I mean no disrespect toward the flag or military tradition, but I wanted to tell this story.

Yesterday afternoon, we sounded “Retreat” here at McMurdo Station. The last of the LC-130 ski-equipped aircraft left the continent for the long flights home (the usual route is Christchurch to Pago Pago to Hawaii to California to New York). There are about a dozen of us military folk left here to wrap up the season and so it fell upon us to maintain the tradition of officially lowering the flag and bringing to an official end the military mission for the season.

And so the word came out that at 1300 hours we were to meet at the flag pole. One of the visions many people have of the military is how we wear our uniforms and all look… well… uniform. But there are a couple factors in the Air Force right now that complicate that: first, we are getting rid of the uniform with the green camouflage pattern in favor of a pattern with more grey and blue. Both uniforms, as well as three different colors of boots, are allowed now since we are still in the transition phase. The second issue is that because it is so cold here, and individuals need to regulate our own warmth, we are allowed a bit more flexibility in hats and gloves and coats. The sun has started to get lower and lower in the sky, brushing against the mountain ranges here and making it colder and colder each day. Yesterday was not only cold, but windy, and with all our different uniform combinations, I felt like I was in an episode of MASH or a scene in Catch-22.

I have the old style military issue coat (think: Hoth Han Solo). Most guys have a newer, darker, warmer version of this coat. Some have the grey camouflage pattern coat. I have a green stocking cap, other guys have grey or black hats and some wear a ball cap type (but that makes for very cold ears).

Again, I mean no disrespect, I just have a need to tell my own experiences yesterday. At 1pm (that’s 1300) I was in my uniform and at the flag pole. Because I’m chaplain to everyone on station, and since most people are civilian, I don’t wear my uniform often so I’d had to cut lunch short to get dressed. In other places, a similar ceremony might be held with dozens or more people lined up in perfectly boxed ranks. Well, Jeff and Ed have formal roles to play in the ceremony. Ken and Pedro are in charge of lowering and folding the flag, and Chris is our picture and sound guy. That left were six of us “in the ranks.” We lined up roughly tallest to shortest and waited. We were called to attention and I stepped forward to offer a prayer. I removed a glove so I could open my notebook and look at some notes I’d scribbled (I didn’t know I’d be praying at this ceremony until about 10 minutes before it started when I offered to say something). In my prayer, I thanked God for a safe season, asked blessings on our travels, and guidance for us when we return next season when the sun rises again.

When I was done, everyone else is at attention, so I get back to my place in line to join them quickly and try to pull on my glove. By now, my fingers are cold and the glove liners I have (which are not military issue, but are a possum and wool blend I got from some Kiwis because they are really warm) get caught in my outer gloves. So, I stand at attention with one hand only partway inside my glove – it looks like my right arm is few inches longer than my left. Then we play the bugle music. No one plays the bugle so we have a recording of a bugle. The order was given for the music, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Chris open the door to the pick-up cab, reach in, and then the music started. I’m not sure if he had a boom box in there or if it was played on the truck stereo. As we stand for the song, tears start falling down my face – and other guys as well, I learned later that night over a beer – not because we are emotional but because it was so windy. When the song is done, we salute the flag as it lowers. Remember the part about my right hand being longer than my left because of the gloves? I whack myself in the face with my glove and have to adjust my arm to stand while Pedro and Ken slowly lower the flag in heavy winds. I think I can hear someone groan when the wind messes up the lines at one point and they have to lower it more slowly. I can also hear a civilian behind whisper, “What are they doing now?” as if we’re the day’s entertainment.

At that moment, I realized that despite the mismatched uniforms, the sound system from a redneck backyard party, and the bewildered crowd we were drawing, at that moment, I felt a link to line of explorers and adventurers. People haven’t been walking on this continent for much more than a century. The military has had a presence here because as an agent of our government, we don’t exist only to kill people and break things, but also to assist our exploration of our world and our universe. And as that flag came down, and my thoughts turned to my final reports and packing up my room, I realized what an honor it has been to be here. Brave and very smart men and women work here to learn about our planet and our universe and endure harsh weather. It’s humbling to be one of the links in that chain.