4.5-year-old Eric, playing with a toy boat in the bathtub:

I’m floating in the river,
I’m floating in the sea,
I’m floating in the ocean,
They can’t catch me.

A fish on the mountain,
A fish on the tree,
A fish on the see-saw,
A fish on me.

38-year-old Frank, observing the spectacle of being outdone by a kid:

I’m not a very good poet
But at least I know it.

Looking at the bird’s upper inboard wing surfaces, one can see the little feathers starting to poke up, as the airflow of the wings is starting to separate. In other words, the bird is just about to stall. Perfect for a landing.

This was our first visit to a “re-enactment” type event, so were not sure what to expect. Since moving out of Toronto, we’ve become more aware of the nearby historical sites of the War of 1812, and have read more and more about this fascinating time.

The weather was fine and the event was well-attended. Lots of families came out and wandered around the merchants and the encampments of the re-enactment volunteers. Much effort appeared to be paid to period-appropriate costumes and equipment. Jaded little me took it in with a ho-hum and a “where are the little brats running off to now?”. The band was warming up and the mood was a bit aloof.

That changed when it came time to re-enact the actual battle. About a hundred people participated on the historical battlefield, representing four or five groups of combatants. They showed some basic maneuvers, marching lines, volley firing their muskets and cannons. Some in the audience squealed and laughed at the noise — but my mood got darker. Those sounds represented the operation of real weapons. The re-enacters stayed in character.

Before too long, some of the re-enacters started falling. Some in the audience gasped as some were attended to, some just lay there, and the laughter thankfully stopped. The two sides closed, roughly in line with how close they had to be for their crummy weapons to become accurate enough. A few minutes later, the final shots were “fired”, representing the end of the battle.

The band started playing a “lament”, and the announcer said “something magical is about to happen”. All the “dead” soldiers started standing up. They stepped out of character, standing there, passive, like ghosts. I had the sense that this was a commemoration of the fallen, private to the re-enacting community, much like the empty chair present in even modern military vessels and buildings. The audience was at last silent. I hope I was not the only one with tears.

Then everyone returned into character, saluted each other, and marched in front of the audience. They were applauded. I wonder though how many noticed their solemn faces. For how many of them is this recreation of history a personal profound moment.

There is something special and noble in the military, be it hundreds of year ago or today; when push comes to shove, people will need to fight.

That is that taxes are not per se good or desirable, but a necessary evil to fund governments. As such, a moral person should attempt to minimize the infliction of this evil on others, and not express glee at how much “the rich” can be made to pay.