He could bring his bagpipes! There’s no rule against bagpipery in a National Battlefield Park!
When we lived in Tennessee, I drove down to Chattanooga to go shopping one day with the kids. On the way back, the clouds came down over Lookout Mountain, and I thought I saw the flashes of cannon fire and got the heebie-jeebies so bad I had to pull over and pull myself together. “Why are we stopping, Mama?” “Just shut up and watch the dead soldiers, Anoreth.” “Okay.”
They’re everywhere through the river valleys between Nashville and Chattanooga. Our neighbor had a cannon in his yard, pointed north in case the Yanks ever came back.
I’m thinking fifteen feet separation should be enough to keep me in the clear.
“You go ahead and play, buddy! I’ll just stand over here and uh, enjoy the ambiance.”
There is an unwritten rule against playing ill-tuned pipes - and pipes that have been ignored for more than two days WILL let you know; they refuse to stay in tune and they will screech horribly. (I am serious about this. I joke that "they're like a woman, don'cha know, ignore them at your peril," but the reality is worse. Women are sometimes forgiving, bagpipes never are.) This is part of why I am not playing today.
Seriously, I would have to play them half-hour to an hour every day for two weeks before they'd stabilize, and I don't have the time.
Chattanooga! Fond memories there. My grandfather was a professor at Chattanooga U (now U Tenn) and my father grew up there. They had a lovely house (Southern mansion, to my mind) on Missionary Ridge, just a couple blocks from a memorial park.
Wow...creepy.