My grandpa faught in WWII, and he talked a LOT about foxholes and slit trenches.
As a child, I couldn't really fathom digging anything deep enough to fit into. My digging experience was in sandboxes or on the beach.
So I asked him "But... How long did it take to dig the holes? Wouldn't it take a long time?"
And he answered "You can dig pretty fast when you're getting shelled" and I feel like there was some kind of wisdom in that exchange that far transcended the immediate subject.
Your grandpa was a muthafuckin’ badass. Digging a survival hole to save your skin while getting actively shelled by death itself is a level of existence I can hardly imagine.
When people say “thank you for your service”, it is in honor of people who have had to endure a moment like that.
I can't fathom doing this regularly or with speed. Digging a hole in the backyard is exhausting.
