A Wake-Up Call: The Re-Enactment of the Battle of Lexington

Redcoats fire their muskets

One lantern in Old North Church meant that the British were marching on land.  Paul Revere galloped on horseback from Boston to Lexington. He spread the alarm, awakening every house along the road.

I was warned to awaken by the alarm on my cell phone. I knew, “The British were coming, get down to the town green.”  And by the time I arrived at 5:00 AM, a huge crowd had gathered.

In Massachusetts, The Battle of Lexington is re-enacted yearly on Patriot’s Day, on the very ground were it first took place in 1775. From the actions on that field the Revolutionary War began.

Today locals participate in costume, some taking on the role of  anarchists or members of the British regiment.  Many children also dress in colonial garb. They stay with their mothers, running onto the battle field after the conflict to tend the wounded, while other young lads beat drums in the corps.

The battle has been staged for 38 years to honor those who fought for our freedom. The scene is solemn, the crowd is hushed and the participants act with pride. The pre-dawn ceremonies begin with an announcer recounting the story of April 19, 1775, the fateful day of “the shot heard round the world .”

The British Regiment

The actual fight was very brief; the colonists were confused and lacked leadership. The British regiment marched in unison, their lobster red coats piercing the early morning fog.

No one knows who fired the first shot, but after it was heard, mayhem broke out on the green and the local militia retreated. They were defeated in the skirmish, fell back and regrouped.

In 1775, many colonists traveled to nearby Concord to join other rebels. There they surprised and over powered the British. All day, they attacked the troops along what is now called Battle Road .

As I watched from the back of the crowd, the young children around me gasped at the face to face combat and rifle smoke. The teens were drawn into eye witnessing living history.  But, I was awestruck by the bravery of the fighting men.  The courage and bravado these first Americans showed was immense; they truly were passionate in their beliefs.

The crowd of thousands, present at the early hour, bespoke of their reverence for the day. I viewed the event as a wake up call, one that left me with a clearer understanding of Patriot’s Day and the debt we owe our forefathers.

The Boston area offers a variety of activities on this holiday weekend:  the annual Boston marathon, Red Sox games, the re-enactment of Paul Revere’s ride and the battles at Lexington and Concord. However, the small town of Lexington (population 30,000) deserves to be especially proud of the dignity preserved during their event. The re-enactment at dawn runs on time, remaining faithful to history. I was humbled and honored to stand on sacred ground.

Meeting the volunteer actors after the battle

Central Florida ~ I Went Skydiving

Skydiving wasn't even on my Bucket List: that list of things to do before you die.

But here I stand: feet together, toes on the edge, knees bent, arms crossed and hands grasped to the straps. "3-2-1-GO," yells my instructor who is harnessed to me and out we jump- plummeting at 125 mph toward earth. I kick my feet backward, close my eyes for a second or two, and open my heart. I want to enjoy this.

Immediately an immense wave of butterflies hits my stomach and then, just the rush of the wind. Opening my eyes, I see the world 14,500 feet below, and it's beautiful.

I've just jettisoned out a Beechcraft King Air at the Florida Skydiving Center in Lake Wales, Florida. Before the jump, Buzz Bazzoni, head instructor, explained the procedures and safety rules to fellow students and me.

"Oh my gosh," I scream, smiling now. "This feels amazing." Not the most profound statement, but hey, I'm freefalling in my first tandem skydive, adrenaline pumping.

My senses tingle, on extra alert, reminiscent of the day my car was hit and spun in an accident. Each sensation registers simultaneously. I see, feel, smell, hear and taste the air as it pushes on my cheeks, making them flutter like a comic book character.

Pat Martin, my certified Zen-like guru, releases the drogue chute, a small thin parachute meant to slow down tandem jumpers, so their combined weight doesn't allow them to fall too quickly. Later the drogue is used to deploy the main parachute.

What an odd sensation being tightly conjoined to a cute guy, his body smashed against my back. No, it's not sexual but actually quite comforting.

Pat had to record at least 500 jumps and spend three years in the sport before he could receive his ratings and qualify as a Tandem Master. He must also be FAA medically certified, like a pilot. I feel I am in good hands.

