... Back In Time

Utah Beach

"They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate." -- President Franklin D. Roosevelt

German Gun on German Bunker

I grew up with some stellar teachers back in York, teachers I'm forever indebted to.  Even prior to that though, I was fortunate enough to grow up under the influence and tutelage of our aunt and uncle, Jack and Mary Alice.  Jack and Mary raised us to deeply appreciate our history, all the way from local to global.  We were raised on the battlefields of Gettysburg, and the museums of DC, and invariably, in our local library.  Jack and Mary never allowed me to accept what I was learning at face value, but compelled me to take the extra steps to discover the context of what I was learning.  I did it begrudgingly at the time, but I now believe it to be one of the most invaluable gifts they've given me; the gift of asking questions, and pursuing answers whatever the cost.

I knew when I came to France that I would have to do Normandy.  It wasn't easily accessible, or on the backpacker circuit, but it was a priority, as much to honor how much I love Jack and Mary as anything.  Normandy is beautiful, and proud, and has a deep, rich history that goes back thousands of years.  It's also a great place to practice my dusty language skills, being a bit removed from the primary tourist circuit.  It wasn't easy to decide on an itinerary in a region so loaded with culture and history, but I ultimately decided on Utah Beach, Omaha Beach, and the American Cemetery.

2 Stranded Ships, Not As Far As They Look, Left

Utah Beach was a bit more west than Omaha, and a lot more deserted.  A few kilometers off the main road through what remained of the picturesque town of Sainte Marie-du-Mont, I drove through pastures of horses before arriving at the beach.  While both beaches are open to the public, I found very few sunbathers here, as compared to Omaha.  It was beautifully designed, and incredibly moving.  At Utah Beach, there remain 2 American landing boats not far from shore, which I honestly didn't know until I arrived.  I tripped over residual concrete fortifications in the sand, and actually felt a little dizzy, standing as I was on such hallowed ground.  I imagined the troops, wearing their 70 pound packs in gnarly weather, running through sprays of bullets up the soggy, bloody beach strewn with their dying friends, and faltered a bit.  It defied even my most active imagination.

US Navy Monument on German Bunker

I settled into the space, as the enormity of where I was just demanded the extra time.  I sat under the dunes and watched children run on the beach, and tractors pull sailboats over the sand bars.  Initially, I was surprised that people holiday here, but then I thought about running around on the battlefields of Gettysburg as a kid, and I sort of understood.  There was something a little redemptive, not irreverent about their giggles, and soccer balls, and picnic lunches.  After all, I'm sure many of them were local, and had families who survived (or didn't) the German invasion followed by the Allied invasion of this very town.  Perhaps this rollicking was exactly part of the freedom that so many of our troops fought and died for.  And I realized, their youthful playfulness was probably one of the most important legacies of that fateful day in 1944, of the entire war altogether.  Somehow the squeals of those jaunty little kids under the shadow of the flags brought it home for me, personalized a war that's always seemed inconceivable.  Humbled once again I gave thanks, and continued on my way.