Yesterday was the annual Decoration Day at our ancestral cemetery. The weather cooperated with blue skies, sunshine (lots of sunshine) and an altogether lovely Oklahoma spring day. The cemetery is well-looked after, neat and serene. Decoration Day is an annual tradition dating back into history. My grandparents came to this very same spot, year after year; my parents came, and now it is this generation’s turn.
It’s a solemn occasion but at the same time, an important one. It’s also a practice that is losing popularity among younger people. After all, what’s the point of visiting the graves of long ago family members? They aren’t aware of it. I guess, to me, the point is a connection with the past. Seems to me that in this time of uncertainty, of shifting values and loss of manners and human dignity, it’s important to reflect on those who lived through different times, those who faced sometimes insurmountable problems, but who came through. Some of the graves are ancient, almost as ancient as the cedars that shade the grounds. One of the women buried here was born before the Revolutionary War–in the mid 18th century. Some of my own family lived through the Civil War, came to Indian Territory from Georgia seeking a new life, and lived an entirely different existence than the one I experience today. I guess bringing flowers to their resting place is a way of showing respect and acknowledging the importance of their lives.
In years gone by, I’d see many people I knew who had brought flowers to graves. There were lots of acquaintances and some friends I saw only once a year on Decoration Day. Yesterday, my son and I met and talked with only three. Oh, everyone was friendly. We met lots of smiles and hellos, but, one by one, the old ones have faded away. I suppose in years to come, this tradition will vanish too–only, maybe not. Perhaps people will realize that we need to honor this custom that connects us to generations gone by. Maybe there’ll be a new resurgence of interest in ancestors and in connecting with people who once walked this earth. I hope this is true.
This is a picture of my grandfather, Levi Latty, with a team of three mules at harvest time at Etta Bend.
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