Learning the Ranks: A Day of Remembrance and Firsts
The 2025 Wreaths Across America at Prospect Hill Cemetery was a day of “firsts” for me. After a year of learning and observing, I officially stepped into the ranks of the Colonel James Wood II Chapter Color Guard.
It was a cold, blustery December morning—the kind of weather that reminds you how much our veterans endured in the field. As we prepared for the ceremony, the camaraderie of the chapter was on full display. Seeing me struggling with the freezing metal flag pole, a fellow member handed me a pair of gloves. Another handed me a warm beanie that matched the period-style headwear of the group; it was a much better fit for the wind than my fedora!
Carrying the Colors
Bearing the chapter flag for the first time was an immense honor. I received some quick “on-the-job” training, and while the wind made it a battle to keep the silk steady, I was proud to stand in formation. Afterward, my compatriots expressed their satisfaction with my performance, though they gave me a helpful tip for next time: keep that flag tucked at a sharp 45-degree angle, even when the gusting wind wants to do otherwise. It’s a work in progress, but I’m learning the discipline of the line.
Honoring the Air Force
One of the most moving parts of the day was being asked to lay a wreath in remembrance of the US Air Force veterans. I’ll admit, I was nervous. Having never served myself, I worried about the protocol—specifically, whether it was appropriate for me to salute the wreath.
However, my nerves were eased by a few things. First, the chapter reminded me that the focus was on the ceremony and the heart of the person honoring the fallen. Second, I thought of my brother, who served in the Air Force. Placing that wreath felt like a tribute to his service as much as to the ancestors I’ve been researching all year. In that moment, the weight of the task felt right.
A Solemn Conclusion
I managed to capture video of the Three-Volley Salute and the haunting notes of Taps echoing across the hills of Front Royal. There is no sound quite like it; it cuts through the cold and demands silence from everyone present.
Standing there at Prospect Hill, I realized how far I’ve come since I first started looking for John Plumley. I am no longer just a name on a chart or a man looking at old records. I am a Compatriot, a Color Guard member, and a caretaker of the memory of those who served. Cold hands and wind-blown flags are a small price to pay for the privilege of standing in that line.
