It’s April and we have visitors. First to arrive was Cherie’s mother Valerie. She comes every year, flying in from her home in the northwest of the United States, and it’s always a joy to have her with us. Val also visits her daughter Kasi and granddaughter Finn in South Africa once a year. Just thinking about doing those flights makes me exhausted. Ugh! I don’t know how she does it, but we are grateful that she does.

As a bonus, our good friends from Seattle are visiting France and they are spending a few days hanging out with us as well. How lucky we are! You may remember from an earlier post that they had visited us not long after we moved to France. They, too, have discovered how wonderful this country is. Together, the five of us have been stuffing ourselves into one of our small cars and exploring the area. When we arrive somewhere and the doors fly open, it looks like a clown car in the circus as we pile out.

This day, we all decided that a visit to the D-Day beaches of Normandy would be a worthwhile goal. None of us had ever been to see them. I am a bit ashamed to say that I had been avoiding it even though the site is less than a two-hour drive northwest from Fougères. This is mostly because I knew it would be a very emotional thing for me. Even though I have no personal connection to the events that took place there, the D-Day landings have always figured large in my imagination – both as a representation of the supreme humanity of the men who braved that assault, as well as the absolute horror of their experiences during that effort. It shakes me to my core just to think of it. Nevertheless, we all owe it to those who struggled at such personal cost against tyranny and hatred to remember why they so selflessly cast themselves into peril.

We first made our way to Omaha Beach, one of two sectors assaulted by American forces as part of the assault on the Atlantic Wall – a series of fortifications which Hitler’s military had raised to defend the Western European territories they had seized. At first glance, it looks like any other beach in Normandy. Long stretches of sand periodically interrupted by sheer bluffs jutting out into steel-grey waters. But look a little closer and you begin to notice markers along the promenades, in the waters and upon the bluffs. Silent memorials – from small plaques, to towering obelisks – telling of the momentous events which occurred on these shores.

The landing beaches are somber places, heavy with the pall of countless tragedies. I found that, almost immediately, I had to separate myself from the others as tears welled up in my eyes. The countless photographs and newsreel footage accumulated over a lifetime of reading and watching documentaries about D-Day assaulted my imagination. The cold sadness of all the humanity wasted upon these shores cannot be avoided. Nor should it be. It’s just too important.

But there is also a certain energy in these places, echoes of almost unimaginable courage, of indefatigable determination which thrum and vibrate through your body with each crashing wave as though the landing craft are still ramming the beaches. As much as I mourn the carnage that was wrought, I also cannot help but marvel at the innumerable acts of superhuman resolve and ingenuity that allowed the Americans and their British and Canadian allies to push forward against such withering defenses. Seeing the ocean, the beaches and the cliffs in person brings an entirely new appreciation of the achievements wrought on that day and the days which followed.

After walking along Omaha beach for a time, we bundled into the car again and drove westward to Pointe du Hoc. This headland with 30 meter (98 feet) cliffs is situated between what were the Utah and Omaha sectors of the invasion. Under constant fire, an American Ranger battalion scaled the sheer cliffs with ropes and ladders, assaulting entrenched german positions above. A well-developed trail leads along the top of Pointe du Hoc, winding through still-visible bomb craters and the network of concrete operations and artillery bunkers from which the German troops attempted to repel the assault. Standing on those cliffs and seeing how thoroughly entrenched were their foes, the objective set for the Rangers looks utterly impossible. Of the 200 men sent forth, the battalion suffered 135 dead and wounded in two days of fighting. A herculean victory, achieved at great cost.

Emotionally wrung out, the five of us sought some distraction in a hearty lunch. Further westward we found the small town of Grandcamp-Maisy. It is right on the seaside and possesses a nice little enclosed harbor. We were lucky to find an excellent bistro/brasserie (Chez Charl’au) where they kindly extended their lunch service for us. Several good plates of fish and chips, a burger, and a very tasty duck confit landed on our table. Unlike the Nazis, we surrendered to the invading food immediately – and enjoyed every minute of it!

Back at Omaha Beach, we ended our day trip with a visit to one of the many (many) museums in the area dedicated to the D-Day landings. This one, the Musée Memorial d’Omaha Beach, was quite nice. It houses numerous displays of equipment used by all of the soldiers, sailors, airmen, nurses and resistance fighters involved in the events of June 6th, 1944. There are also many displays of personal accounts of those present during D-Day, bringing out details which one doesn’t normally hear or read about. A small theater shows a short documentary about the preparations for the invasion, the events on those terrible days of assault, and the aftermath. It was all very interesting and affecting.

Although it feels a bit awkward to describe it in such a way, we all had an enjoyable day. Immensely thought-provoking, we felt that we had all completed an important pilgrimage of sorts. Each in his and her own way, we paid a heartfelt tribute to all those who paid so dearly to ensure a better future. I am so glad that we were able to do it.

Lastly, but not by any means the least, I would like to pay a special tribute to Earl Gish. He was Val’s uncle and Cherie’s great uncle. It turns out that he drove landing craft which delivered soldiers to Omaha and Utah beaches on that fateful day. He braved unrelenting enemy fire from the shore as he directed his craft back and forth from ship to sand. Earl almost never talked about his participation. Indeed, most of his family never even knew he had been involved in D-Day. I was privileged to have met him. I thought of him particularly often as I stood looking out at the waves crashing against the Normandy beaches. I think we all were. Thank you, Earl.