Our family moved to Manhattan from the northwestern part of Illinois in 1975 when my husband accepted a job at a local bank. Ken and I were excited about the move, our 3-year-old daughter wasn’t actually aware of what was happening, and our Golden Retriever was happy to go wherever the family went.

It was our son, Kirk, who balked at the move. He was part-way through first grade, and he didn’t want to leave his school or his friends. He turned 7 only days before the movers arrived. Even a birthday didn’t soothe his ruffled feathers. His world had been turned upside down.

Some days, I’m preoccupied with the animals that live their lives all around us but are seldom seen or heard. Many people are not even aware of their presence. I’m thinking of the racoon, deer mouse, hispid cotton rat, bobcat, chimney swift, or the short-tailed shrew, a small voracious and venomous mammal that also lives in our area. These organisms owe their lack of publicity to being solitary, shy, quiet, nocturnal, or relatively small—or all of the above.

As is normal for this time of year, we’ve had some strong wind days during the past three to four months. But, just as for heat, or its absence, cold—or for the force of gravity-- we know the existence of wind only by its actions. No one has seen the wind, but “when the trees bow down their limbs, the wind is passing by.” 

Today is the 80th anniversary of the huge, costly, and ultimately successful allied D-Day land assault on Hitler’s Fortress Europe. Although mere words never can remotely capture what happened that fateful day in June 1944, I want to share a powerful experience that my dear late wife, Imogene, and I once had there on Omaha Beach.

One morning in July 1990, we stood on the 100-foot-high cliff overlooking Omaha Beach. Even with a week in Paris (our favorite city) and 10 days in our beloved Ireland ahead of us, we assumed this moment would be the emotional highpoint of this trip.