The Poppies Blow

Neptune Park, St. Simons Island, Georgia, May 30, 2011.

It’s a magnificent Golden Isles afternoon. What appears to be a couple thousand of us are here in remembrance of Memorial Day. We’re here to pay tribute to those who have died in wars, present and past, and in service to this mighty nation.

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our places, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.”

The annual event is organized by the Island Rotary Club. The Golden Isles Community Band has blown the dust from the militaristic music of John Phillip Sousa. With some imagination one might even get a glimpse of him directing the band. They play with enthusiasm, and we become band conductors, waving our tiny American flags in time with the music. Mick Jagger would be out of place here.

Picnics are everywhere. Our ravenous crowd numbers twenty-five. We stand around several tables covered with red cloths and gorge on fried chicken, pineapple and pimento cheese sandwiches on white bread (yes, the edges removed in true Southern tradition!), and more: deviled eggs, guacamole dip, fruit and numerous desserts.

The entire front lawn of Neptune Park is covered with people, mostly those with gray hair. We all face the rotunda, where bricks, engraved with names, honor the beloved who are deceased. In its center is a flagpole. Atop it waves high and free our flag, a symbol of our national unity. It is the central focus of all eyes.

As the day drifts down towards dusk, a Spirit, floating on the breeze, moves among the crowd. It swells, then hushes, and blows again. Stillness descends intermittently upon the multitude, then disappears. And returns again upon the breeze. In the distance the voices of children sing, voices not yet aware of the solemnity of the event.

“We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.”

The Spirit blows amid graves everywhere. We, the living, are restless; they, the honored dead, are in peace beneath the ground. Names, dates and events mark their final sites. Their names and our memories are what survive…along with the ideals of Freedom which we hold dear. This is what will survive, even we who now live…we have only borrowed the dust.

Like them, we live for a purpose…not so much for a nationalistic creed, but for a common devotion for freedom and brotherhood. We hear this theme from our Speaker, General Carl Mundy, Jr., Retired USMC, as he delivers a stirring message that memorializes the occasion.

Twilight approaches. The crowd becomes breathlessly silent as the Retirement of the Colors is conducted. The flag is lowered, gently folded, itself soon to be laid to rest in the darkness of the night. But on the morrow’s dawn it will rise again. It will again fly high and proudly across this nation. It will again personify our nation’s glorious past, and honor our enduring commitment to freedom.

The Spirit is restless in this place. It continues to blow as twin trumpets sound taps. The day is finished. Picnic baskets, tables and chairs are packed, and the crowd disperses, somber in the memory of the occasion. Yet it departs unsettled, knowing that our nation’s struggle for freedom continues.

“Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep…”

Yes, the spirits of our departed comrades are watching to see if we will join them in the preservation of our ideals. For now, it’s up to us to meet these challenges. Will we?

America has ascended because we have transcended. We cling to higher goals, to more lofty ideals, and we do not consider death as an end…but a means of freedom. Dare we abandon these transcendent aspirations that have been so costly to preserve?

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow…”

And in Neptune Park on this day, the voices of our children’s spirits sing the sweet song of freedom!

Bud Hearn
June 2, 2011

(Thanks to John McCrae for the use of his poem, “In Flanders Fields”)