On Hallowed Ground

[When I return to the States and can get the videos uploaded, I will do a final blog about the eyewitness accounts of the crash, but until then this blog will be the final one for awhile. I know the placement of the text is odd, but it's late and I'll fix it later. Maybe. This presentation format is why I posted pics to FB last time. But this will work for now... ]

For lack of a better term, and yes, I can call it a crash site or a divot in the landscape or erosion, but in reality, this site is a gravesite. When we returned to it the afternoon after the memorial, two local gentlemen brought their metal detectors and encouraged us to excavate for artifacts. Immediately upon being turned on, those detectors started screaming. The high-pitched, shrill beeps disturbed this peaceful, pastoral site. And for those of you who have seen the oil leaking around the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor, you might relate when I note that I immediately thought of that visual when I heard those shrill screams. Here, 67 years later, the land was speaking to us and sharing some of her secrets. It was a challenge for me to reconcile that we were defiling a grave site while searching for answers to the final minutes in the lives of these men, one of them my great uncle. Respecting the grave is one of my first memories, and that first memory involves the care and unparalleled respect for the dead.

While we were searching and filtering and tracing the rusted remains of this bomber, the landowners and other community members shared the types of artifacts found throughout the countryside related to the war. One woman shared the story of a tree having grown around a canteen. Others explained the common experience of walking along and finding all kinds of WWII-era debris littered on the farms. What are the stories tied to these figments of history? 

Two weeks prior to our arrival, the machine gun with live ammunition had been found at the site. Were Uncle Manford’s hands on this weapon? Had he fired it? With live ammo in the gun ready to fire, what happened? Why was this round never fired? Thanks to this farm family and the Lacey-Davis Foundation, the potential of this machine gun being cleaned, mounted, and offered to a WWII-era museum is highly likely. While our family excavated for their own pieces of this memory, segments of the landing gear, a latch from the door, and part of the engine were recovered in addition to bolts, strips of twisted metal, and other random pieces. What I could not help but wonder, however, was the possibility of remains being hidden deep in the earth. It’s not unlikely. If this hallowed ground can direct us to segments and pieces of the plane, could she not also be holding more intimate secrets? Just what’s in there?

What intrigued me even more deeply was the possibility of the numbers of undisturbed sites in this beautiful northern France countryside—not to mention the possibilities around Europe overall. How many families have resurrected the oral tradition of storytelling and sharing the family history for the youth with the story of their soldier killed in WWII? Do his remains and those of his crew mates rest in peace on a family farm in the cider region of France, memorialized by six yucca plants to mark his grave?

A Feast Fit for Kings

 

[Note: pics have been posted to Facebook, as the blog is not working well with pics at the moment.]

 The memorial ceremony was somber, emotional, and overwhelming. At one point, when the members of the family walked through what can best be identified as the receiving line, we were all crying. We each walked the lines of the gentlemen representing the French military forces, shaking their hands and thanking them for their sacrifices and efforts during WWII. Their families were being held hostage in their own homes and in some situations forced to commit unspeakable acts. At risk of death, these families cared for and buried the American soldiers who died all over the Normandie countryside, and these members of the French guard were highly decorated and respected gentlemen. But on this afternoon, this one military crash brought us all together. THEY were crying; we were crying. This experience was certainly one of the most memorable during all of the weekend's events.Then, when the trumpet for Taps sounded its final wail and the officers marched the French and American colors to the village's community room, the emotions surrounding this event moved from somber, heavy ones to being light, festive and celebratory in nature. Let the feast begin!

I would describe this little village's community room as a mix between Chadwick's community room and   Ozark's pavilion. We started the celebration and merriment in the pavilion, and for lunch the community moved to the indoor room. But what a showing of hospitality! The starters included local ciders as an aperitif, potato chips and peanuts while everyone gathered and visited, giving the facilitators enough time to finalize the finishing touches for the presentation of their welcoming us to their village. As you'll see from the
pics, the celebrants drank a few bottles of the cider. If you're not familiar with these apple and pear ciders from this region of France, find some somewhere--Springfield's International Wine Center should have a few bottles, but for the Wisconsin folks, I have no clue if Festival or other markets there might have these. I plan to search when I return.

The meal was delightful, with a salad course (after the starter) and the main course. When we asked for the recipes for the various salads, the women were honored. Carrots, apples, potatoes, couscous, tomatoes, celery (block? not stalk...) and breads were part of the starters. Ham, roast (Sweetie, you would have been proud: I think the beef was freshly butchered out back, the meat cuts were prepared on the premises, and only a hint of cooked was evident... This beef was every bit the meaning of bloody rare. Many of the Americans bypassed that platter--including me.) and green beans. After the plates were cleared, we were then were treated to fresh, hearty garden lettuce (for digestion, of course) before being provided our cheeses--the three main ones from the Normandie region, no less: bridge-l'eveque, Livarotand and Camembert de Normandie. MMMmmmmm... oh my. But we still weren't ready to conclude the fine dining experience. The community women had also prepared fresh chocolate eclairs. I have had a few heavenly desserts on this journey, and until this point the highlight was the toffee at the castle and a brownie from a patisserie in Lisieux, but those eclairs... those homemade eclairs made for us by these wonderful provincial hosts... those were divine.

There are some meals outside the daily, everyday eating experience one does not forget. Feasts, conversation, friends, the time, the place -- all these combine to build and create a unique memory for that festive event. Many years ago, I had the opportunity to enjoy a ... all I know is it was too many courses ... delightful hours-long meal with friends from Italy and Argentina. My German friends have always shared with me the art of conversation and dining, and now the French have outdone themselves in preparing, hosting, and sharing a meal in the means it was intended: for a family and community to gather and share, to build friendships and memories. And those were exactly the results that came from this very fine meal fit for kings. Once we get the recipes, we'll share! I've put my request in for the eclairs...