Liz Sass, a videographer I hired at the facility, free falls as well. She approaches from midair, diving down. How she does this I don't understand. She reaches out and grabs my hand, called “docking”, then swings me around. I'm having fun and not feeling scared. Liz makes me wave, throw a kiss and generally keeps me busy while I drop two miles. I feel like Peter Pan flying over hundreds of lakes in Central Florida. Gee, there's a sports stadium and over there, the orange juice factory.

Pat checks the altimeter on his wrist. He does this often. He uses his fingers to count down, informing Liz when he will open the chute.

Shazam. Up we shoot like a human champagne cork, as if rebounding off a trampoline. The big Set-400 colorful canopy opens and billows above us.

Now our bodies hang more vertical. Margie Barron describes it, "as a bird on the thermals, just floating down." The breeze keeps us aloft. I feel almost weightless, except for the pull from the chute on my shoulders and from the harness. It's lovely up here.

Wispy, marshmallow puff clouds dot the air. Pat announces that we are about to go through one. Whoosh. I've always wanted to jump on a cloud.

Slowly we circle around; I see the drop zone, a grassy field. I look down and get a bit dizzy and queasy. I decide to gaze at the horizon instead.

I try to lift my legs out in front of me, like I must do for landing. Dang–a rather challenging task; should have done my ab exercises. Pat says to hold on to the ribbing on my jumpsuit, which makes it much easier.

We're now close enough to yell to others on the ground; they respond with cheers. We zoom down and softly bump the ground, the heel of my shoes digging up a divot of grass. Whew- I take a deep breath in and let it out with relief.

Liz runs up to interview me. "What was the best moment?'

"When the parachute opened."

"Did Pat take good care of you?"

"Absolutely."

"What are you going to do next?"

"Go to Disney World."

Well, actually I am going to call my family and tell them I jumped out of a plane three miles up and survived. Not only that- I loved it. They had no idea I went parachuting and will certainly be surprised, as I have a fear of heights.

"Hello, Jay. Guess what I just did? I went skydiving," I cry.

My husband replies, "No you did not, you would never do that."

My teenage daughter grabs the phone. "Mom, are you crazy? What were you thinking?"

My head is still in the clouds. I feel as thrilled as I did when I gave birth to each of my four children. Hormones zip through my body, the euphoria continues. I am empowered.

Yes, I earned lots of bragging rights; but when the newness dies, and the story has been told, it comes down to personal power. I opened myself to the world and took a chance. I soared to a new place and was fulfilled. I have touched the sky, found joy and I am alive.

Leonardo da Vinci, that Renaissance genius said, ", once you have tasted flight, you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you long to return."

And I do.

www.FloridaSkydiving.com

Colorado ~ Doggone Good Ride

Experience the Rush of a Mush in beautiful Colorado

By Debi Lander

Krabloonik Kennels

Welcoming howls start a barking chain that reverberates through the valley and tickles my spine. Mushers- burly dogsled trainers and drivers-manipulate dog legs through openings in a harnesses; their motions reminiscent of children dressing Barbie dolls. Tugging here, repositioning a strap there, then straightening out the lines. As preparations continue, blankets cocoon riders, like babies swaddled into bunting.

Hike,” shouts John Holly and the team proceeds, inching forward. Holly, our charismatic musher, stands on the back of the platform controlling the canines with the tone and intensity of his voice.

“Lez go, lez go,” he slurs and the pack picks up speed.

I’m squished against the back of a hickory dogsled at Krabloonik Kennels, tucked in the mountains of Snowmass, Colorado, near Aspen. My companion, Chris, sits between my outstretched legs, practically on top of me. No, we’re not carrying medicine to save a town, like the Disney movie, Balto, or racing in the Iditarod. We’re simply experiencing the ancient form of transportation that helped sustain the Inuit population.

Most often, ten to twelve mixed-breed Huskies run two across, in harnesses tethered to a central tug line. Usually a male and female work side by side, however, our group contains only nine. Pal, the wheel dog, controls the rear, muscling the weight of two. The pairs closest to the sled pull the hardest, while the lead duo master the driver’s commands. The middle of the pack members, I’m told, include good followers or dogs-in-training.

