).

Call me a sentimental old fool but I believe that if you think or talk a lot about a person that’s passed away they may actually pay you a visit. That’s what happened to me before our visit to Gettysburg in May, 2005.

I was working on genealogy, specifically ancestors who fought in the battle. I uncovered a treasure trove of information and pension records about the brothers John and Josiah Boyer, both Privates in the 147th Pennsylvania Infantry. Both survived the battle; but were separated after when John was sent on ahead with his company and Josiah was left behind with the gruesome job of burying the dead. Josiah went on after the war to get married and have a happy peaceful life. John was maimed by bullets, developed rheumatism from sleeping out in the cold and died a young and broken man. He left behind his wife Lucy and their children.

John was my great-great-great-grandfather.

One night, reading the transcript of Lucy’s pension hearing [based on John’s service in the Union Army] I stumbled upon an extremely sad account of his death. Wracked by disease and complications from his wounds, be began to have continuous seizures that caused him to expire. I could almost hear her tearful voice as she recounted this event to the pension board. She was denied any remuneration and I went to bed feeling sad for both of them.

During the night I dreamt that John visited me in a dream. He was wearing a sharp new uniform and (what I later learned) a stylish 1858 model Hardee hat, complete with gilded badge on the front and a jaunty black plume. He had black hair and a thick, glossy black beard. But was struck me was his sparking blue eyes and happy, bright smile. Mentally he conveyed to me how pleased he was that I was working on the history of our family-his history-and that I shouldn’t be sad. On the other side he had returned to being the young, vibrant young man he once was. I woke feeling content and peaceful.

Cut to May when my husband and I were driving over from Western Pennsylvania to Gettysburg. We got about 25 miles outside of town when my husband and I both sensed a strong presence in the back seat of our car. We weren’t frightened because the presence seemed calming to us. Suddenly John’s image, resplendent in uniform popped into my head and I knew it was him.

We got to the outskirts, near Herbst’s Woods (where General John Reynolds was shot in one of the more well-known stories from the battle) when I felt his presence just leave the car. My husband said he thought John had gone in country to find friends and comrades in arms. He never visited me again but I will always remember his smile.

That summer we had several experiences related to our vehicle, especially during that ‘golden hour’ of darkness from 9pm until the park closed at 10. One night, driving by the peach orchard, there was a bright flash—just like a strobe—that popped right between us in the front seat. It was so bright it affected our night vision for a few minutes.

Another night we were out walking by the 147th’s large star-shaped monument when I started to say the Lord’s prayer and instantly felt we were literally surrounded by a huge group of people we could not see. Now that was scary and I ran for our car with my heart in my throat. But it got worse— I was panicking waiting for my husband to unlock my car door when I happened to glance left at a large boulder behind our vehicle that was visible in the moonlight. There, sitting on top, was a formless black shadow outlined against the light colored granite. It wasn’t my imagination because this thing was blacker than the night, like a hole in the darkness. My husband was still fumbling around (in fear) and I was nearly hysterical trying to get in. Finally the door unlocked, I dove in and we got the hell out of there. It still scares me just sitting here writing this. Real, unmitigated terror. Jesus.

A warning: there are so many lost souls out at Gettysburg, possibly thousands, and if you even have a smidgen of psychic ability, they will see you as a candle flame in the dark and rush to you. I know. I learned that the hard way before I learned how to close myself off.

Please follow me if you would like to read on about our experiences at Gettysburg. Many (like this one) I have never written down before. Thank you💀
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)

You forget your life after a while. The life you had before.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

(Source: frostingpeetaswounds)

Cannon on W. Confederate Avenue.  Part of my Gettysburg 150 series (December 2013).

Part of the reason I don’t typically share the unexplained things that have happened to me over the years is because people look at me like I’m crazy.  I even had one person ask me if I was schizophrenic which hurt me very much.  The only thing I can say is that I’ve been clairvoyant since I was about 7 years old.  I didn’t choose to be this way; it’s often scary and unpleasant.  It took me a long time to accept that it’s a gift—like a pair of special glasses that occasionally give me a window into the past.

So after I’d recovered from that traumatizing experience at Little Round Top earlier (that you can read about here) we finally made it back over to where we’d parked on W. Confederate Avenue.  The whole way back my husband tried to cheer me up and we ended up eating wild onions and wild strawberries that were out growing in the open fields.  He even joked he might write a book called ‘The Edible Battlefield.’  But god did those wild onions give me a stomach ache later!

