Fourty-five years ago today was the historic moment when man first stepped on the moon. I was a young girl and not in to all that space stuff, like my husband was, yet I can remember that day. It was a defining moment in history of what we could do if we set our minds to it.
I was at the cabin on Pike Bay in northern Minnesota. It was a cabin like so many at that time, without running water or telephone. I had been there many times and would be there many more, yet this was the only time that we ever had a TV at the cabin. The portable television with tinfoil on the rabbit ears sat next to the Victrola. Granny, Uncle Phil and I sat on three hardback kitchen chairs around the snow screen watching Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon as a Super8 movie camera on a tripod captured it all.
Space travel was real and walking on the moon seemed possible, but until it happened it was just a wee be incredulous. Suddenly it was real, it had happened and I had seen it. We, the US of A, had done it. As a family full of military men it was a moment of great pride because we had done it first. We had won the space race ahead of the Russian, in the midst of the Cold War.
It was an amazing time and I got to experience it.