Armistice day 2013...

On 11/11 at 11:00, I found myself at the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery.

A couple of miles away I passed through Fere-en-Tardenois.  Great minds 

 

 think alike, that was the scene in the town square at the memorial. They even had the band.

Even though it's full of places like this

 

most of the names in the visitor's books at U. S. cemeteries now

are French. They remember.

It was as pretty a day as you could hope for- cool and clear.  As usual, the cemetery was immaculate. I hope it is a long time until we abandon these places.

     The capitals on the columns were planned by men who lived the war:

 

     Only  some Doughboy would have thought to include a can of corned Bill in this monument for Posterity.

     Alas I did not have my camera, just a telephone one so none of my tombstone pictures came out. A few things struck me as I strolled the lanes.

     A lot of the death dates are in 1919. The war ended on the 11th, but peritonitis, burn infection,  ordnance disposal, truck wrecks, and the 'flu kept going.

     There are several civilians, probably YMCA workers or some such.

     Interesting to see so many now obsolete ranks. I saw stevedore, bugler, wagoner, chauffeur, field clerk, and some others.

       We forget the uniting force of the War. This  cemetery holds mainly draftees.  Everyone got drafted- white and black, English speaker and Bohunk. Americans still practiced all sorts of segregation and all sorts of prejudice were standard. The foul creature Wilson led the way, racially segregating the Civil Service to please his Democratic Party base in the Solid South.  Yankee aristocrats and West Virginia miners and Mississippi sharecroppers would have never met in ordinary 1914 life.

     Here they are together, indiscriminately. It took a while to live up to it, but our country looks like this graveyard now.

     The names were interesting. Only about half had middle names or initials. Lots of Williams and Johns and Roberts, of course. My companion and I remarked on the names one never hears now, redolent of obscure Bible stories and the mountains of Bohemia.  And there were several short versions- I saw Charley, Mike, and Jack. And Joyce, too.

     Which led  me to a new sad thought.

     Of course all these men had stories that they never got to finish. Every one of them had a goal, a plan. Start a business.  Go back to the mill and work up to foreman. Teach at the school. Build up the family farm.  Take a correspondence course. Marry the girl. Play catch with the boy.  Go fishing with the Old Man or eat Mother's peach cobbler.  Shoot craps with the fellows on the corner. Sit under a tree on a hot day and chew on a blade of grass.

     Not one of those dreams happened.

     Every one of these men started a telegram, and with it a new batch of stories. Every one of those telegrams had one of these names on it.

      Where did they get Charley and Giovanni and Asa? The same way we get our Jamal and Chip. 

      Every one of those names was chosen carefully by proud parents for their perfect little son, their hope.

      Let's use uncle's name.  Daniel is fine, a brave Prophet.  Alright, we'll call him after YOUR father. Jövünk Magyarországról, de mi hívjuk George Washington elnök után.  You're my best pal, will you stand up at the christening?

     And all those mothers and fathers saw all those names on all those telegrams.

     Everyone who votes for a war, everyone who cheerleads for one, should have to do it from a place like this.

     Oh, and one more thing. We were there for an hour and a half.

          Had the place to ourselves.

        

First Day's Hunting, '12-'13 Season...

(Remember, click on any picture to make it bigger.)

Woo hoo!

So for my first day this season I headed north. Thank you, S!

The hire car company "upgraded" me.

Very appropriate for tight turns and narrow roads. Note to self, refuse upgrades.

My hotel hosted a wedding.

Stopped by a battlefield on the way.

Shockingly, I called ahead and made arrangements, rather than my usual heave-up system. Even though my charming contact had read my blog, I was soon vectored in behind the hound truck.

This is a small pack, hunting multiple fairly confined countries. The meet was at 5:30 P. M. on a Friday afternoon, a first for me. Actually it makes sense. It's cooler in the evening, and I'm told that there are hunting people who work and go to school. The meet was at a lovely farm. There was a definite "family" feeling, everyone very friendly and low key. Love to see a nice pair of Bristols.

Best vans ever.

Quite a few racy looking horses:

They like them some big ring bits and rust breeches, too.

And a lovely mule!

Making the plan...

And off we go!

This pack hunts Penn Mary Dels, and they seemed to be ready for a pleasant day.

I followed a local expert, and he led us to the corner of the first draw.

Hounds spoke, but alas went toward a border and had to be pulled up.

Corn, elephant's eye, etc. It was a fairly dry day, although not as bad as we've seen down South.

Here's something you don't see every day...

A practice race track, with starting gate!

We ran into some rabbit hunters with beagles, of course one of them was from a town I had once lived in 600 miles away.

Hounds struck again, rattled around, and lost.

Kept hoping they would push Reynard across here...

Alas, no. That seemed the pattern for the evening, we ended up on a road not far from the meet:

Which shows you the difficult woods they have up here.

Dark coincided with blowing for home...

There was a post hunt feed, quite nice. I have GOT to start drinking...

One of the members very kindly offered me a room for the night, so I followed back to an old old farm. Adze shaped beams...

And midnight cow herding on a Gator!

I slept like the dead. Bright chanticleer proclaimed the dawn...

And off for a morning meet.

This was in a different place, most all woods and soy beans. My over night host was kind enough to drive me. Bonus, I learned quite a bit about equine dentistry as it affects balance and lameness!

I hope this stupid awful weather will not follow me AGAIN this year.

All young hounds, a good small field.

And I did not hear a lot of talk talk from them, even fairly close up!

Quite a few children out, like this (I assume) mother- daughter duo.

We have a future.

They have a good number whipping in...

And they need them! Clearly the hounds had been corrected in the past, because there wasn't anything that seemed riot to me. They certainly didn't need rating that I heard.

I admit this just charmed me no end. The professional whipper in was accompanied by one of the younger girls from the field.

Nothing like it for teaching the next generation.

There's more than one sort of cub learning things today!

Hounds tried. In the shady woods and cool low places they could run, and they had a good strong range of voices. The hot open places defeated them, though. Their huntsman didn't press, letting hounds have the experience of finding and running when it suited them.

All in all a good cubhunting morning, doing what those mornings are supposed to do.

And end of day...

Thank you for the visit, you all are welcome here any time!

Avranches and Mont St. Michel...

Off south. First stop Avranches. Museum of manuscript illumination. Scores of beautiful works of the calligrapher and miniaturist's art. Especially interesting were the exhibitions of how it was done- making the parchment, creating the coloured inks, and so forth. Incredible pains and details, everything had to be perfect. No erasures! Yet within the practical constraints of "copy the book", a whole world of art and craft emerged and throve.

Art, the joy of expressing feeling, is as much a part of human beings as breathing oxygen.

And here is a bad picture of a lovely little ivory's expression of peace:



Then to Mont St. Michel. A foggy day so it arose out of the mist, suddenly just THERE.



It was just magnificent. Varied from cute and charming, to amazing, to puzzling, to awesome.































Maintenance and reconstruction on these places never ends.One of the things we were privileged to watch was a man replacing stained glass in the refectory.

What a lovely thing to do, and to know that your work will, even just a little, make beauty, please and touch people you will never know, centuries after you are dust.




Or until the tide comes in.