Wreaths and Rain

Arlington National Cemetery

An inky winter morning lightened into slate gray with low hanging clouds with heavy mist surrounding everything. Layered in sweaters, foul weather sailing jackets, hiking shoes, hats and hoods, the expected chilled air was held back.

Before 7:30 we were on the metro headed for the Pentagon stop just five minutes down the track, where we joined others, riding up the escalators.  From there we trudged across the parking lot and then uphill along Columbia Pike where we stood in line behind hundreds of others waiting to enter the Arlington National Cemetery south entrance.  Although the gates opened at 8:00 AM, it was almost 10 when we finally walked through the gates to begin our climb up the hill to the acres of graves sites.  Mist had turned to rain, but we kept on walking with thousands of others who'd come to lay evergreen wreaths with red bows at the graves of our American soldiers.  This was the annual Wreaths Across America event held at over 1,400 locations.  In other years, sunshine and crystal blue bright December skies greeted volunteers, but not this morning. The wet atmosphere was reserved; there was no yelling or screaming, just quiet talk, smiles and steadfast strolling down the lanes and across the rolling hills.  Guides, stationed at intersections, assisted in finding graves as many people wanted to honor relatives or friends who had served.

Once inside, we waited in line again to pick up our wreaths from one of the dozen or so 18-wheeler trucks stationed about the cemetery.  Then we walked rows upon rows of graves to select our graves, simple stones of soldiers from WWII who died the year I was born.  It seemed fitting.  There was a Major, a Supply Clerk, a Captain and a Sargent.  Rank did not make a difference.

After two hours, it was time to go.  After stopping to hold a young man's umbrella so he could take a photo of his great grandfather's grave, we walked down Eisenhower Road, then out the main gate where thousands continued to stream in.  I felt a great sense of collective community, unspoken, but there all the same.  It was a good feeling.  A Christmas feeling.