Recently I was in Colorado and drove past what was “Camp Hale”, which is where the US 10th Mountain division trained during WW2. There are a few nice historical signs on the site for those that don’t know the history of this division, which fought in Alaska (when it landed on an island recently evacuated by the Japanese) and Italy during WW2. Here is an excellent chronology of the division in WW2. On page 30 of that PDF, you can see the casualty figures for the 10th Mountain Division – over 25% of the division’s men (including replacements) became casualties during the late 1944-early 1945 battles in Italy.
Personal Narrative
In Town
I’ll be in Chicago on Wednesday. I don’t entirely know what my schedule will be yet, but anyone interested in getting together for a few beers in the afternoon or evening please leave drop me a line at my gmail account: perestrelka91.
Report Relayed from Tehran
I just received the appended message in e-mail from a friend in Europe. I have left it entirely unedited. Right now I feel so grateful that we don’t have to do things like this here. Never forget those who died for your freedom.
Farmer Dan – Hay and Pork
A little while ago, I purchased a small parcel of land, just under 20 acres. This was a big deal for me, as my whole life I have pretty much banked every single penny I have ever made, preferring to “live small”. On this parcel are a few buildings, one of which we are rehabbing (the old barn). Oh the surprises you run into when rehabbing an ex-dairy farm. But those stories are for another day.
As Much As Anyone Who Wasn’t Blood
My mother-in-law died Easter morning. My husband had gone across the street to ask her when she wanted to come over for dinner; we had just bought some aids she had long resisted believing they were a sign of dependence she wasn’t quite ready to accept. But by now she was blind and a new wheel chair, for instance, would make crossing the street safer and faster than with her halting steps which had slowed during the last year. She would have been 91 in a couple of months; she had held her great grandson in her arms. She had a quiet life one of those people who defined herself as much by what she wouldn’t do as by what she did. But it was, nonetheless, full with a richness of purpose and accomplishment.