In the U.S.A., Memorial Day is the day we set aside to honor those who died in the service of their country.
In my family, my maternal grandmother King’s grandfather was wounded and left for dead at the Battle of Shiloh. He survived to tell the story to his granddaughter.
My paternal grandfather, John Hudson, was wounded at the Battle of Meuse-Argonne in 1918. He survived the gas attack but his health was permanently undermined. When he died from TB twenty years later, the Army determined that the death was due to the gas attack.
My uncle, Jim Hudson, was a front-gunner on a B-24 in the European Theatre during WWII. Later he became an avid pilot. Every weekend he and my aunt would fly somewhere–Chicago, Washington, Florida–on his plane. I asked him once if his love for flying was due to his time in the air force. “God no,” he said! “When I got out of the Air Force, I swore that I would never get into another place for as long as I lived.” Later, I discovered a newspaper article about the time his shot-up plane crash-landed, missing both an engine and landing gear. Miraculously, crew members were able to walk away. They were all given medals for that mission.
A beautiful day on Lake Erie. It’s still early and already there are a lot of boats out there.
My photo assistant–our border collie, Ranger.