Walking down Confederate Avenue toward the truck we passed a horse trail we hadn’t noticed before that led off through some trees.  We decided to do just a little more exploring before calling it a day.

The horse trail was a hard dirt track that meandered for a bit through the woods—one thing I love about the woods up north is that there aren’t a bunch of sight obscuring vines like in the south.  You could see straight through for a long way on both sides.

After a while we decided to turn around and head back.  Hiking back, we stopped for a moment and I noticed the strangest thing.  It was like the old ‘danger in the woods’ cliché—no animal sounds and complete quiet.  I remember thinking 'Where are all the birds?'

I started to say something to my husband when he put up his hand signaling me to stop talking.  He’s retired Army and he made military hand gestures for me to listen, look and pointed down the path the way we had come.  I quieted my breathing, turned around and started to listen.

Clop clop clop…at first very softly then louder, like someone riding a horse was coming closer.  But we could see at least 250 feet behind us and well off into the woods and absolutely no one was around.  The clop-clop-clop got closer and closer and I thought 'Why can't I see it?'

Just then I started to get a really weird feeling, like the air around us was charging up and the hairs on my neck and arms stood up (later my husband told me he’d felt the same thing).  Out loud I told my husband I wanted to get the hell out of there and we started to back up.  We beat a hasty retreat out of those woods in silence, moving with a purpose.  The scariest part is that those hoofbeats followed us the entire way out and even to the edge of the paved road!  By that time I was so freaked out I wanted to run but my sore hip and leg wouldn’t cooperate.  We just walked as fast as we could to the truck, as I silently said my spiritual mantra, Whatever lives here stays here.  Whatever lives here stays here.  Whatever lives here stays here.

We never did see anyone on horseback that day so I don’t have an explanation.  But it’s pretty difficult for a horse and rider to follow us and remain hidden in broad daylight.  To be continued….

I’ll be posting more of our haunted travels soon.  If you want to read more, just click the follow button.  Some stories (like this one about the horse) I have never written down before and will be sharing for the first time.  
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)

Cannon on W. Confederate Avenue. Part of my Gettysburg 150 series (December 2013).

Part of the reason I don’t typically share the unexplained things that have happened to me over the years is because people look at me like I’m crazy. I even had one person ask me if I was schizophrenic which hurt me very much. The only thing I can say is that I’ve been clairvoyant since I was about 7 years old. I didn’t choose to be this way; it’s often scary and unpleasant. It took me a long time to accept that it’s a gift—like a pair of special glasses that occasionally give me a window into the past.

So after I’d recovered from that traumatizing experience at Little Round Top earlier (that you can read about here) we finally made it back over to where we’d parked on W. Confederate Avenue. The whole way back my husband tried to cheer me up and we ended up eating wild onions and wild strawberries that were out growing in the open fields. He even joked he might write a book called ‘The Edible Battlefield.’ But god did those wild onions give me a stomach ache later!

Walking down Confederate Avenue toward the truck we passed a horse trail we hadn’t noticed before that led off through some trees. We decided to do just a little more exploring before calling it a day.

The horse trail was a hard dirt track that meandered for a bit through the woods—one thing I love about the woods up north is that there aren’t a bunch of sight obscuring vines like in the south. You could see straight through for a long way on both sides.

After a while we decided to turn around and head back. Hiking back, we stopped for a moment and I noticed the strangest thing. It was like the old ‘danger in the woods’ cliché—no animal sounds and complete quiet. I remember thinking 'Where are all the birds?'

I started to say something to my husband when he put up his hand signaling me to stop talking. He’s retired Army and he made military hand gestures for me to listen, look and pointed down the path the way we had come. I quieted my breathing, turned around and started to listen.

Clop clop clop…at first very softly then louder, like someone riding a horse was coming closer. But we could see at least 250 feet behind us and well off into the woods and absolutely no one was around. The clop-clop-clop got closer and closer and I thought 'Why can't I see it?'

Just then I started to get a really weird feeling, like the air around us was charging up and the hairs on my neck and arms stood up (later my husband told me he’d felt the same thing). Out loud I told my husband I wanted to get the hell out of there and we started to back up. We beat a hasty retreat out of those woods in silence, moving with a purpose. The scariest part is that those hoofbeats followed us the entire way out and even to the edge of the paved road! By that time I was so freaked out I wanted to run but my sore hip and leg wouldn’t cooperate. We just walked as fast as we could to the truck, as I silently said my spiritual mantra, Whatever lives here stays here. Whatever lives here stays here. Whatever lives here stays here.

