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Peggy Pictures
2425 to 2427--These three pictures are from inside the chapel.
The first are chunks of the pentagon walls that was ripped from the foundation as the plane
struck it.
The second part of the supporting grids that gave way under the fierce impact.
The third is above the altar--an American Eagle sours above the "One Nation Under God"
as our forefathers meant for it to be before we got so politically correct and allowed those
malcontents to want God stricken from our government and lives. |
2432 to2435--The area looking out to the flag impact site is littered with memorials, gifts, and offerings
of thanks to these people who gave their lives so the plane did not hit the capital and
cause more fatalities. |
2417 to 2424--This set of pictures is from out in the flag garden. The first (on the left) is one of
the many monuments different groups have put out there in memory of those who lost their lives. The second (on the
right) is a 7-sided monument with the crew members etched for all time. The third is another monument. The fourth
starts the pictures of the benches, one in each corner of the compass with the names etched in them. The fifth is the
next bench as I moved around the inner flag garden. The sixth is the monument among the Freedom Trees planted to be a
living memorial. The seventh and eighth are the last two benches. At different times during the year family members
of Flight 93 can be found setting on a bench reflecting upon their lost ones and attempting to heal from the
horrible loss.
|
2436--This is the other side of the wall facing away from the impact site. |
2443 to 2445--These pictures are down the road to the bottom of the hill and as close
as you can actually get to the impact site. The one looking back up the hill gives you and idea of how splattered
the plane was.
The wind blows and you can almost hear them whisper…Let's Roll… |
| 2429 to 2431--The first picture is of Flash posing out in the Pennsylvania field by
the impact area. She thought she needed her picture taken. I think she just wanted to impress the truck behind her.
The parking lot is limited on top of a hill overlooking the impact site. Since it was full I
found my parking like others did on the road. |
The national park service is there in a limited capacity. They have a little
'shed' built out there to put the guest book in at night and the binders holding
the black box recording where the conversations from the cockpit are in black and white. I didn't count how many
times the word Allah, Allah, Allah was chanted. As I read the words, and some of it was indecipherable,
it struck me how incomprehensible it was that a person could waste innocent blood in the name
of their own heavenly salvation. I did not/do not understand an Allah that demands innocent
blood. Soldiers fighting for their countries--that I understand. Cold war spies assassinating
another spy--that I understand. But this--this was so cold, so inhuman. |
I have worked and known Muslims and they were never like these deranged men who killed in the
name of their beliefs.
The Park Service is looking after the trash and such, not that there is much of it.
Along the edges of the top of the hill they have put up guard rails to keep people off of the
actual impact site that folks have taken sharpies to in the finest American graffiti
tradition offering up prayers to the lost and their families. Metal magnets stick on the
rails to proclaim "Let Freedom Ring".
No fees are charged to come into the area.
|
I think that one of the things that has really bothered me was the fact that we haven't begun
to built a permanent memorial and designate this area as a national monument. I realize that
the area will encompass 2200 acres of a once productive field that was owned by a farmer. And
I understand he is asking millions of dollars from the government for the area. Most people think this is his
get-rich-quick scheme. I think I understand he does own the property--and he
can't put a cow out there, he can't plow it up to make a cash crop, he can't even run people
off of his land--but he still pays his taxes and has to support his family. So I do
understand he needs to be compensated for land his family has owned for generations and land
he had plans to pass on to his children. I think it is the "lack of" positive moving forward
that I am complaining about. As it stands it may be 2011 before the area is officially
dedicated and finished.
|
While people from all walks of life stroll between the mementos, there is a hushed reverence
of silence with the wind blowing steadily whispered conversations among the visitors.
Kenneth thinks I should buy an expensive camera to zoom in and I LIKE my camera.
If you zoom the second picture you will see a large American flag fluttering in the breeze.
That exact spot is the final resting place of Flight 93 and it and it's cargo of humanity was
scattered over 2200 acres. After 6 years the earth is still scared and not even the weeds
have dared to overgrow this land.
The third is a picture of the wall that people have erected to leave tokens of their esteem.
