I'm back home on the farm today. I'm about 10 years old, and I'm walking with Mom in her flower garden as we search for Perfect blooms. We select purple and blue irises (Which we call "flags"), as well as Red and white peonies (Which we call "pineys"); Colors appropriate for the occasion. We stick the tall, strong stemmed flowers into Two tin cans and carefully transport the Water filled vases just up the road to the Country cemetery that I can see from my Roomy white farmhouse. The graveyard wraps around two sides of our Stately stone church built by my Pietist German ancestors. After Mom and I place our bouquets in front of my Grandparents' stones (both sets of them), we Walk among the graves. She points out aunts, uncles, cousins, other relationships Too complicated for my young brain to remember. We stop and stare at the round cylindrical stones next to Grandma and Grandpa Kalb where Harvey and George are Buried, Dad's two brothers. Their pictures hang in the front parlor of our farmhouse. They died six days apart, just 9 and 12 years old. Their deaths nearly killed my grandparents too, but They soldiered on, made of strong German stock. We visit the little lamb tombstone placed there for a Baby who died. It's eroding, but I pat its scratchy, bumpy back. I ask about the flags. "They're the soldiers," Mom explains. She knows most of them. I suppose some came home in coffins. I enjoy our outing in this memory garden, just My mom and me. As we wander among the tombstones we Remember the past as we create our own new memories. We're happy and somber at the same time, A feeling I can't quite understand. We drive the short distance back home content that We've done our part to celebrate Memorial Day. (Which we call "Decoration Day.") |
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Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
December 2020
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