Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, July 30, 1995 TAG: 9507310073
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KATHLEEN WILSON STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
It took a bunch of grown men four hours to build a dam in Green Hill Park west of Salem so the horses would have a pond to drink from.
It took three little boys dressed in Civil War attire only a few minutes to tear the thing apart.
Off in the distance, little girls were turning cartwheels, hoop skirts dropping to the ground, eyelet lace bloomers flying in the air.
Just at dusk Friday, Kathryn Cotton ``K.C.'' Grieser shouted that it was time to get things started.
She and her husband of 11 years, Bill, had chosen this evening - the night before the fourth annual Civil War Re-enactment at Green Hill Park - to do what K.C. referred to as ``sealing the deal.''
Surrounded by Confederate ``soldiers,'' to the sound of a fife-and-drum corps with a couple of bagpipes added, K.C. and Bill renewed their wedding vows.
Civil War-style.
Their 8-year-old daughter, Sarah, who wore a pink gingham dress with her strawberry blond hair caught up in a snood, explained that her mom and dad were doing this because they love each other so much.
Six-year-old Allison Grieser had a different explanation:
``I think it's because we weren't there when they really got married.''
This time, K.C. walked alone through a line of tents and crossed rifles to meet her husband at the altar, a tiny wooden table. The ceremony was as period-authentic as it could be.
Last time, K.C.'s father gave her away. In memory of him, she carried yellow roses in her bouquet.
``The last time we did this, we did it for everyone else,'' K.C. said. ``This time, we're doing it for us.''
During the Civil War, many couples married in ceremonies as simple as this one. Often the groom was dispatched to the front the next day. And often the bride never saw her groom alive again.
The Griesers moved here from Florida five years ago.
``It was so hard,'' K.C. said. ``We were just starting our family and moved here, leaving all of our friends and family behind. It's been tough.
``Relocating here almost killed us. But I love this man so much. I respect him tremendously, mostly because he puts up with my guff.''
When they became involved in Civil War re-enactments, it brought a sense of camaraderie to the Griesers. It was something the entire family could do together.
``This is one weekend there aren't any Barbies and the TV isn't blaring,'' Bill said. ``We are really a family here. A family among other families.''
Before the unrehearsed ceremony began, K.C. - in an iridescent bonnie-blue taffeta dress - greeted guests, answered a reporter's questions and held her youngest daughter, Rebecca, 1.
Robert T. Copenhaver of St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Salem performed the ceremony.
``The renewal of vows was not a religious ceremony back then,'' he explained. ``So, by necessity, there will be some modern words.''
With the sound of water rushing over rocks in the Roanoke River behind them and just as the sun set, K.C. and Bill reaffirmed their commitment to each other, with Sarah and Allison next to them and Rebecca cradled in her mother's arms.
They pledged their fidelity and steadfast love to each other. Again. And agreed to grow even further in forgiveness and love.
An interlude of ``Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow'' played by the fife-and-drum corps stirred the small gathering.
Through spectacles made with circa 1850 frames, Bill Grieser smiled at his wife and wiped away a tear or two. As the two held hands, K.C.'s thumbs caressed the backs of Bill's hands.
Both said this ceremony meant more to them than the first one.
Cindy Fort, a friend who was present when Bill and K.C. were married in Florida, described the wedding as very traditional.
``I got far more choked up at this ceremony than at the wedding,'' she said.
K.C. agreed. It wasn't about veils and garters and bridesmaids' dresses and feeding each other cake.
``This time it was so simple,'' she said. ``It was just about us and how much we love each other.''
The flowers came from a neighbor's garden. The cake was a simple bright blue sheet cake with a single white star in the center.
And the Griesers received only one gift, but one that brought both to tears: The Book of Common Prayer. Printed in 1850.
Renewing wedding vows is not necessarily a guy thing, Bill admitted later.
``I knew it meant a lot to her,'' he said. ``But it didn't mean much to me leading up to it. But standing there, I stopped for the first time in 11 years and realized how much I have shared with her.
``And you know, if you don't stop and think about that and how much it means, you may never really appreciate it.''
With that said, the members of the 28th Virginia unit of this particular re-enactment took off their hats, raised tin cups filled with brew and celebrated the couple in true period fashion.
``To K.C. and Bill! Hip-hip hooray! Hip-hip hooray! Hip-hip hooray!''
by CNB