On March 1, 1966 Jeana wrote in her appointment book:
“Horrors! The Russians landed on Venus, and planted the Russian coat of arms!”
Wikipedia Article: The Soviet Union becomes the first to land [crash] a probe on another planet.
Rest your feet and set a spell.
On March 1, 1966 Jeana wrote in her appointment book:
“Horrors! The Russians landed on Venus, and planted the Russian coat of arms!”
Wikipedia Article: The Soviet Union becomes the first to land [crash] a probe on another planet.
Jeana wrote this circa 1950 about a 1920 camping trip to Galveston as a ten-year-old with her brother Ryland, her best friend Marie Lee and her family.
I raised myself on my elbow. The fire was out. The cot creaked as I sat up to see the reason why. There was a sound of lapping.
My ten years, even with the Lees for friends, had not prepared me. I was on a coot under a tent by an automobile. There were sleeping people around me. But we had all gone to sea! The water was swarming with jelly fish, round, opalescent, transparent pearl jelly. There they were gray, gargantuan quivering pearls bumping the legs of our cots. I parted the sodden mosquito bar [net]. I put my hand out and pushed one. It was cold and resistant. “Mr. Lee,” I called.
His head came up in his mosquito bar. Mrs. Lee’s head arose. Marie said, “It’s too early, shush!”
“Well, we have gone to sea.”
Mr. Lee yelped, and jumped from his bed into the automobile. The car would not start.
Mrs. Lee scrambling out of bed. “We’d better all pull our things back out to the beach.”
We put our feet over into the warm, sticky water of summer at Galveston. The small arisen tide was foaming gently on the hard sand. For three feet in the beach, was a mass of jelly fish that the water was busily moving about.
Mr. Lee ordered us all out to push the car to safety. Gabriel [Lee] and Ryland helped. But the automobile remained exactly as I and the down first saw it, stationary.
There were some net fisherman further down the beach. We were sent for them, to please come.
The whole earth was a replica of the jelly fish, grey sky filled with clouds, which the sun could not pierce. The sands were hard and grey and wet. Far out the water was silver moving in patterns of crinkled foil. Looking down the beach at the thousands of lumps of jelly through which we had to pick our way. I wondered if the car would sink or just wash out.
The fisherman reluctantly returned with us. We found sticks and brutally pierced the globs of jelly and Mrs. Lee took our picture so that the sticks were hidden while the men pushed the car dryward. We scurried out and pulled the cots back also.
“Firewood,” shouted our director. We fled toward the higher sand, and came back with satiny, cream branches which we heaped in a pile.
“Get those jelly fish back where they beyond, and we’ll have breakfast.”
Sand, wet and fish smell faded as the fire ate at the woods. The bacon and eggs were floating in bubbles of fat. We were toasting bread on our sticks, which were now divested of sea creatures.
“The clouds threaten rain,” Mr. Lee stated. “Guess, we better go in after breakfast.
Ryland and Gabriel were gobbling breakfast and objecting. They were already suited for bathing.
“Those jelly fish are knee-deep out there. You don’t want to get mixed up [with] them.
“But, Daddy,” this from Marie. “We just came here last night.”
I was tired. Mrs. Lee had kept the fire going for hours last night. I had awakened many times as he poked and pitched on wood. The waves were there making wind in the pines sounds. I was dirty and thought of home pleasantly.
So, we started the long journey home. Gabriel snuck a jelly fish in under the seat of the car. Mrs. Lee kept smelling and said we all needed baths. We giggled so much, she finally demanded the fish.
Mothers certainly are smart.
Eugenia Hunt, sister of Alfred Ryland Howard, , wrote a poem that she said he carried into the Battle of St. Lo that took his life.
Jeana wrote this at the bottom of the poem:
This was in my brother Ryland’s pocket, when he was shot down by the Germans at the battle of St Lo. He was a liaison pilot – and aide to General John Matthew Devine. He had 12 men under him, and refused to send them up on reconnaissance without him, even though his superior advised against it. This was on July 4, 1944.
Newspaper article about Captain Ryland Howard
Communion
I can embrace the storms
Which blow,
And floods that hurl themselves
Across the dry earth.
I walk near God and
Feel his being stir my heart,
And know that when I’m dead
I shall not lie there,
But instead
Shall rise to suffer or be one
With the pulsing soul
Who strides eternity!
I know that when I sink
My hands within the earth
I can feel the pulse of God,
Who stirs the loam and
Quickens seed within the sod.
I know that when the rain
Falls fast and hard,
The silver drops are spilled
From out the hand of God.
I know that when a man
Lies broken
And life fast flows
The waiting mire —
That should he think
“My God, fill me with they strength!”
So earthly foe could
Take away his blood.
I know, I know, I know.
These things are in my being.
Always have been,
Always will be.
And you, and you, and you
Can talk a thousand years
Concerning the scientific
Impossibilities
That is not so!
But I have felt God,
And talked to Him.
And that is how I know.
Eugenia Hunt wrote this poem in 1950 about her home in Alpine, Texas
Alpine
My back’s to the edge of the desert,
My yard’s by the panther’s tread.
The moon’s the magic silver
On this, my ancient ocean bed.
The lizards run in the yellow sun
And fire’s in heaven when the day is done.
Eugenia Howard Hunt
August 20, 1950
Sleeping Children
Sleeping eyes all
Fringed around me.
Soft arms as pliant
As clouds
And lips unclouded by thoughts
Parted in slumber,
The gentle moving
Rhythm of breathing.
Fingers, five pronged
In the grey dark,
Charcoal blown
Over fluid forms
Soft as velvet–
My babies
In the night.
December 25, 1950
Egomaniac
Oh, perfect one,
I do not see
How thou
Can bear to be
With any one
But thee!
Eugenia Howard Hunt
January 5, 1951
My Daughters
Out of the jeweled shadows
Of my tumultuous, exquisite childhood,
And the velvet of my teens,
Came my first borns.
They are the image of my
Ephemeral yearnings,
The flesh and bone of my poetry.
the strength of my faith.
Like the willows irredescent
Movements
By a clear brook,
Clean and gleaming,
Sinuous, eternally young
And wholly expectant.
February 1, 1961
Jeana (Eugenia Howard Hunt) wrote this poem in 1978 to her granddaughter and namesake Eugenia Kiesling, who is currently a professor of military history at West Point.
To Jennie
Holding the Banner
When they trailed
The dry dust
Making bread to
Feed the Spirit
Knowing the shadows
Are filled with light
Braced when faced
By defeat’s scarring
Face but radiant
Each dawn for
A fresh renewal
Never bitter over
That galling flavor
Of the trailing
Insignia
Believing the battle
More worthy than
The defeat
Saluting the endeavor
Morning & Evening
Are God’s gift
From the Glare of the Day
Sept. 1978 E. Hunt
Photo: ESPN article on 1976 Yale Crew Team
Eugenia Kiesling is a professor of military history at the United States Military Academy at West Point. Professor Kiesling earned her BA at Yale University, her MA at Oxford University, and her PhD at Stanford University. She wrote a curriculum while assigned to NATO forces in Kabul for the National Military Academy of Afghanistan in 2007. Professor Kiesling has many publications, including Arming against Hitler: France and The Limits of Military Planning (University Press of Kansas, 1996); and “The Oldest ‘New’ Military Historians: Herodotus, William George Forrest, and the Historiography of War,” in Herodotos and His World: Essays in Honour of W. G. Forrest (Oxford University Press, 2003). (Source: Article on Onnassis USA )