A Texas farmer was touring England...
He happened to meet an English farmer and asked him,
"What size farm do you have?"
The Englishman proudly announced, "Thirty-five acres!"
"Thirty-five acres?" the Texan scoffed.
"Why, I can get in my truck at 8:00 AM and start driving and at noon, I am still on my farm. I can eat lunch and start driving again and at 5:00 PM I am still on my farm.
"Ah, yes," the Englishman nodded in understanding. "I had a truck like that once."
Voyager 1 is 24 billion kilometers from Earth.
It communicates with us using a 23-watt transmitter.
Less than a refrigerator light bulb.
The signal takes 22 hours to reach us, traveling at the speed of light.
By the time it arrives, it's 20 billion times weaker than the power of a digital watch battery.
NASA's Deep Space Network picks it up using 70-meter dish antennas cooled to near absolute zero to reduce electronic noise.
The engineering required to hear a 23-watt signal from 24 billion km away is arguably more impressive than the spacecraft itself.
Launched 1977.
Still transmitting.
Still being heard.
We built something that works perfectly, 47 years later, in conditions no one has ever tested in.
That's what engineering for the long term looks like.
We just watched 2 major California elections stolen before our eyes, and cowardly John Thune still won’t pass the Save America Act. He’s worse than Pence.
“Breakfast had been prepared by the kitchen maid, an indifferent performer who had used the scorched earth policy on the bacon again.”
P.G. Wodehouse, Spring Fever
For over 40 years, the Brotin family has opened their home in Normandy to American WWII veterans, servicemen, and paratroopers — honoring the heroes who liberated France on D-Day.
In recognition of their remarkable dedication to preserving that legacy, they received personal letters and gifts from President Trump, Vice President Vance, and Congressman Hamadeh.
Thank you, Patrice and Alexandra, for opening your home and your hearts to America’s heroes. Your kindness and love for our country mean more than words can say.
My Dad was in the military as was I. He took my brothers and I everywhere he could. We played in old German bunkers on Africa’s coast, saw places of great fame like Casablanca and learned what the sacrifice of Americans meant. I did the same for my kids when I could. Good for @SecWar as he’s doing the right thing by his kids!
@eduardomenoni Taxpayer funded communist/socialist propaganda led by Obama, Biden and others. So glad it has stopped, for the moment. Remember, it’s always the revolution with these people. Don’t let them win.
General Charles De Gaulle with his daughter, Anne.
Anne was born with Down Syndrome.
The General would take every opportunity he could to be with her, which surprised those who knew how much of a martinet he was in public life.
82 years ago this morning, a man of 31 from Middlesbrough waded onto Gold Beach in Normandy and, before the light went, did the thing that would make him the only man awarded a Victoria Cross for the actions of D-Day itself.
His name was Stanley Hollis. Before the war he had driven lorries and worked as a sandblaster. On 6 June 1944, a company sergeant-major in the Green Howards, he spotted a German pillbox his company had walked straight past. He went at it himself, up the open slope into the machine-gun fire, cleared it with a Sten and grenades, and took a second position and its occupants prisoner. Later that day, near a village called Crépon, two of his men lay pinned in the open under a German field gun and as good as dead. He went back out for them, into the fire, and brought them in. He had taken them in there, was his reasoning, so it fell to him to get them out.
That is more or less the whole of it. No speech, no pageant, no press release. A lorry driver from Teesside decided that other men's lives were his to answer for, and walked into the guns, twice, to make it good.
My dad was born in '61. We often sit and marvel at the fact that he is the full-way, and me half-way, through our fighting ages as men, and neither of us have ever been called up to war. We are the lucky few. But it is worth being honest, on this morning of all mornings, about what has thinned out between the country my dad and I have known, and Sgt. Major Hollis'.
Hollis did not wait to be told. He did not film the pillbox and tag the relevant authority. He saw what needed doing, judged it his to do, and did it. That mortal reflex - take responsibility, act, and expect no official to come and save you - was once an ordinary thing here, bred into ordinary men. Two generations of being managed and waited upon have quietly bred much of it not out but into deep dormancy.
The men of that generation did not cross the Channel in 1944 for a Britain that waits for permission to act, nor for one that watches its own dying boys handcuffed on the pavement. They did it for something they felt in their bones and would never have trusted to an institutional memorandum: a free people, fit to govern and defend itself, worth the dying for.
We owe them more than a poppy and a minute's silence. We owe them the vision of that country.
Stanley Hollis came home, kept a pub, and died in 1972. There are barely any of them left now, very old and very quiet. The decent thing would be to become a country of which they might be proud.