It was after making my annual May phone call to an Iowa florist when I became both nostalgic and curious. I’ve made these calls since our move to Oregon in 1992 to have flowers placed on the graves of my parents. For the florist, it’s a 10-mile trip to the cemetery of a small country church in Iowa that my grandparents, parents and my family attended. For me it always evokes a bout of nostalgia. But this year there was also curiosity as to how May 30, known as Decoration Day in the years of my childhood, became Memorial Day on the last Monday in May.
This prompted time on Google revealing that May 30 became Decoration Day in 1868, three years after the Civil War, to honor the Union soldiers who had died. The day was dedicated to “strewing flowers and decorating the graves of 20,000 Civil War soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery.” As time went on, along with more wars, “Decoration Day” became known as “Memorial Day.” In 1968 the Uniform Monday Holiday Act established Memorial Day as the last Monday in May, going into effect in 1971 when officially declared a federal holiday.
As for the nostalgia, I am taken back to my childhood in rural Iowa in the 1930s when care of cemetery plots was the responsibility of those who had family interred there. I recall spring and summer evenings when, after a long day’s work, my father would load up the reel-type lawn mower and gardening tools, my mother would bring flowers from her garden, and off we’d go to the cemetery to mow and weed and place flowers on the graves.
The family plot had four graves with three headstones: one for my paternal grandmother and grandfather, one for their son who died from injuries in World War I and one for their first three children — ages one, two and three — who died in a house fire. As they mowed and weeded they reminisced about how brave my grandparents had been to leave Germany as young adults and immigrate to America ... the tragedy of the house fire ... the sadness of losing their oldest son fighting in a war against their homeland. Even at an early age, and not having known these members of our family, I sensed an aura of sadness along with love on these evenings.
On the twilight drive home, my father would express his feelings on the neglected gravesites overgrown with weeds and tall grass. These belonged to families who had moved from the area or to families who didn’t have time — or didn’t care. This scene was common at all country cemeteries at that time. My father felt so strongly on this matter that, in his role as Township Clerk, he proposed a plan for perpetual care which was adopted by cemeteries in our area to successfully solve this problem.
While Decoration Day was established to remember those who died in wars, it was the custom in my parents’ families, and most others in the community, to decorate all graves. We’d arrive at the cemetery mid-morning and unload buckets of peonies picked that morning. An American flag was already in place on my uncle’s grave and the bleeding heart bush planted there was in bloom. Those already gathered at the cemetery came to greet us and it became a reunion of friends not seen for a year or more. Many, along with us, would be wearing red paper poppies, the symbols of sacrifice, distributed by members of the American Legion the week before Memorial Day.
Weather on May 30 was unpredictable and could be hot and humid or cold and rainy with the possibility of a tornado. In my mother’s photo album there is one taken on Decoration Day showing her garden plants peeking out from a blanket of snow. But I mostly remember the sunny days, roaming through the maze of decorated graves, pausing at the small gravestones with sculpted lambs atop indicating a baby or young child buried there ... and waiting not too patiently for the adult conversations to end. Then there was a 15-mile drive to the cemetery of my mother’s family plots where I hoped to see a favorite cousin.
Because of these memories, and knowing how important it was to my parents that deceased family members be remembered on Decoration/Memorial Day, I continue to make my annual Iowa florist phone call. It is a small gesture to honor my parents and express gratitude for the life and love they gave to me.
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