Veteran's Day / Into the Wind’s Breath and the Hands of the Star Maker

So every year on Veteran's Day my dad and I would go to the cemetery and watch the service they would provide. My dad, grandpa, brother and uncle are all Vets. My grandpa lost an eye in one war and my uncle lost his life in another. Veteran's Day and Memorial day were always so important to my dad. I had to write a applied theory narrative for my nature writing class and I think it applies today so I thought I would share....

Into the Wind’s Breath and the Hands of the Star Maker

In thinking about the world around me, in particular nature, I am torn between it’s true definition and what it is to me. According to the Wilderness Act of 1964, “A wilderness... is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.” I have heard many times that everyone should have a special place to go to when they need to think awhile: a private spot on the lake, a great view off a mountaintop, or a meadow filled with wild flowers. To me however, nature itself is the utter peacefulness of the earth, it’s stillness and grace. Maybe it doesn’t have to be untouched, so long as it still has the same power and tranquility.

He took me there once, many years ago. He had spoken of this place often but I had never been. We walked along the graveled path in silence, though I knew he had so much to say. There were rows and rows of them, all the same in shape and size. They were a brave grey, each etched with white lettering. I read the names on each as I passed by didn’t think twice about them. We rounded a bend and he stopped. His eyes seemed to change as if he were standing in that exact place thirty years earlier.

He explained it so vividly to me as if it were the first time he had spoke of it. It was mid-morning and the air was cold though the wind stood still. He heard many sounds around him: the leaves crackling on the ground as people marched on, the sobs of those near him and possibly even himself, and the slow muffle of the cars that came. They came in a row, probably a hundred of them he guessed. He remembered being surprised at how many had come. Family of course, and friends and classmates and neighbors and even strangers.

He was only fifteen but he realized at that moment that he was now a man. His older brother, only nineteen, was about to be lowered into the ground here after coming home from the war in a box. The tragedy was great and the tone in his voice saddening. However, I remember he told me how beautiful it was. Morbid to many to think that a graveyard could be beautiful and serene, but to him it was. It was as if he was standing there, with all these people moving around him and yet he was there all alone, just him and his brother. The earth has that affect on someone he said, it’s stillness gives us a minute to get a grip on reality.

I have thought about that day often, the day my dad took me to the Golden Gate National Cemetery and the day he had lived through decades before. I have always thought it odd to think of a cemetery as peaceful as nature. Sure the landscaping is beautiful: green grass perfectly cut, blossoming flowers and flowing trees. Of course there was reverence all around, the only sounds being those of animals around or visitors. Still, the extreme affect the earth had on him I did not comprehend until I returned to that place ten years later.

I remember the day quite vividly. It was the same as he had explained it. The air was cold around me but the wind stood still. It had that wonderful Fall smell, I crushed the leaves as I walked down that graveled path in silence. I looked over those same rows headstones, but this time I read the names as I walked by. I thought about the people who inhabited the graves, their lives and their stories. I had acquired the reality of the history that was all around me.

I was surprised at how many had come. Family of course and friends and his old classmates and neighbors and even strangers. I remember thinking about what he had told me, how to him the graveyard was beautiful and serene. I was having a hard time not allowing myself to become overwhelmed by grief of his death. It was at that moment that I saw it’s beauty, that I felt the stillness the earth gave me. As we approached the grave of James Stanley Childers, I had to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t there to once again visit my uncle. This time, I was here to bury Francis Gilbert Childers, my father. He loved this place and always wanted to be laid to rest next to his big brother.

As my brother walked up next to me, clutching the urn that held the man I loved so dearly, I tried to let go of the world around me and feel as my dad had when he buried his brother. I enjoyed a few minutes where it was just me and my dad. I felt this overwhelming sense of peace as my brother lowered him into the ground. Of course this place was not wilderness, it had been trammeled by man. But to me, it was nature in it’s purest form and it was beautiful. It was at this moment that man was returned to the earth that had created him:

Into the freedom of wind and sunshine
We let you go
Into the dance of the stars and the planets
We let you go
Into the wind’s breath and the hands of the star maker
We let you go
We love you, we miss you, we want you to be happy
Go safely, go dancing, go running home (Ruth Bergess)

Janise Ray spoke of her childhood in a junkyard. Aldo Leopold spoke of his life on a farm. To these individuals, these places were nature to them. And through these places, both observers credit nature and the world around them for who they are. Each has a desire to preserve nature and has a strong respect for its impact on the individual and recognition of the impact the individual has on nature. I could not agree with them more. Though the cemetery served a practical purpose, I can’t help but think about what it truly holds. So many lives and memories and stories and feelings have been buried at this place. It’s significance is astounding. Nature itself is the utter peacefulness of the earth, it’s stillness and grace. Maybe it doesn’t have to be untouched, so long as it still has the same power and tranquility. Every time I drive by a cemetery, I let the power of the earth overwhelm my grief and for a moment I am at peace.