One of my favorite views is from the peak of Little Round Top at sunset. It was from the crest of the hill that Union and Confederate troops fought and died in the afternoon of July 2nd, 1863. I had been going to the town of Gettysburg since I was born, and the battlefield made my little historian's heart flutter even after so many years. Looking down from that little rocky hill, you could see the cluster of rocks known as Devil's Den. The bloody Rose farm was just out of sight on the other side of the trees. The orange light of sunset burnt across the Wheatfield in the distance. It was really something to behold.

But it wasn't just the extensive battlefield that held my heart. The town itself was inviting and friendly. Though I'm sure there are tourist haters, I surely didn't meet any. The brick house lined streets of the wagon wheel shaped town are quaint. On several of the houses and buildings are little brass plaques that say: "Civil War Home: 1863." Several houses, some of which that had been used as sniper nests by troops, still have bullet holes in the brick exterior. The town was more open then, more akin to a village then a town. The open fields and little out buildings dotting the town were filled and surrounded with little struggles in the afternoon of July 1st. On the north end of the town, there is a seminary that trained priests. From the cupula, an observation point atop the building, General John Buford first spied Harry Heath's rebel troops on the morning of the 1st. It is a serene little spot with a lot of history.

Back on the battlefield, where I normally find myself drawn, is a small orchard. Little known fact, but one of the best places to grow cherries and peaches in the United States is southern Pennsylvania, where Gettysburg is firmly nestled. The famous Peach Orchard of Gettysburg was one such place where peaches flourished. It became even more famous for the blood shed there on July 2nd. The little orchard on the Emmitsburg Road, leading south out of town, saw some of the worst fighting in the whole of the three days of the battle. But there is nothing obscene about it now, especially as you stand in it. The peach trees brushed by wind as you look out across rolling fields of tall grass is something that few people should miss when they come to this little town.

The real cost, and the quietest place in the whole town, is the National Cemetery. Erected following the battle, it was dedicated on November 19th, 1863. It was here, in the middle of the cemetery, that President Abraham Lincoln gave his famous Gettysburg Address. You can see the monument today, to where the Great Emancipator stood, in the center of the sprawling headstones. The graves, marked and unmarked, were dug by crews of men paid by the government to dig up pre-existing graves that surrounded the town. This grisly task taken by a grim crew was accomplished at no small feat of hard labor.

You can't forget those things, the toils and the troubles of the combatants and those that came after them. There are reminders everywhere. The whole town, and its surrounding countryside was a battlefield. Boy Scout Troops hike the many trails and roads, curling up Little Round Top and snaking through Devil's Den. Segway tours hog the road on possibly the goofiest mode of tourist transportation available. Busses cram into the Visitor Center and locals complain about a tourist rubbernecking over an old cannon. Inside the walls of the National Cemetery, that all goes away. The presence is still there, the reminders of those who have struggled and died there. Those who have dedicated it far above our poor power to add or detract, as Lincoln put it. And when all that melts away, you are left with the feeling. One I cannot share in words, as some things transcend words. It is something you must feel for yourself.