A collection of every thing from a policeman's badge, a fireman's coat, tags, plaques,
religious artifacts, a cup of Starbuck's coffee, just about everything. Over 20,000 articles
have been left and the park service leaves them there until they need more space. Then it is
thinned out and the stuff is taken to a storage place and will be there until the final
memorial is built to display it all.
|
2414 to 2416--On my way to Quakertown, PA to work for the next few weeks,
I went south out off the road to
pay my respects to those who died on Flight 93 outside of Shanksville, PA. Getting there
wasn't as easy as it looked on the Internet when I was doing my research. I read the
memorials and information and was very comfortable leaving the turnpikes and bailing off
into the scenic Pennsylvania countryside arrayed in the early colors of fall as the leaves
turn from rich greens to yellow and reds. The roads, some of which are a couple of goat
carts wide with only one vehicle allowed on a bridge at a time, were quaint musings into
past Americana. Three storied ancient stone homes with barns bigger than our ML armory
housed massive dairy operations and lazy black and white cows. Fields of maize and feed are
also turning yellow in the autumn sun, fat, ready to harvest. The roads, or paths in some
cases, twisted and turned up and down the gentle hills of the Chestnut and Laurel Ridges
wearing the colors of fall. I was enjoying the views of this backwoodisy American
historical state, Pennsylvania is one of the original 13 colonies rich in Colonial
atmosphere and scenery. |
|
I came upon a chapel at a cross roads and as I thought to try to read the sign out front,
a large group of vehicles approached with lights on and they were followed by 50 or more
Hoggs--I'm talking Harley-Davidson at it's best, roaring by, leaking oil, do-rags swathed
leather dressed bad boys with significant others on the bitch bar. I thought it was a
funeral, with emphasis on fun. I actually slowed down and was looking for a place to pull
over, without putting old Flash into some farmers feed corn field mashing up a bunch of
stocks, and pay my respects. But no place presented and by then I was past the area,
including the cemetery who was to receive a new resident. I drove on gawking at the wonder
of our fantastic nation. How can that silly Man from Indian have ever have told me America
is ugly? I shall have to ream him out good and proper if I ever encounter him again.
As I rode on reveling in this early fall day and the beauty of our grand lands, it dawned
on me perhaps I had over shot my mark or missed a road sign. I have my dear Garmin, whom I
lovingly refer to as the old bitch because every time I stop some where that it doesn't
think I should I get reamed out by this mechanical GPS unit. Naturally I picked out one
with an attitude…but in this case, the Flight 93 has no address because it is located
in a field, hence all I could give the old bitch was a name of a town to take me too. Which
Garmin did. But setting in the crossroads of this handful of clapboard and stone homes I
had no idea where to go next. So calling upon my resources I took myself into a mini mart
The lady was so nice--yes she could tell me where to go (as a lot of people have). All I
had to do was to go to the stop sign and turn left, that took me into Shanksville, PA and
then follow the signs. Okay, easy enough. She said I was within 5 or 6 miles of the place.
While there it dawned on me after driving most of the day, I hadn't had anything to eat
since breakfast and it's 1430 by now. So I spot a aluminum foil swathed hot ham and cheese
wrap in the case--guaranteed to be good. Wrong, well unless you needed a good door stop. Or
a weapon to ward off a mugger. The ham was akin to potted meat and the cheese was a good
glue wrapped up in a collection of flour and something with dark flakes in it that was a
tasteless soggy cardboard. So if you are near Berlin…don't ask directions at the mini
mart. Or get anything to eat--better yet, just strike the Berlin PA off of your top ten
travel destinations to stop at, but the surrounding countryside is beautiful--bless their
hearts. |
I am following these directions and wondering what possessed me to put another bite of that
wrap in my mouth and driving up and down the hills and through dairy farms clotted by
thickened forests and it dawns on me again--5 or 6 miles was probably 10 miles back. I
pulled over in some farmers drive into his field, which I didn't think he would mind and
studied the map and compared it to my GPS system. I was way south of where I was supposed
to be. But there was a road that was ahead that should take me there. So still hungry but
unable to eat another bite, off I go to the next road on the map. I finally figure out I
am going in circles around this place and I still haven't seen any of 'oh yeah, they have
signs up all over directing you there' stuff. So I stop again at what I thought was another
convenience type of store but was a disguised tire store inhabited by 4 helpful men. The
gray haired guy was the ringleader and he was talking in manspeak--"yeah, you go to the
stop sign and turn north and then go 3 1/4 miles to the next stop sign and"…on and on.
