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   My first visit to Fort Ross was while I was around the mid- sixties.  (Probably after fourth grade, when I first learned of its  existence, which would mean 1965 to 1967, I think.)  Of course, at  that time the highway ran through the compound, and the Rotchev House  was the Visitor's Center, and there wasn't much except the Rotchev  House, the Chapel, and the two blockhouses with the stockade wall up  where the highway wasn't running.  I remember that it was bright, sunny, and green, so it must have been in springtime, but of course the part which REALLY got the attention of both my brother and myself were the blockhouse cannon--boys will be boys.
   My next visit was after college, and after my brief military service.  The place had changed in the meantime!  I remember taking a photo of the half-completed Kuskov House, (the walls were going up in the upper floor, but there was no roof, and the windows and doors were not finished,) and all the Official's Quarters displays were very new, still--including the sand bucket in the lockup.  I also remember the signs on the stockade about the guard dog on duty from 4:30 PM to 10:00 AM daily. After that, I came up every year or so.  The park has long been sort of a retreat for me, where I can go to get back in touch with good things, and let the troubles and annoyances in my life go away for a while.  It makes me feel that yes, History IS important, and 
that we Californians recognize this (even if we don't want to give it the full recognition of its importance).  And it is a sign of sort of an exclusive club--there are only three states (although I long thought that there were only two) that have signs of Russian influence, and we are one of them!
   Twenty years ago, I started getting involved with the historical reenactment crowd.  I tended to specialize in the age of Napoleon (having taken a fancy to that era since my brother and I argued about whether Napoleon or Wellington was the better general way back in seventh grade).  One year I came up to visit and discovered Living History Day in progress.  I think that this would have been around 1988 or '89.  All of a sudden the fun of coming to the park increased by a factor of ten, I think!  Like the boy I am, I was fascinated with the militia, but also thought that it would be great fun to come back and show up in costume, and try to fit in!  I actually managed to do it in 1992 or '93 (one of the volunteers asked if I had had a chance to go get some borsch, and said that I had better hurry, before it was all gone--so I had succeeded).  The next two years I brought friends up to join the fun, again all dressed in period costume. I think that it must have been about 1995 when, after the second militia drill on Living History Day, I was part of a little   crowd clustered around Ranger Bill, talking about black powder, flintlocks, and so on.  I asked how people joined the militia, and he mentioned something about cleaning muskets in the off-season, and unfortunately I didn't get his (or give my) contact information.  So it took another couple of years to really get hooked up with volunteering.  I think that in the end it happened through FRIA, and  my putting down on one of the renewals that I would be interested in volunteering, and wrote in something about the militia.  I got an invitation to be a part of Living History Day, and I jumped at the chance.
    I believe that my first year in the militia would have been 1998, or maybe '99.  I was probably a pretty common sort of rookie, and at that point my cleaning skills and understanding of the mechanics of flintlocks was pretty sketchy. The next year, I remember that the training session was a little 
late to start, Bill being somewhere else.  So, with a couple of other veterans, I started walking the new members through what part of the drill I remembered.  We were going along, and practicing up a storm, when Bill arrived.  I guess that this was when he thought he could use a "corporal" to help with some of the tasks, and asked me if I  would like the job.  So now I don't get to have fun any more on CHD with the drill! I also noticed that the guns were not in great shape.  Bill said that he tried to clean them a couple of times a year, but sometimes they only got cleaned after CHD and one other time.  So, since he had talked about cleaning weapons from the first as being part of the militia experience, I figured that it would help if the guns got 
cleaned a little more regularly.  After I changed jobs in 2001, and particularly after they allowed me to go on a new work schedule which gave me frequent Fridays off, I decided that it would be a good thing to do cleaning and care one weekend per month.  I still think that it could be a great time for the militia to get together and make everything shine, and work on our drill, and so on, but whether or not there are others to help, the guns will rust just the same.  So, I come when I can.
   I actually was even awarded for this playing with guns--I think that it must have been something like December of 2000, since it seems to me that Ranger Heidi was attending one of her first FRIA meetings, and it was definitely a December meeting (although it is hard for me to believe that it would have been that long ago, and I can't come up with the certificate right now). So that's about it.  I still get a big kick out of coming up and cleaning guns--both from the feeling of a job well done, and from being in a special place.  As I tell the visitors, I get to come up and play with the guns, and gossip with the visitors, and have a grand old time, and even sleep in the Manager's bed!  Why WOULDN'T I  want to do that?  And why wouldn't I want to come up and learn more and more about history, and how people lived 200 years ago, and what California was like back then?  I'm a history nut!  Besides, it is STILL exciting to make smoke and noise!  And Fort Ross is a very special place, and deserves all the help it can get, in my opinion. In fact, if it were allowed, I'd love to have some of my ashes spread around the place--maybe fired from one of the south blockhouse caronnades.  It seems fitting, somehow.....
Phil