Prairie Chapel Road

Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of the day Cindy Sheehan, Dede Miller and I led the march in the bar ditches to former President Bush’s ranch in Crawford, Texas to ask “What Noble Cause?”   We had our faces and stories splashed all over the news that weekend and for weeks and weeks, thanks to the perfect storm created by the mothers of dead soldiers coming to face off with the President and a very, very bored bunch of media sitting and waiting in Crawford, Texas for something, anything to happen.

Prairie Chapel Road

Four Years Later

By Amy Branham

Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of the day Cindy Sheehan, Dede Miller and I led the march in the bar ditches to former President Bush’s ranch in Crawford, Texas to ask “What Noble Cause?”   We had our faces and stories splashed all over the news that weekend and for weeks and weeks, thanks to the perfect storm created by the mothers of dead soldiers coming to face off with the President and a very, very bored bunch of media sitting and waiting in Crawford, Texas for something, anything to happen.

We walked in that ditch for maybe a mile in the hot August Texas sun and heat, leading a hundred or so of our dearest friends from across Texas who answered the call when they got it.  Among us were veterans from across the country who were in Texas for the VFP convention in Dallas who caravanned with us to Crawford.  We had Blue Star family members with us, the mothers, wives, sisters, and children of those on active duty in the military.  We had people who were peace activists and we had just normal, ordinary people who wanted to lend their voice and support.

Most know what became, eventually, the story of Cindy Sheehan’s stand against President Bush.  What many of you don’t know and haven’t heard is the story of healing, peace and comfort I and thousands of others found out there on Prairie Chapel Road behind the scenes, away from the camera crews and media.  Today, this is the story I want to tell you.

Cindy gave all of us a voice, a cause and a person to rally behind.  For the mainstream media and others, this became the story of the day.  That was a big part of the story, but it wasn’t the whole story.

At the end of that first day, after almost everyone but a handful of people went home, I found myself at the Crawford Peace House, which had been held open for us and we were given keys to come and go as we needed.  Cindy and I had gone there to escape the heat and to shower.  We both had heat stroke and we were ill.  I remember lying on the floor in the front room of the CPH and we talked, wondering out loud to one another, what have we just started?  Where will it go?  Will anyone come?  Cindy had declared that she would stay in Crawford in the ditch, waiting for the President to meet with her.  My heart was torn because I wanted to stay in Crawford with Cindy, but I could not.  My daughter and my husband were home in Houston, waiting for me on stork watch as our first grandchild was due any day. 

That night, we camped out on the side of the road.   There were only a few of us there, sitting in our camp chairs, talking late into the night.  The night skies in Crawford, out there on that lonely road, are beautiful.  As we looked at the stars and quietly talked, one of our phones would ring and we’d learn that we made the evening news, they were talking about us across the country and, eventually, around the world. 

We watched, long into the night, as the Secret Service cars sped by, back and forth, past us and around the curve at the fork in the road where we camped.  There were times we were frightened one would lose control.

Cindy and Dede camped out in a small pup tent that night.  Diane slept in her truck.  I climbed into the backseat of my Jeep and did my best to sleep.  Others pulled out cots next to their cars. 

It seemed impossible, but when I woke up the next morning, there were a few more cars there in that little tiny strip of land between the roads where we parked.  During the night, people heard about us and came to join us.  Some friends in Fort Worth got up really early and made it there before we woke up, bringing us breakfast and coffee.  Friends came back from Dallas and the convention to stand with us.

Throughout the day, more and more people came to take a stand with us, to lend their support and their voice and their energy to our cause.  Talk radio was talking about nothing but us.   We greeted personally each and every person who came to see us.

I had to go back home that day.   As I said my goodbyes, my heart was full and I felt uplifted and knew that finally, we would be heard, those of us who had not been heard for so very, very long who opposed the war in Iraq, who knew it was wrong, were being heard.    When I talked to the reporters off the record before doing interviews, every single one of them – even the ones from FOX News – told me they agreed with us and what our cause was and to keep doing what we were doing. 

From humble beginnings can come great things.  During the following week, hundreds and hundreds of people poured into Crawford.  Iraq veterans came in droves to tell their stories and be heard.  Military families came to lend their voices and to be heard.  Many other Gold Star family members came to take a stand.  People from all across this great country of ours heard the story on the news, on the radio or read it on the internet or newspapers.  They dropped everything they were doing and went to Crawford.  Young, old, activist or not, they all came. 

The money came pouring in, too, to help support all these people who were coming.  It didn’t matter if you got to Crawford and you were broke, your needs were met.  You would not go to bed at night hungry or wake up with nothing to eat.  Every single person who came to Crawford, whether they just stayed for the day, a few days or the whole month, was fed and fed well.  Everyone who came was expected to contribute to the camp and the cause in some way and every single person did their part, whether it was forming a chain to unload trucks of water or ice, cooking, cleaning, setting up the big tents, chairs and tables, security, chauffeuring visitors back and forth from the Peace House out to the sites, or just sitting and holding the hand of someone overcome with emotion, everyone did their part.   

A memorial was set up at the original location and, later, another one at the second location, a small tract of land donated for our use.   The memorials were carefully thought out, set up and cared for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  At the original camp, where many people set up and refused to leave, the crosses were run over and the memorial vandalized in the night.  The next day, everything was replaced and fixed.  Every night, at sunset, TAPS was played at the sites as we stood, hand in hand and arm in arm, in silent remembrance of those we had loved and lost and cried rivers of tears together.

Many remember the place in Crawford that hot August summer in 2005 as Camp Casey, named so for Cindy Sheehan’s son, Casey.  The truth is, it wasn’t just about Casey or Cindy or any other single person.  That hot summer in Crawford in the ditches was about a community who came together, somehow gelled against all odds, people from all walks of life.  It was about amazing people who lived together under some very trying circumstances but who thrived, loved, cried and worked together for a cause they all believed wholeheartedly in, ending the war in Iraq.  It was about peace and harmony and love. 

The magic of the encampment out on Prairie Chapel Road was the magic of great healing for torn and broken hearts and souls.  The magic was that of people from many different religions who came together and respected those religions, even incorporating them all in one Sunday service every week to feed the souls of those who came.  Christian, Muslim, Wiccan, Sufi, Buddhist, and many other spiritual paths were represented. 

The magic, the blessing of Prairie Chapel Road was the people.  Cindy gave them a voice, a reason, and a place to take a stand.  It has been the people who kept it all going.

In peace,

Amy Branham

Gold Star Mother

Houston, TX

[email protected]