When I bike along this road which was part of the northern boundary of the massive reservation (it’s still huge– it covers a lot of ground) I think about the MPs who drove along it, keeping the place secure. And having no idea what they were guarding while World War II raged.
Then I pass one of the old family cemeteries that predated the facility. And I see ruins like this– stone stairs leading to a house that is no longer there. Generations lived in those hills. They had scant weeks to get out. But I think of the people who went up and down these stairs and what their hopes and dreams and fears were, and it makes life seem rather important.
Just some Sunday thoughts.