St. Vith, Belguim
After a great weekend in the Alps, we had a long car ride ahead of us to get back to Brian's home, especially by European terms. Eight hours of driving out of the Alps, back-tracking through France, then Germany, and landing in Holland for a week at Brian's place was on the agenda for our Sunday.
But first, there was one last thing I felt like I needed to do on this journey. Before our trip, my dad and grandmother helped me research where my Grandpa Soapy Zapf had been captured during the Battle of the Bulge, somewhere along the Belguim/German border, and I felt the need to make an attempt to find the spot, being so close to where he had once been. My grandfather had been only briefly stationed (like a few days) in St. Vith, Belguim before marching a few kilometers to the east along a ridge just inside the German territory. This was where the Battle of the Bulge took place. Knowing very little about the details of his capture and not sure of what, if anything, would be there in remembrance of his division, we thought we would take the small detour (12 kilometers) to see what we could find.
Our first attempt to find information was where we found the actual ridge in which the battle took place. We did a little research on Brian's phone and sure enough, as we entered the tiny little village my grandmother described, the ridge was clearly visible in the distance and was eerily similar to a landscape I could envision in my own little hometown in Littleport, IA.
With it being Sunday and all else quiet and closed in town, we decided to move along to St. Vith, Belguim, just 3 km away. As we approached, I could feel my throat thicken and my eyes swell. What if there was nothing there? Or, what if there was something there and I couldn't handle the emotion of it all? Our car became quiet as I crawled about the streets of St. Vith---feeling silly that I could even think to find anything remotely interesting without some kind of reference guide. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny sign indicating a WWII Memorial. Taking a quick turn, we doubled back, and sure enough, on the lawn of a church marking the place where my grandfather had once been, it was there. It wasn't anything extraordinary, yet it was incredibly powerful for me. My grandfather had been part of something so profound that it should be etched in stone, a world away from our small town in little Iowa........and it was almost like I could feel him.
But first, there was one last thing I felt like I needed to do on this journey. Before our trip, my dad and grandmother helped me research where my Grandpa Soapy Zapf had been captured during the Battle of the Bulge, somewhere along the Belguim/German border, and I felt the need to make an attempt to find the spot, being so close to where he had once been. My grandfather had been only briefly stationed (like a few days) in St. Vith, Belguim before marching a few kilometers to the east along a ridge just inside the German territory. This was where the Battle of the Bulge took place. Knowing very little about the details of his capture and not sure of what, if anything, would be there in remembrance of his division, we thought we would take the small detour (12 kilometers) to see what we could find.
Our first attempt to find information was where we found the actual ridge in which the battle took place. We did a little research on Brian's phone and sure enough, as we entered the tiny little village my grandmother described, the ridge was clearly visible in the distance and was eerily similar to a landscape I could envision in my own little hometown in Littleport, IA.
With it being Sunday and all else quiet and closed in town, we decided to move along to St. Vith, Belguim, just 3 km away. As we approached, I could feel my throat thicken and my eyes swell. What if there was nothing there? Or, what if there was something there and I couldn't handle the emotion of it all? Our car became quiet as I crawled about the streets of St. Vith---feeling silly that I could even think to find anything remotely interesting without some kind of reference guide. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny sign indicating a WWII Memorial. Taking a quick turn, we doubled back, and sure enough, on the lawn of a church marking the place where my grandfather had once been, it was there. It wasn't anything extraordinary, yet it was incredibly powerful for me. My grandfather had been part of something so profound that it should be etched in stone, a world away from our small town in little Iowa........and it was almost like I could feel him.
A garden in the central round-about in St. Vith, Belguim.
Quietly, we made our way home.
No comments:
Post a Comment