A tribute to a veteran

As I came down the steps of the little mountain church, I thought what an absolutely gorgeous day. The air was clear and crisp; the sky was a beautiful Carolina blue and there were patches of green grass coming up all over the church yard. As we started around the side of the church, I saw a fence there that separated the church yard from an adjoining pasture. On the far side of the pasture there were two horses. One was a beautiful black and white paint and the other was brown and shiny like a new copper penny with a flowing black mane and tail. They were grazing along trying to find another blade of green grass and seemed completely oblivious to the crowd of people walking along on the other side of the fence.

Some people were talking quietly as we walked along but my eyes were drawn like a magnet to the beauty I could see as I looked up to the mountains in all of their grandeur with the trees growing on them that seemed to rise up and meet the sky. But then as I looked down I thought: Is there such a thing as a beautiful cemetery? Because that is what lay at the foot of those same beautiful and majestic mountains that I had just been admiring – a church yard cemetery.

By then we had reached the tent that covered some chairs and a flag-draped coffin. Most of the family sat down in the chairs there but my husband and I stood outside the tent where we could see and hear the preacher and yet we could also see to the side of us towards the fence. There were seven people standing there at attention who represented the armed services. They all looked really young but their uniforms were spotless right down to their shiny black boots and their white gloves covering them down to their fingertips.

The preacher read some scripture; said a few words and then closed his part of the service with prayer. Everyone’s attention then turned to the uniformed soldiers as they began their part of the service. To my surprise, the horses came running up to the fence. They stopped and stood gazing across to what was taking place just on the other side. They stood as still as two statues during the firing of the volley and while the flag was precisely folded and presented to the mother of the deceased veteran. Even during the haunting melody of T.A.P.S., they did not flinch or move a muscle. But then as the last notes floated away into the wind, they took off at a gallop back across to the other side of the pasture where they returned to munching on grass and were once again seemingly oblivious to the humans on the other side of the fence.

If I live to be a hundred, I hope I never forget that beautiful, crisp Mountain day when the soldiers saluted my cousin James with a volley, a folded flag and a bugle and then; the horses, as they paid tribute with their own unique and majestic dignity!!!

This story is a true account of the events that took place at the funeral of my cousin, James Gwyn, who lived in Banner Elk, NC. James was in the Air Force during the Vietnam War and was home on leave when he had a life altering accident. As he attempted a fancy dive into the river, he broke the vertebrae in his neck. He was never able to walk again and had a life expectancy of 10 years, according to his

attending physicians. His parents and brothers took such good care of him; however, that he lived 25 years.

So, this story is a tribute not only to James, but to his parents, Julius and Ethel Gwyn and his brothers, Ronnie and Allen.