Sometimes, I wonder about the American people. Sometimes, I wonder what makes them American when I hear them say that they don't like it here. I listen to them talk shit about each other. I see rude gestures towards each other while driving. I hear yelling at all hours. I live in one of the most beautiful places in the country, where people come from all over the world to see it. When I was a child, my father spent every one of his vacation days taking my mother, sister, and me to see as much of this wild country as he could. 

When I was a little girl, I saw a picture of an orca jumping with snowcapped mountains behind. As a small child born and raised in Maryland, I found this concept inconceivable. *name that film*

"Daddy, is this picture real?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"But how can there be mountains so close to the sea?" I asked, "And where do orcas live?"

"Orcas live all over the world." He said, standing from a bent knee, stepping beside the maps on the wall. 

I was homeschooled, and our house was full of maps and photos from National Geographic magazines.
"And as for mountains by the sea… do you remember when we went to Maine?" He asked.

"But those don't have snow all year. I can see in this photo that there are leaves on the trees and snow on the mountains." I said, delivering my point.

"Yes, it is true. Here on the East Coast, the hurricanes have shaped the land. These mountains, the Appalachian Mountains, are the oldest in the country. Some of the oldest mountains in the world."

My mind filled with another question as I imagined tectonic plates pushing against each other, creating mountains. The harder they push, the taller the mountains. "But, the Rocky Mountains?

"Height has nothing to do with age. In fact, it indicates that those mountains are even younger because they are still being pushed upwards. The Appalachian Mountains are like me, starting to shrink with age."

I looked at my father, strong as a bull; I did not like imagining him shrinking or being small.

"Over several hundred thousand years, hurricanes have made their way up and tapered off the further north they go as the cold air pushes them away. Leaving the land undamaged."

I could see the years of living through and cleaning up after hurricanes in his eyes.

"But out here." He said, sweeping his arm through the air, across the map until his hand reached "Washington."

"Not D.C." I said, "The real Washington has mountains?" I asked

"Huge, snow-capped mountains, rainforests, beaches, active volcanos and orcas. There may even be a few wolves left in the Olympics."

I stood next to him as though we had been transported to that mystical place and returned to our living room simultaneously.

"I wanna go there," I said.

"You will love it, sweetheart."

My father didn't make it out here with me, but just as I felt we were standing by that rainforest river in the middle of the living room in Maryland all those years ago, I feel him here now. I know the name of that river. I went swimming there, and I fell in love. 

I know he was in love with nature and all the beautiful places in this country.

My father missed the draft by the skin of his teeth, but I had another fatherly figure who wasn't so fortunate. 

My father was a hippy. Frank was a businessman and a monster.

One was allowed to love the land, and the other was forced to defend it.

I have a good buddy who served and managed to make it out without ever needing to take a life.

Both of my grandfathers served. My mother's father, who lived with us until he passed, served in the Navy during peacetime. My father's father served as an ambulance driver in North Africa during WW2. He never spoke of his time there; he died of a heart attack at 52, and I never got to meet him.

I have seen, felt, known, and come to understand the lasting effects of war. All in the name of our country. Of our nation under God. 

So, when I get to go swimming at that special spot on the river with my gal friends, and I hear one of them say,

"Go away! We don't want your war!"

I look up to see her yelling at military planes and think, what an ignorant girl.

Photo by Lindsay Terrell