I had to stop him and say WHAT stop sign? WHERE is it located? They took me outside and
pointed to the stop sign--just off of their property. And by now that guy thinks he's
talking to a traveling challenged person and is speaking very slowly and carefully telling
me about how to go straight to the next stop sign and be sure to stop at the stop sign
before proceeding into the intersection and…well you get the idea. But I understood it
and off I go. Sure enough, his directions took me right back to this chapel in the road,
surrounded by 50 or more HOGGS! Do-rags be happy! The sign I couldn't see was the Chapel
of Flight 93 Memorial. It seems the bikers of America have made these memorials part of
their road trips and are supporting them, mentally, physically, and monetary.
The chapel is the work of Fr. Alphonse T. Mascherino, D. D., who felt the calling to give
the families of Flight 93 a place to come and remember their loved ones in a religious
setting from a God we love and understand rather than this foreign Allah who demanded
innocent American blood be spilt in an vile and perverse way, about 5 miles from the impact
site. |
It is filled with mementos of the 7 crew members and 33 passengers who made a decision to
fight back after finding out they were on a flight scheduled to impact into Capital
building. It would be very difficult for a loved one to give up any part of their lost
family member, but they have done so because the knowing of these people makes them real
and a part of our families. They aren't just names to me any more. They were flesh and
blood, with wants, needs, and desires who laughed, loved, had plans, and now are a part
of our heritage of America. |
|
The first picture is of the sign I couldn't see. It is simple…so powerful.
The second picture is of a torch type of monument to point the way to the impact site.
The third picture is of state flags garden of stone benches with the names of the honored
etched into each bench. It also contains other monuments to the fallen and prayers for their
assenting into heaven. It is lovely and a very peaceful place.
Across the road is the big local cemetery, but I didn't take a picture. |
2437 to 2440--Along the edge of the hill overlooking the impact site is the flags with angels on them
for each of the ones killed. Their families have added different objects to them. |
|
2425 to 2427--These three pictures are from inside the chapel.
The first are chunks of the pentagon walls that was ripped from the foundation as the plane
struck it.
The second part of the supporting grids that gave way under the fierce impact.
The third is above the altar--an American Eagle sours above the "One Nation Under God"
as our forefathers meant for it to be before we got so politically correct and allowed those
malcontents to want God stricken from our government and lives.
2432 to2435--The area looking out to the flag impact site is littered with memorials, gifts, and offerings
of thanks to these people who gave their lives so the plane did not hit the capital and
cause more fatalities.
2417 to 2424--This set of pictures is from out in the flag garden. The first (on the left) is one of
the many monuments different groups have put out there in memory of those who lost their lives. The second (on the
right) is a 7-sided monument with the crew members etched for all time. The third is another monument. The fourth
starts the pictures of the benches, one in each corner of the compass with the names etched in them. The fifth is the
next bench as I moved around the inner flag garden. The sixth is the monument among the Freedom Trees planted to be a
living memorial. The seventh and eighth are the last two benches. At different times during the year family members
of Flight 93 can be found setting on a bench reflecting upon their lost ones and attempting to heal from the
horrible loss.
2436--This is the other side of the wall facing away from the impact site.
2443 to 2445--These pictures are down the road to the bottom of the hill and as close
as you can actually get to the impact site. The one looking back up the hill gives you and idea of how splattered
the plane was.
The national park service is there in a limited capacity. They have a little
'shed' built out there to put the guest book in at night and the binders holding
the black box recording where the conversations from the cockpit are in black and white. I didn't count how many
times the word Allah, Allah, Allah was chanted. As I read the words, and some of it was indecipherable,
it struck me how incomprehensible it was that a person could waste innocent blood in the name
of their own heavenly salvation. I did not/do not understand an Allah that demands innocent
blood. Soldiers fighting for their countries--that I understand. Cold war spies assassinating
another spy--that I understand. But this--this was so cold, so inhuman.
