On a steel-truss bridge that spans the Great Miami River, which flows through my hometown in Ohio, a uniformed soldier stood at attention, waiting for the widow of a Navy veteran to toss a wreath to the waters below. On cue, the honor guards fired their rifles and the lone soldier lifted his bugle to play taps in honor of the Americans who lost their lives at sea while serving their country.

Earlier in the day, there had been a parade through downtown, and later, the crowd that gathered to watch as the wreath-tossing ceremony would move across the road to the town cemetery, where there would be more laying of wreaths in honor of all the servicemen who had fallen in battle.

But it is the river ceremony that I remember best, for after the soldier on the bridge played taps, another one stationed downstream repeated the mournful tune, which lingered in the river valley and in my mind long after the music had stopped.

Love of one's country seemed a natural part of growing up in small-town, post-World War II America. Holidays honoring our country's veterans were always special. For one thing, school was canceled, but also there was the excitement in the parades and ceremonies that marked the occasions. As a member of a Brownie or Girl Scout troop, I walked in many of those parades, following the rows of World War II soldiers as well as the dwindling ranks of veterans who fought in the First World War.

For years, on the Saturday morning before the Veterans Day parade, my sister and I would stand outside the G.C. Murphy store, collection cans in hand, offering an artificial poppy flower in exchange for a donation to support wounded veterans. This was patriotism in its simplest form, my way of contributing to a country I knew so little about.

Today, my understanding of this country has expanded significantly, through study, travel and reading.

Last weekend, I was in Washington, D.C., visiting friends. As we walked the wide streets past the gleaming white buildings, I felt again the swell of pride for this country and its freedoms — to worship as we choose, to speak one's mind, to be spared unreasonable search and seizure. And there before me, demonstrating those freedoms, were groups of protesters in front of the White House and other government buildings, calling for an end to the war in Iraq and expressing disapproval over a myriad of injustices.

Today, I worry for our country. Are our liberties being compromised by our fears, some rational, some not? We may lose those liberties if in fearing the worst that can happen we violate the best things there are about being an American: the freedoms outlined in the Bill of Rights. Indeed, it is these liberties that define us as Americans.

My understanding of what this country is about has evolved from its early beginnings, when I stood on the riverbanks of my hometown and watched a ceremony that moved me deeply. Patriotism seemed simpler then, but my appreciation for what it really means is far greater now than ever before.