Friday, May 27, 2016

Alpena Cemetery

 Helen has finished some of the flowers for the graveyard.  The yellow really looks good on Brother Clayton's stone.

 Mom and Dad's and Grandpa and Grandma's turn out nicely too.  I like these she made better than those she bought last year.
Cemetery Reflections--by Fayrene Farmer
I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. Philippians 4:11

As I write on this Memorial Day, I am sitting alone in New Home Cemetery. 

New Home is part of my past, my present, and my future.  As a child I played here, as my parents' home was less than a quarter of a mile away.  When I had one of my frequent bunking parties, I often brought my friends here for entertainment.  We would read names on headstones, note the graves of children and as darkness fell, hurry home for some of Mama's popcorn, homemade grape juice and fudge.

Yocum Creek, a twisting trail of gleaming silver in the sunlight, races northward in the valley below.

It is an old cemetery, as is the abandoned school house which rests in hits midst.  Artificial flowers, of such brilliance,  that, a pair of monarch butterflies pause for a moment to decorate the graves. 

But as Mama used to say, "Bloom where you are planted."  Slow down and enjoy life wherever you are because in spite of all we do, life goes on. 

I have a book of essays by Fayene called "The Home Place".  I think they were published in the Green Forest Tribune.  Above is part of one she wrote about New Home Cemetery near her home. We did not take flowers and decorate graves when I was a child.  Daddy really did not believe in such. Momma would have liked it but, Daddy ruled our house.  I like going to the "Decorations" but I like to see the folks there.  I do appreciate beautiful flowers on a loved one's grave.  Brother Richard's always make my heart swell as I know he would be so proud of the beautiful remembrance his family leaves for him.

We did visit the little graveyard down on Dry Creek near our home.  I can recall dreaming and wondering about Jacob Shank who is buried down there.  Sometimes we wandered over to the graveyard past Dan Norton's house to dig up a flower.  Some of the graves there had the rock crypts around them.  I thought they were neat but eerie.

Helen's flowers look pretty.  I am proud of all her labor.

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