I hope this reaches you and yours happy and healthy. Sorry for the delayed first installment of my adventure – it has been a bit of a whirlwind on this end.
So, after a week (and one 25-hour day) of frantic packing, I am on my way. My first stop was Washington DC, and Arlington National Cemetery, where I ‘visited some friends’. The timing had me there on Sunday the first, the day of the big ice storm. The parking lot at Arlington was surprisingly sparse (despite beginning the day heating and chipping ice off the truck the ice storm part had not yet registered). I had used the online gravesite locator the night before, and had my hand-drawn map in my glove, but I stopped in the Visitors Center on my way in. There was a surprise – an admission schedule on the wall. Adult? Student? Veteran? I stepped up to the window and explained my situation. The lady at the counter was very kind, gave me a graveside visitor pass and directed me to the information desk where the docent added the marker numbers and suggested route to a park service map. They also informed me there are escorts available to drive families and friends to and from the markers, but I had planned to walk and it still felt like the right thing. So off I went, in my pink Asics, clutching my camera under my grey hooded riding cloak. The rain was cold, wet, steady, and I was the only one out, save for the occasional tour bus. The going was treacherous, there was a hard shell of ice on the sidewalks, so I walked in the street, in the salt and slush along Eisenhower to the fourth lane on the left (Section 60), then down the hill to the first marker, for Steve Plumhoff. I met Steve in Korea, he was one of Chewie’s people (she was a Special Ops Squadron Mascot when I met her), an Air Force Academy grad, hard as nails -53 pilot, killed with four others when he lost an engine on departure coming out of Tikrit. It is strange to look for a headstone, in a sea of headstones, in a section with many larger ones honoring groups lost together. And I had not considered the snow, now crusted over with ice. In this area it was undisturbed, with only a pair of footsteps in the snow between the graves and the road. I found a thin spot, gingerly tested the ice (which crumpled under my weight) and I walked along the edge of the rows, looking for a large stone, five stones in, I didn’t see it where I expected to and my heart raced, then there it was. It felt odd, leaving my footsteps in the unbroken blanket of snow as I walked towards it, but sad as well, as it was clear I was the only recent visitor. I felt unprepared, as if I should have brought flowers, or at least a rock to leave on the gravestone. The rain stopped, and I was able to take a photo before moving on.
The rain began again as soon as I was back on the road, walking up the hill, to the second lane, then left. This was in the southern section of Arlington, among rolling hills, in sight of the Air Force Memorial. Most of the graves here are singles, so it was easier to find the larger marker honoring the six men who were killed in the other helicopter on the worst night of my life. The ice in this section was different, most of the snow had melted from under and the ice hovered above the grass, a crust that crunched as I walked diagonal between the graves towards the guys. Here it hit me, looking up the hill at the rows and rows of markers, that each one represented someone who served, and in many cases died for our nation. As I turned and gazed around, the rows went on and on. Such unrecognized treasure, men and women willing to make this commitment, so easy to send to battle but each leaving a family and loved ones behind. I remembered stories of the OEF/OIF families, mothers, parents, children, who would picnic by their loved ones grave during the 2000s, dozens every weekend, and also the one widow who ‘slept with her husband’ for over 120 days in a row (and the honor guard servicemen who volunteered to bring her meals and watch over her at night). So many stories in this hallowed ground. At the marker, photos, again, then I began the mile-ish walk back to my car. Adrenalin spent, my cloth gloves soaked and wool cloak wet, the raw cold added to the visceral feeling of the day. I remembered the number I could call for a ride, but it seemed important to walk, to be fully present and in touch with the earth during this visit. By the time I reached the Visitors Center my hands were numb.
I have since made it to Florida. There is a strange orb in the sky here that radiates warmth. I won’t go in to details quite yet, but be assured this will require further investigation.
All the best!
Great start Noelle. I love the delivery of your journey!