We never did see anyone on horseback that day so I don’t have an explanation. But it’s pretty difficult for a horse and rider to follow us and remain hidden in broad daylight. To be continued….

I’ll be posting more of our haunted travels soon. If you want to read more, just click the follow button. Some stories (like this one about the horse) I have never written down before and will be sharing for the first time. —beebalmtraveler (source: my photo)
sildrotha:

Baltimore’s older cemeteries have such a large first-generation German immigrant population that there are entire sections with headstones entirely inscribed in German.
Loudon Park CemeteryBaltimore, Maryland

sildrotha:

Baltimore’s older cemeteries have such a large first-generation German immigrant population that there are entire sections with headstones entirely inscribed in German.

Loudon Park Cemetery
Baltimore, Maryland

Dawn at Gettysburg (12/2013).  Part of my Gettysburg 150 series.

You have to love something to get up at 5am on vacation and go out to set up for photography.  But I am connected to this place.  My ancestor’s names are cast in bronze on the Pennsylvania monument and written in blood on these fields.

My husband and I try to visit here every few years to pay homage to the great sacrifices of our forebearers and to learn—and also to sit quietly on the dark battlefield and listen to the dead speak.  For those cut down in the prime of life, the war never ended.

So many of the paranormal reality shows on TV have been out here and have gotten some interesting (and scary) results.  But it’s personal experiences like the one I’m going to share here that can be truly frightening.  Every time we stay here something happens that gives us pause and compels one to silent contemplation about the human cost of the Civil War.

In May 2005 my husband and I went ‘in country’ and walked on foot from one end of the battlefield to the other—a distance of about 6+ miles.  Gettysburg is one of those rare places where you can do this.  We noticed so many structures and topographical features that enriched our knowledge of the American Experience that is Gettysburg.

About noon we were walking back from Little Round Top toward Devil’s Den and passed through what is known as the ‘Valley of Death’.  This low area with a small creek was named that because of the withering fire that was exchanged by both sides.  I stepped off the paved road to look at some large boulders here because I had been told soldiers had carved in them in 1863 and at subsequent reunions after the war.

I was standing there facing a ridge opposite me when suddenly I was knocked off balance and felt an unimaginable explosion of pain in my right hip (anatomically it’s called the iliac crest).  I yelled for my husband and he came running because for a moment  I couldn’t walk because my right leg wouldn’t work. 

I felt like I’d been shot—seriously—and my mind raced as I looked at my clothes expecting to see blood.  I spent the next 30 minutes massaging my thigh and trying to get it to hold my weight.  My calf and foot had a curious ‘pins and needles’ sensation for the rest of the afternoon.  Then I remembered what we had seen out here the night before and wondered if it was connected.

In summer the park closes at 10pm which gives you about an hour after sunset to explore in the dark.  My husband and I were driving up the road across Little Round Top in the dark when we saw someone dressed as a Union soldier walking away from us up the slope.  I noticed he wasn’t wearing a coat, had his shirt sleeves rolled up, and was wearing a kepi.  He sharply turned left and crossed the road in front of us toward the rocky overlook and General Warren’s monument.  

Over the years we have heard stories of local residents who dress up in uniform to scare the tourists after dark but this was different: the soldier we saw  was transparent.   When he stepped off the left side of the road, he disappeared and it shocked both of us into silence.  Mentally I said a prayer for the soul of the long dead soldier we had just seen.  But these experiences were just the beginning that summer of 2005—but more about that for another post.


Thank you to everyone who follows my blog  This Haunted South .  I’ll be posting more about our haunted travels between now and Halloween.  Some stories I have never shared outside of my family.  Please follow me if you’d like to read more. Enjoy💀
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)

Dawn at Gettysburg (12/2013). Part of my Gettysburg 150 series.

You have to love something to get up at 5am on vacation and go out to set up for photography. But I am connected to this place. My ancestor’s names are cast in bronze on the Pennsylvania monument and written in blood on these fields.

My husband and I try to visit here every few years to pay homage to the great sacrifices of our forebearers and to learn—and also to sit quietly on the dark battlefield and listen to the dead speak. For those cut down in the prime of life, the war never ended.

So many of the paranormal reality shows on TV have been out here and have gotten some interesting (and scary) results. But it’s personal experiences like the one I’m going to share here that can be truly frightening. Every time we stay here something happens that gives us pause and compels one to silent contemplation about the human cost of the Civil War.