A sled, two adult passengers and the driver typically weigh-in at 550 pounds. So, according to my calculations, each dog pulls approximately 50- 60 pounds, close to their own weight, over the ten mile journey. Hardcore doggies!

Starting Out

We skim over a crest and cross a catwalk, my heart racing as I peer over the trail's steep edge. Then, we plod on through Brush Creek Valley, darting through flakes the size of silver dollars that coat our oversized parkas, mukluk boots and ski goggles.

“Haw Betty,” Holly calls, requesting a turn to the left. The well-trained team moves in unison, proceeding round a bend. Chris and I sense a familiar and unpleasant odor- fresh dog poop. Alonzo is letting go as he runs along. We let go with giggles.

Onward, the sled passes rushing streams and abandoned ranches; only specks of hunter green pine and spruce peeking through. We’re in the white world of Narnia. Being a Floridian, I’m enthralled with the shimmery frosting on the slender branches of the aspen trees.

About five miles into our ride, the group slows to the command “whoa.” Dan Mac Eachen, Krabloonik’s owner, explains, “The dogs would run until they drop without a forced break. They’re pack animals exhilarated by their daily outing.”

Coated with Snow

Hopping off the back of the sled, Holly approaches us with a command, "Sit," and Chris and I dare not move an inch. Then he asks for my camera, "Smile," and clicks our picture entombed in the winter fantasyland. Just who's trained here?

We scramble out of the sled and are encouraged to pet the panting animals. Affectionate Glue, at the front of the line, licks my face, as I stroke his back. “Good doggy,” I tell him. According to Dan, lead dogs are capable of working all positions, but, by instinct, are born leaders. And contrary to common beliefs, leads are not the biggest, strongest or meanest. Glue, in fact, is the smallest of the team.

While sled dogs make excellent pets, these fellas are not domesticated and certainly not housebroken. Each of the 250 in the extended family has their own little hut with a twelve foot chain, allowing a limited roam. Mushers clean all the kennels and maintain their team.

Dan has been breeding hybrids for Krabloonik from three original sled dog types: Malamute, Eskimo and Siberian, often referred to as Huskies. He mates them with Pointers, dogs with shorter hair. The mixed breeds seem to manage the Colorado summer better than Alaskan Huskies, who over-heat.

Our tail waggers wait impatiently as we cram back into the sled. They turn their heads toward the musher, begging the command “hike” to start the return journey. We’re off, then suddenly the sled stops, rounding a corner. Seems to be time for a synchronized leg lift -a team pee into the now amber snow bank. “Do they always behave like this?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” says our driver laughing again, “a favorite spot.”

As we approach home, enthusiastic yelping returns; the call of the wild from the waiting family greeters.

“Have you seen the newest members?” Holly asks. Nellie has three young puppies that meander at will, charming guests. All newbies hang free until serious training begins around 18 months.

Debi & Pup

I nab a pup with cobalt eyes and am smitten; but then, I've always been a sucker for puppies and babies. I savor his distinctive puppy breath, full of delicious new life. Doggone it, I hate that my ride and visit are over.

This article was featured in The BaseCamp Colorado, Basecamp Publishing, Volume 2, Number 8 & also online at BaseCampColorado.com. Read more about the Krabloonik and Aspen at Grandparents.com.

If you go:

Krabloonik Kennels and Restaurant, Snowmass, Colorado, http://www.krabloonik.com/

Winter half-day dog sled rides include a three course gourmet lunch in Krabloonik’s rustic log cabin restaurant. Cost per adult is $265. Summer kennel tours affordably priced at $6.00.

Snowmass Village, a 25-square-mile mountain town, neighbors historic Aspen, CO. Year round activities abound in thee heart of the Elk Mountains and the Maroon Bells Wilderness area, formerly hunted and fished by the Ute Indians.

Winter features 147 miles of downhill ski trails, 43 miles of Nordic cross-country terrain, an outstanding ski school and numerous family activities. Lift tickets and free shuttles connect Snowmass with Aspen Mountain, Buttermilk and Aspen Highlands ski areas.

Summer highlights include music and movie festivals, rodeos, horseback riding, hiking and biking.

« Previous Page