I was leaning on the hood of the Explorer, making notes in my planner, when one of the other leaders came by.

"Planning?"

Like that would be an exceptionally odd thing to do, out here by myself in a grassy field in the mountains, surrounded by lodgepole pine forest. Not noting the irony that he had just finished drafting his sermon for tomorrow morning.

Nope, just watching the flags.

"It is a beautiful sight."

And back to the campsite he went.

There were three of them, identical red, white and blue banners, flying in a brisk west wind, catching the last few rays of the sun.

The last few rays of their last day.

They were not exactly identical. The far, lower one was tattered on the trailing edge, with the stitches ripped out for several inches on the bottom stripe. And a lesser tear below the top stripe. The flag in the middle was nearly its twin.

The closest flag, on the highest pole, had lost much of its lower, outer corner. Their colors were still bright. Here on the windy Divide, few flags survive long enough to fade.

Their last day.

The day had started with a small crowd below, some in uniform, some not, saluting the flags as they rose together. And one last recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance that almost all Americans know. Most uttering it as it is written, not as it is taught in American schools.

The three banners spent most of their last morning hanging limply in the nearly summer heat. Little noticed by the youth and adults building log towers and having travois races in the field below.

Their poles were the same as the logs used in the games in the field. Coarse, straight lodgepoles, stripped of all branches, each close to 8 meters tall. The poles were in a north-south line on a low rise in the field, which in wetter times could be called a meadow. Each pole was set in narrow holes hand-dug in the gravel-filled soil. Sparks had flown off small pieces of Rocky Mountain granite with each thrust of the small spade.

A labor of love. By accident, the poles had ended up neatly staggered, stair-stepping down just a couple inches each from north to south.

But I checked these banners often through the day. Twice I had to lower a flag to unwrap its tattered edge from a still barked pole. They teased me in response, occasionally flaring out and snapping in some unseen breeze, only to quickly settle again by the time I could get the camera focused.

Our afternoon activities took us away from camp, and by the time we returned, the wind had risen. As our vehicles entered the clearing, we were greeted by the sight of all three flags waving majestically, each echoing the others. It occurred to me that it was only appropriate that these three Star Spangled Banners spend their last day flying over ground owned by all Americans.

By dinnertime the wind had died. The air was dead calm. The flags hung limply against their poles, their glory replaced with an inevitable sadness.

The flags remained where they were until darkness. Enjoying every possible ray of their last day. Then a spotlight was turned on, caressing their curving waves as the small crowd returned. The three colors glowing against a black sky.

One last salute as the three banners were lowered together. Each was carefully folded back into its standard tri-corner. And carried, held against the chest of its bearer, down to the campfire, at the edge of the trees.

"Worn out flags should be destroyed in a dignified manner, preferably by burning." This according to the U.S. Code.

As the groups gathered in a circle around the fire, the speaker began to describe the history of the American Flag. At one point, he paused.

Let us accord this first flag honor, loyalty and dignity.

Two of the Color Guard stepped forward and opened the first flag, standing besides the fire. With one final salute from the Americans in attendance, the flag was carried high over the fire and then lowered onto the burning logs, the four corners flipped up into the flames.

After the last vestiges of red, white and blue were gone, the speaker continued.

In describing how William Driver first gave this banner the name "Old Glory", the speaker digressed from his prepared script, and explained how Captain Driver had hidden the first "Old Glory" from searching Confederate troops by stitching it inside his bedquilt. (Although I bet his wife did the stitching.) And slept with it for the duration of the Civil War.

Another pause in the eulogy, and the second flag was retired in the same manner as the first.

The speaker continued.

The United States Flag symbolizes national independance and popular sovereignty. It is not the Flag of a reigning family or royal house, but of 280 million free people...

The third flag burned more slowly than the others, with fragments lingering on the top logs. One burning piece fell off the pyre and was quickly picked up and set back into the flames by one of the leaders.

The one still carrying the grommet of another Stars and Stripes, given to him the year before.

When the cremations were complete, the citizens moved back up the hill, back to the three poles standing in the darkness. The spotlight was turned on, and the two eldest youths removed a new flag from its case. One noting that the manufacturer had it folded in squares.

With a salute, the new Stars and Stripes was raised in the beam of artificial light.

And received its first Pledge of Allegiance.