the sound of taps played on a bugle or trumpet signals the end of a day , or the end of a life... at least for the last century and a half. Last Saturday I had my most recent moment with the song . Join me as I recall the end of the anniversary celebration of Taps at Arlington National Cemetery. The culmination of this event was over 200 buglers and trumpeters playing Taps in unison at Noon. the plan was that no matter where you were in the cemetery on that day you would be able to hear the song played.
As my spot for this event I chose a bench in the hedge enclosed grove which once marked the center of Mary Custis -Lee's prized rose garden . In the center of this grove is a large granite monument and beneath it in a masonry vault rest the remains of 2111 union and confederate unknowns from the Battle of Bull run and along the route to Rappahannock.
as the moment drew near a bugler and a trumpeter dressed in garb representing the civil war stood at the ready in front of the memorial. the gentlemen saluted each other , then then the monument.... just as the gentle murmur of taps began to play . melding with the sounds of tourists feet crunching on the gravel paths around Arlington house. the strident chords began to swell as other musicians joined the moment ... its sounds drifting through the gentle swish of the hedges around us ... the birds chirping their own notes along with the song . a gentle breeze wafted through the bushes bringing yet more buglers playing the song as everyone's version of noon came upon them
. I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun ... all i could see was the red gold light filtering through my eyelids ... as i breathed deeply the scent of brackish water from the tidal basin mingling with the freshly mowed grasses and the earthy scent of the fertilizer and mulches being applied in the garden just steps near our grove... a jet cruised over head the sounds of its engines drowning out the echoing of the song coming to my ears in waves ... Just as the engines faded the bugler in the grove began to play as his noon struck his watch ... I shivered as the tones echoed off the granite tomb ... mixing with the other musicians in the hills and valleys of the cemetery .. thousands of souls and stories rising up to the sound of the song ...as the last of the bugler's notes sounded into the air ... the trumpeter began .. each note gently melding into the next joining in the air with the other players in the cemetery .... as his last notes floated over the grove .. i opened my eyes .... and smiled ... a moment 150 years in the making ... honoring thousands of men and women ... as perfect as anything I could have imagined... I got up from the bench and exited the grove .. leaving behind the 2000 men who rested there .. as the last of the musicians notes faded into the stones ....
Wonderful description! It must have been amazing!
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