I have worked and known Muslims and they were never like these deranged men who killed in the
name of their beliefs.
While people from all walks of life stroll between the mementos, there is a hushed reverence
of silence with the wind blowing steadily whispered conversations among the visitors.
Kenneth thinks I should buy an expensive camera to zoom in and I LIKE my camera.
If you zoom the second picture you will see a large American flag fluttering in the breeze.
That exact spot is the final resting place of Flight 93 and it and it's cargo of humanity was
scattered over 2200 acres. After 6 years the earth is still scared and not even the weeds
have dared to overgrow this land.
2414 to 2416--On my way to Quakertown, PA to work for the next few weeks,
I went south out off the road to
pay my respects to those who died on Flight 93 outside of Shanksville, PA. Getting there
wasn't as easy as it looked on the Internet when I was doing my research. I read the
memorials and information and was very comfortable leaving the turnpikes and bailing off
into the scenic Pennsylvania countryside arrayed in the early colors of fall as the leaves
turn from rich greens to yellow and reds. The roads, some of which are a couple of goat
carts wide with only one vehicle allowed on a bridge at a time, were quaint musings into
past Americana. Three storied ancient stone homes with barns bigger than our ML armory
housed massive dairy operations and lazy black and white cows. Fields of maize and feed are
also turning yellow in the autumn sun, fat, ready to harvest. The roads, or paths in some
cases, twisted and turned up and down the gentle hills of the Chestnut and Laurel Ridges
wearing the colors of fall. I was enjoying the views of this backwoodisy American
historical state, Pennsylvania is one of the original 13 colonies rich in Colonial
atmosphere and scenery.
I am following these directions and wondering what possessed me to put another bite of that
wrap in my mouth and driving up and down the hills and through dairy farms clotted by
thickened forests and it dawns on me again--5 or 6 miles was probably 10 miles back. I
pulled over in some farmers drive into his field, which I didn't think he would mind and
studied the map and compared it to my GPS system. I was way south of where I was supposed
to be. But there was a road that was ahead that should take me there. So still hungry but
unable to eat another bite, off I go to the next road on the map. I finally figure out I
am going in circles around this place and I still haven't seen any of 'oh yeah, they have
signs up all over directing you there' stuff. So I stop again at what I thought was another
convenience type of store but was a disguised tire store inhabited by 4 helpful men. The
gray haired guy was the ringleader and he was talking in manspeak--"yeah, you go to the
stop sign and turn north and then go 3 1/4 miles to the next stop sign and"…on and on.
I had to stop him and say WHAT stop sign? WHERE is it located? They took me outside and
pointed to the stop sign--just off of their property. And by now that guy thinks he's
talking to a traveling challenged person and is speaking very slowly and carefully telling
me about how to go straight to the next stop sign and be sure to stop at the stop sign
before proceeding into the intersection and…well you get the idea. But I understood it
and off I go. Sure enough, his directions took me right back to this chapel in the road,
surrounded by 50 or more HOGGS! Do-rags be happy! The sign I couldn't see was the Chapel
of Flight 93 Memorial. It seems the bikers of America have made these memorials part of
their road trips and are supporting them, mentally, physically, and monetary.
The chapel is the work of Fr. Alphonse T. Mascherino, D. D., who felt the calling to give
the families of Flight 93 a place to come and remember their loved ones in a religious
setting from a God we love and understand rather than this foreign Allah who demanded
innocent American blood be spilt in an vile and perverse way, about 5 miles from the impact
site.
It is filled with mementos of the 7 crew members and 33 passengers who made a decision to
fight back after finding out they were on a flight scheduled to impact into Capital
building. It would be very difficult for a loved one to give up any part of their lost
family member, but they have done so because the knowing of these people makes them real
and a part of our families. They aren't just names to me any more. They were flesh and
blood, with wants, needs, and desires who laughed, loved, had plans, and now are a part
of our heritage of America.
2437 to 2440--Along the edge of the hill overlooking the impact site is the flags with angels on them
for each of the ones killed. Their families have added different objects to them.