Memorial Day always makes me nostalgic. It reminds me of childhood when my mother made crepe paper flowers and dad cut wild flowers. We visited several cemeteries and decorated the graves of family members. It was a time to visit with people we hadn't seen in a long time.
In our community one grave always had several flowers on it. The grave belonged to a young man who was murdered and thrown into a pond. He was seen carrying a lot of money but no one knew his name. He was buried beside the pond, then later moved to the cemetery. The rocks around his neck to weigh him down were placed on top of the grave. The community placed a stone there. Most everyone who remembered him placed a flower on his grave. I wrote a story about him called One For the Boy.
A young cousin said she didn't want any plastic flowers on her grave. I doubt she has to worry about it as I believe the tradition is dying out with my generation. Years ago when my granddaughters made the usual Memorial Day trip with me, they told their friends they had to go visit dead people.
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