Hallowed Ground

There is nothing like a long walk through Arlington National Cemetery on a cool, brisk autumn morning. Today we think of this place as the final resting place for those who have served their country bravely and honorably, many of whom gave their final measure of devotion in this service. Yet these rolling hills and vales have a history associated both with the early days of the republic and those years when it was almost ripped apart.

George Washington Parke Custis, the grandson of Martha Washington, who in 1802 inherited a 1,100 acre estate covering the hills of northern Virginia overlooking the Potomac River and the District of Columbia, immediate set out to construct Arlington House (now the Custis-Lee Mansion) which was eventually completed in 1818. In 1831, Mary, his only child, married Robert E. Lee, a young army lieutenant, and the manor house became their home for the next 30 years. It was here that Lee, upon being offered the command of the Union army, resigned his commission in 1861 when he pledged his allegiance to the Confederacy. He and Mary surrendered their home and lands which were then occupied by Federal troops throughout the war. Following the Emancipation Proclamation, a section of the former plantation was the site of Freedman’s Village which housed refugee former slaves as they transitioned to a life of freedom. By 1864 another section was also serving as a burial ground for soldiers who died in hospitals in and around Washington, most of them either unknown or whose families could not afford to ship their remains home. It was officially designated the Arlington National Cemetery that year.

I first came to this place in the summer of 1964 and I still have strong memories of that visit - watching the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and seeing the grave of John F. Kennedy, who had been murdered in Dallas just a few months earlier.
[See: http://lookingtowardportugal.blogspot.com/2010/11/fading-memory-of-camelot.html ]

However, on this most recent visit during which I returned to the Kennedy grave, something I have done several times in the intervening years, I was content to walk the paths alone, taking in the autumn foliage while savoring the respite from the noise and bustle of the city. In the distance I heard the muffled drums escorting another fallen soldier on his or her final journey. A band played "Onward Christian Soldiers" and shortly thereafter, on a nearby hilltop, the haunting chords of "Amazing Grace" by a lone bagpiper. Then the quick, sharp rifle reports of the honor guard echoing across this most hallowed ground. It all seemed timely as I was there to say my own very personal farewell to a dear old friend. I hope he will find the peace he was looking for.