A Memorial Day Nighthawk
On Hayfields and the Bedford Boys
Vol. 154, May 27th, 2025 Published a day early online
Monday and Tuesday
They cut hay at Appomattox. Round bales pop up in the green fields like mushrooms or a snowfall during the night, not quite inanimate.
They always remind me of the war dead, ghosts of old soldiers, here, then vanished, asking something, but I don’t know what.
Daisies poked up through the tall grass outside of Bedford, spangling the countryside with ten thousand stars. I drove along, and thought of the 23 Boys are long gone, fallen to the machine guns in Normandy. The news landed so heavy on the tiny town in 1944 that the national memorial sits nearby, its black granite light as a feather compared to that ache that still echoes around corners that old men should be frequenting, but aren’t.
I walked through the front hayfield last night, the fresh bales there in the afternoon, gone by nightfall. Suddenly, my feet trod grass of some ghostly battlefield, and the pale glow of the fireflies seemed lanterns of a forgotten brigade. The silence boomed, ripping off the chatter of the day. What’s my part in all of this? (War and peace.) What is Memorial Day? It’s solemn, a time for remembering costs and grief. But Tuesday shouldn’t be idle.
It’s the least I can do for them.
Decoration Day Established, May 30, 1868
Maj. Gen. Logan marks the calendar as a time to decorate the graves of the fallen. Flowers would be in bloom across the nation.
Song of the Week: “Brothers in Arms”
(Dire Straits, 1985) The title track to the first album to sell over a million CDs, this somber tune is fitting for the somber day.
Quotes for the Day
“Get me the brand, and I’ll send a barrel to my other generals.”
–Lincoln, in retort to complaints of Grant’s whiskey intake.
Mary’s Song
Slade and Perkins’ composition from 1870 commemorates the occasion. Here’s the fancy cover sheet.
Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week
Bath (bathe). “You better bath that baby right quick, it’s almost her bed time.”
Write to Us!
The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #234)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: AI, Baby
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! “What’s the deal with AI, Josh?” Good question. Time for an update. Nobody knows. Sure, I’m worried about the end of humanity. But there’s a bright side. Have you seen those weird AI baby videos with dubbed-in voices of arguing politicians? Somehow, it makes Washington make sense.
(Here’s a hilarious non-partisan example of a “baby” Norm MacDonald running circles around a confused “baby” Larry King.)
The How of Artificial Intelligence is complicated. I barely understand that I don’t understand it. This doesn’t translate well in my talks. Scrunched faces all around. (Pull up a video on neural networks if you need a headache.)
The What is more fun. I’ve been using the technology, especially for stuff that Google used to be good at. My favorite engine is Grok, available at x.ai. It’ll scour the Internet, and get stuff that (mostly) answers the question. I used it to troubleshoot my dishwasher, research obscure music history, and after thirty years of being vegetarian, asked it how to brown ground beef.
It has limitations. It didn’t mention anything about thawing the meat first, or hot oil and frozen things disagreeing. On the bright side, the grease was self-draining (and airborne). Pity the floor isn’t self-cleaning. I half expected it to say in a robotic voice “I-cannot-fix-stupid-does-not-compute.”
But the What Now of AI is where the good conversations start. “We’re the anti-robot task force” I tell the audience, and we get into what what it means to be human. Every person seems to have pause for this new “miracle”, and a raised eyebrow. I agree. Don’t doubt your senses. Is it a beast from Revelation, the Terminator, or a mildly useful convenience? We don’t know yet. But, all signs point to it creating a fake reality that’s so convincing, it will be undetectable. (See: arguing political baby videos.)
How will we know what’s real online? A bold prediction: We won’t.
And the solution? What’s the task force to do? Someone said maybe we’ll have to start talking with each other again. Face to face, in person. Genuine. I like this idea. The future is impossible to predict. We can only work on building it. So I’m focusing on the Real. The reminders can be delicious.
A pal dropped off a batch of mead brewed from my backyard bees. I poured a glass last evening, and stole out to the porch. The fireflies sparked low over the hay, and rain clouds gathered on the mountain. A horse snorted, answering the bullfrogs singing in sweet night air. Can’t fake that, baby.
Catch you on the flip side,
Josh
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