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Memorial Day is Any Day

Memorial Day, first known as Decoration Day, originated in the late 1860s as a time to show tribute to the soldiers who died during the Civil War.  Graves were decorated with flowers and prayers were recited.           

In 1971, the last Monday in May was declared a national holiday to remember all who have died, not just soldiers.  Communities hold Memorial Day parades, music programs, and ceremonies.  From the end of May until mid-June, many cemeteries offer worship services for people to gather together.  

            Following tradition, I visited the graves of my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, and placed silk flowers that will stay on the tombstones for a few months. But on one great-grandmother’s grave, I laid a small bouquet of red roses, cut from my backyard, because years ago I was told that Grandma Bertram had said, “If you can’t put fresh flowers on my grave, don’t put any.”

            My cousin Alan recently reminded me that we show honor by decorating graves anytime. Alan shared a story about the flowers his mother, my aunt Nell, treasured.

            In the spring of 1950, Wolf Creek Dam in Kentucky was almost complete and most of the homes along the Cumberland River had been removed, before the river would become Lake Cumberland. Aunt Nell, Uncle B, Uncle B’s brother and his wife took a picnic to a favorite spot along the river where Aunt Nell spotted blooming daffodils near where a home had been.

Alan wrote about his mom:  She instructed Dad and my uncle to get a shovel from the car – I guess shovels in trunks were necessary tools during periods of possible snowfalls then – and dig up the flowers so she could take them home and set them out in the yard of their new home built in 1949.

Being a good, young husband and a willing brother-in-law, they did as instructed. When they returned home, again they combined their efforts to set the daffodil bulbs out alongside a driveway that led to the back of the house and a basement garage door.

Those Cumberland River daffodils survived that transplanting, and still do to this day, pushing up through the ground each year as spring arrives and throwing out small, but brightly colored yellow blooms.

When Aunt Nell died in March 2006, Alan asked the florist to pick daffodils from his mother’s yard to make a casket spray.  It was a beautiful and a perfect, loving tribute to his mother. 

Mid-March, Alan wrote:  Last week I placed a few of those bright yellow daffodils on Mom’s grave – not too many – cutting too many at any one time was always frowned upon, although it seems there was always some in a small vase on the kitchen table each mid- March when we gathered to cut my birthday cake.

Memorial Day is celebrated any day we pay honor to those who gave their lives to make our lives better and any time we remember the people we’ve loved.

Soaking in Spring

I’m letting Spring seep into my mind and body. 

            When I got my 2022 At-a-Glance calendar, I drew a big smiley sun face on March 20th.  Here in Middle Tennessee, Spring officially begins at 12:33 P.M. when the vernal equinox marks a time that the direct rays of the sun produce equal day and night. 

            I was taught that on the first days of Spring and Fall the hours of daylight and darkness are twelve hours each.  While that’s not exactly correct, it’s within minutes.  Here in Cookeville, on Sunday, March 20, the sun will rise at 6:50 a.m. and set at 6:58 p.m.  Until June 20, we’ll have sunshine a few minutes longer each day and I’ll track those minutes.    

            Spring brings brightness, a welcomed contrast to winter’s gray and brown.  Yellow daffodils bloom and, even after last week’s snow and frigid temperatures, many still hold their heads high. Because the forsythia bush is my favorite springtime marker and I know where several are blooming, I drive out of my way around town to see them.  Unfortunately, dandelions the weeds I hate most, also bloom so I dig up every one that is near my yard.  

            The world is taking on a vibrant green and soon we can smell the fresh cut grass aroma after lawns are mowed.  Buds swell at the ends of tree and shrub branches, waiting for a few days of warmth and sunshine to unfurl leaves.  Soon blooms on strawberry plants and blueberry bushes promise fresh juicy fruits.

            Anyone who has lived or lives on a farm knows babies are born in the Spring.  For years, my brother’s mare Pepper had a spring colt.  Another mare, a short-timer in my childhood family’s barn, gave birth to Hey Boy and then refused to let him nurse.  That’s a story for another time.

            Papa’s cow birthed twin calves the spring I was 10 and Mom picked me up from school right after lunch so I could watch the newborns come into the world.  Every March, Granny bought baby chicks and those lightweight fluff balls were fun to play with until they began to peck.

             Spring is when gardeners seriously dig in the dirt, first turning the soil to mix the organic matter and letting it absorb more oxygen and dry out for later planting.  Even that earthy, woodsy smell is welcomed. 

            Through windows, I’ve watched birds at birdfeeders all winter, and now I hope bluebirds will build a nest in our backyard bird box.  Soon I’ll hang hummingbird feeders to entice them to sip sugar water and chatter on our front porch.

            Even though it takes a few days to adjust to Daylight Savings Time, I’m happy for more daylight at the end of a day.  It gives time for front porch rocking for Husband and me and longer times for our Grands and neighborhood children to play outside after supper.

            Spring brings brightness and growth and newness. Soak it in.