In May 2005 my husband and I went ‘in country’ and walked on foot from one end of the battlefield to the other—a distance of about 6+ miles. Gettysburg is one of those rare places where you can do this. We noticed so many structures and topographical features that enriched our knowledge of the American Experience that is Gettysburg.

About noon we were walking back from Little Round Top toward Devil’s Den and passed through what is known as the ‘Valley of Death’. This low area with a small creek was named that because of the withering fire that was exchanged by both sides. I stepped off the paved road to look at some large boulders here because I had been told soldiers had carved in them in 1863 and at subsequent reunions after the war.

I was standing there facing a ridge opposite me when suddenly I was knocked off balance and felt an unimaginable explosion of pain in my right hip (anatomically it’s called the iliac crest). I yelled for my husband and he came running because for a moment I couldn’t walk because my right leg wouldn’t work.

I felt like I’d been shot—seriously—and my mind raced as I looked at my clothes expecting to see blood. I spent the next 30 minutes massaging my thigh and trying to get it to hold my weight. My calf and foot had a curious ‘pins and needles’ sensation for the rest of the afternoon. Then I remembered what we had seen out here the night before and wondered if it was connected.

In summer the park closes at 10pm which gives you about an hour after sunset to explore in the dark. My husband and I were driving up the road across Little Round Top in the dark when we saw someone dressed as a Union soldier walking away from us up the slope. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a coat, had his shirt sleeves rolled up, and was wearing a kepi. He sharply turned left and crossed the road in front of us toward the rocky overlook and General Warren’s monument.

Over the years we have heard stories of local residents who dress up in uniform to scare the tourists after dark but this was different: the soldier we saw was transparent. When he stepped off the left side of the road, he disappeared and it shocked both of us into silence. Mentally I said a prayer for the soul of the long dead soldier we had just seen. But these experiences were just the beginning that summer of 2005—but more about that for another post.

Thank you to everyone who follows my blog This Haunted South . I’ll be posting more about our haunted travels between now and Halloween. Some stories I have never shared outside of my family. Please follow me if you’d like to read more. Enjoy💀
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)

Was on a trip to Reims last October when I saw a small blue sign on the A4 that said ‘Mémorial Américain.’ I suddenly realized we were driving through the Marne, one of the bloodiest and most fought over areas of France in World War I.  

Although you wouldn’t know it now—the gentle rolling hills, beautiful vinyards and little villages with clay tile roofs remind one of Tuscany. Except for the long sunken in trenches that farmers have ploughed around over time and small islands of trees where soldiers were laid to rest where they fell.  Some houses I saw still bear artillery scars—places with names like Anthenay, Olizy and Jonquery.

I remember those men—the doughboys, who sang ‘Over There’, got on a boat and sacrificed for our freedom. When I was a kid they used to play checkers in the park and talk about places with names like the Marne, the Somme and Verdun. 

This year is the one hundredth anniversary of the start of WWI.  If you can, take the time to honor a veteran who has passed away—it doesn’t need an occasion like Memorial Day or flags and flowers.  A simple thank you to let them know you remember them will do. All gave some, some gave all.  Thank you.
—beebalmtraveler

Was on a trip to Reims last October when I saw a small blue sign on the A4 that said ‘Mémorial Américain.’ I suddenly realized we were driving through the Marne, one of the bloodiest and most fought over areas of France in World War I.

Although you wouldn’t know it now—the gentle rolling hills, beautiful vinyards and little villages with clay tile roofs remind one of Tuscany. Except for the long sunken in trenches that farmers have ploughed around over time and small islands of trees where soldiers were laid to rest where they fell. Some houses I saw still bear artillery scars—places with names like Anthenay, Olizy and Jonquery.

I remember those men—the doughboys, who sang ‘Over There’, got on a boat and sacrificed for our freedom. When I was a kid they used to play checkers in the park and talk about places with names like the Marne, the Somme and Verdun.

This year is the one hundredth anniversary of the start of WWI. If you can, take the time to honor a veteran who has passed away—it doesn’t need an occasion like Memorial Day or flags and flowers. A simple thank you to let them know you remember them will do. All gave some, some gave all. Thank you.
—beebalmtraveler

Dawn on Confederate Avenue, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania (12/2013).

Of all the haunted places I’ve visited over the years, Gettysburg has been the most mysterious….and the most terrifying.

One winter morning last December I got up at 5am to take photos for the 150th anniversary series I was working on. We parked on Confederate Avenue while it was still dark to set up my tripod and camera gear.  I chose this spot because of the picturesque line of cannon and the low rock wall—and the beautiful view.  Absolutely no one was around and the atmosphere was so peaceful so I started shooting.  I took about 20 shots, including this one.

All of a sudden I had this horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—I nearly vomited it came on so quick.  Then off to our right along the rock wall my husband and I both heard the sound of someone running, we could hear gravel crunching but we couldn’t see anyone.  We weren’t sure what was going on so we both tensed up in nervous expectation and I got really scared.  The next thing I know, I am reeling back and my husband jumped to catch me from falling down.

I can’t fully explain the sensation but it felt like something unseen took their fist and punched me right in the solar plexus.  Whatever it was hit me so hard it took the breath right out of my body.  I was so terrified we grabbed my gear and jumped in the truck.  When we got back to the cottage we were renting, I took a look and there was a saucer sized red mark in the middle of my chest…and it hurt.

I can’t explain what happened out there that morning.  Maybe it was the residual energy of a soldier being wounded or something that didn’t want us out there.  My husband and I talked about it at length because we have had many experiences out on the battlefield over the years.

Has it happened to me before at Gettysburg? Yes, in 2005 when the NPS started their battlefield restoration. Does it scare me? Hell yes.  Does it make me want to return? Absolutely.

I’m going to post more of our experiences between now and Halloween, if you want to read more, just click the follow button.  Some I have never written down before and will be sharing for the first time.  Maybe one day I’ll write a book.  Thank you💀

(source: my photo)

Dawn on Confederate Avenue, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania (12/2013).

Of all the haunted places I’ve visited over the years, Gettysburg has been the most mysterious….and the most terrifying.

One winter morning last December I got up at 5am to take photos for the 150th anniversary series I was working on. We parked on Confederate Avenue while it was still dark to set up my tripod and camera gear. I chose this spot because of the picturesque line of cannon and the low rock wall—and the beautiful view. Absolutely no one was around and the atmosphere was so peaceful so I started shooting. I took about 20 shots, including this one.

All of a sudden I had this horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—I nearly vomited it came on so quick. Then off to our right along the rock wall my husband and I both heard the sound of someone running, we could hear gravel crunching but we couldn’t see anyone. We weren’t sure what was going on so we both tensed up in nervous expectation and I got really scared. The next thing I know, I am reeling back and my husband jumped to catch me from falling down.

I can’t fully explain the sensation but it felt like something unseen took their fist and punched me right in the solar plexus. Whatever it was hit me so hard it took the breath right out of my body. I was so terrified we grabbed my gear and jumped in the truck. When we got back to the cottage we were renting, I took a look and there was a saucer sized red mark in the middle of my chest…and it hurt.

I can’t explain what happened out there that morning. Maybe it was the residual energy of a soldier being wounded or something that didn’t want us out there. My husband and I talked about it at length because we have had many experiences out on the battlefield over the years.

Has it happened to me before at Gettysburg? Yes, in 2005 when the NPS started their battlefield restoration. Does it scare me? Hell yes. Does it make me want to return? Absolutely.

I’m going to post more of our experiences between now and Halloween, if you want to read more, just click the follow button. Some I have never written down before and will be sharing for the first time. Maybe one day I’ll write a book. Thank you💀

(source: my photo)

If you’ve never experienced the famous Gettysburg fog it can be quite unnerving. It rolls in slowly across silent fields and before you know it you’re enveloped. You wait with anticipation for Union and Confederate brothers to materialize because in the deepest recesses of your mind you know this place is haunted — it must be. You hear the forlorn whisper of a soldier long since passed — or was it just the wind?

Monuments to the honorable dead rise and disappear by a strange will of their own as the fog swirls around places where great men fell. Mournful shades of thousands who wore blue and gray slowly glide by, just out of reach. Who will remember their names?

If you go looking for Gettysburg’s ghosts they’ll find you — and perhaps the fog is nature’s fine analogy for the mists of time.  

On that note, thanks to everyone who follows my blog  This Haunted South.   I’ll be posting more about my haunted travels off and on from now until Halloween. Enjoy!💀
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)

If you’ve never experienced the famous Gettysburg fog it can be quite unnerving. It rolls in slowly across silent fields and before you know it you’re enveloped. You wait with anticipation for Union and Confederate brothers to materialize because in the deepest recesses of your mind you know this place is haunted — it must be. You hear the forlorn whisper of a soldier long since passed — or was it just the wind?

Monuments to the honorable dead rise and disappear by a strange will of their own as the fog swirls around places where great men fell. Mournful shades of thousands who wore blue and gray slowly glide by, just out of reach. Who will remember their names?

If you go looking for Gettysburg’s ghosts they’ll find you — and perhaps the fog is nature’s fine analogy for the mists of time.

On that note, thanks to everyone who follows my blog This Haunted South. I’ll be posting more about my haunted travels off and on from now until Halloween. Enjoy!💀
—beebalmtraveler

(source: my photo)
I won’t post the name of this popular B&B in St. Marys, Georgia only because the owners work very hard to represent their establishment as not haunted.

Originally built as a hotel in 1872 to serve visitors to Cumberland Island, it’s also been a rooming house in the 1940’s for workers at a local paper mill.  It has been very nicely renovated and decorated with period antiques.

So imagine my surprise when I was up late reading a book when I clearly heard the sound of a gunshot followed by the sound of a woman crying.  My husband was sound asleep and never heard a thing.  Additionally, I was woken up 2 or 3 times during the course of that night because our room had mysteriously become  ice cold.  I even got up and checked the thermostat in the hall at one point, which has a locked cover and was set on 75 degrees.

The next morning my husband went downstairs for coffee and locked the door behind him as I got ready for breakfast.  A few minutes later I heard him walk up the stairs and stand outside the door.  I couldn’t figure out why he was just standing there and wasn’t coming in.  Slightly annoyed, I went over and opened the door.  There was no one there and no one on the stairs—and we were the only guests on the third floor.  

This is truly the loveliest B&B in St. Marys and is rated #1 on TripAdvisor.  If you figure out which establishment this is, and plan to stay, just keep in mind you may have a visitor when you least expect it.

(source: my photo)

I won’t post the name of this popular B&B in St. Marys, Georgia only because the owners work very hard to represent their establishment as not haunted.

Originally built as a hotel in 1872 to serve visitors to Cumberland Island, it’s also been a rooming house in the 1940’s for workers at a local paper mill. It has been very nicely renovated and decorated with period antiques.

So imagine my surprise when I was up late reading a book when I clearly heard the sound of a gunshot followed by the sound of a woman crying. My husband was sound asleep and never heard a thing. Additionally, I was woken up 2 or 3 times during the course of that night because our room had mysteriously become ice cold. I even got up and checked the thermostat in the hall at one point, which has a locked cover and was set on 75 degrees.

The next morning my husband went downstairs for coffee and locked the door behind him as I got ready for breakfast. A few minutes later I heard him walk up the stairs and stand outside the door. I couldn’t figure out why he was just standing there and wasn’t coming in. Slightly annoyed, I went over and opened the door. There was no one there and no one on the stairs—and we were the only guests on the third floor.

This is truly the loveliest B&B in St. Marys and is rated #1 on TripAdvisor. If you figure out which establishment this is, and plan to stay, just keep in mind you may have a visitor when you least expect it.

(source: my photo)

Chesser Island Homestead (1927), Okefenokee Swamp, Folkston, Georgia.

In the late 1800s, W.T. Chesser and his family settled a 592 acre island on the eastern edge of the Okefenokee Swamp. The Chesser’s were a rugged family, carving out a life in the often harsh conditions of the area. Their history is typical of many area settlers; they ate what they could shoot, trap, catch and grow on the sandy soil. Cash crops were primarily sugar cane, tobacco, and turpentine. They lived simply, worked hard, and played hard, when possible.

The original homestead was south of the current buildings. W.T. Chesser had six sons. Tom Chesser, W.T.’s grandson, built the current homestead with his wife Iva in 1927.

The home is built of yellow pine and reportedly cost $200.00 to build. Originally, the building had four rooms and it featured an indoor kitchen. Bathroom facilities were outside, but a bathtub was located on the back porch. Two bedrooms were added as the family grew to seven children. Outbuildings include a smokehouse, syrup shed, chicken coop, corncrib, and hog pen. The yard retains its original character - it is free of all vegetation, as was the custom of the time to reduce fire danger and increase visibility of snakes.

Are the shades of the original Chesser settlers still there? On a recent visit, I was taking these pictures on the property and we were alone in the barn. I looked up and caught a quick glimpse of a tall thin man wearing black pants, black hat and a green shirt standing in the yard looking at us. Then poof he was gone. I took that as a message for us to leave, which we did (quickly). Is the old Chesser homestead haunted? Visit and judge for yourself—a very solitary and eerie place.

(source: my photos)