Later in the day, after having a hamburger barbeque at my mother-in-law's house, I decided to take a drive to the cemetery where my maternal grandparents, two uncles and an aunt are buried. Each year I buy flowers to decorate their graves, and I had not done so. Earlier in the week we made it to the cemetery where my parents and some of my husband's family are buried, but a busy week had squeezed out the time I had intended to make my trek to Corinth Cemetery.
Heading south on Highway 42 from Crosby, the memories flooded my brain of the many times we traveled this road on visits to my grandmother's farm. Just across the pasture was another farm where my uncle and aunt lived. A short distance beyond the second farm is a quaint little cemetery. Coming from the north you don't see it until you are right beside it, because it is nestled on a hillside. It is such a peaceful place surrounded by the beauty of the North Dakota prairies.
A walk through the gate toward the middle of the cemetery and just to the east is a large monument with the name "OLSON" on it. Just beyond are four small rectangular markers, one each for my grandpa and grandma and two more for an uncle and aunt. On the other side of these is a larger rectangular stone marking the burial site of my other uncle. His wife still lives on the farm and will someday be buried beside him.
As I took a few minutes to add my flowers to the cross decoration already in place, I found myself "talking" to each of them. Grandpa Oluf was someone I never knew. In fact, he died when my mother was only 11 years old. That is the age of my oldest grandchild. It is hard to process losing a parent at that age.
Next comes the marker for Grandma Ellen. She was the only grandparent I ever knew, as my dad's mother had died before I was born and I was only 2 when his dad passed away. Needless to say, Grandma Ellen capsulated everything wonderful there was about a grandparent in my eyes! I miss her smile. I miss her warm heart. I miss the wisdom she accumulated over her 100 years of life. Yes, I miss her!
Third is the marker for Uncle Henry. His life had a tragic ending when he took his own life at the age of 66. Only after my own diagnosis with bipolar did I learn of his struggle with the same highs and lows during his lifetime. Growing up and even into my adult life I was unaware of the challenges the other adults in the family experienced with his ups and downs. More than any of them, however, I could understand the confused brain used in his final decision in life. Thinking of Uncle Henry, my mind went back to the man who picked up the mantle when his own father died. Just shy of his 19th birthday, Henry was thrust into being the "man of the house" with three younger siblings and a mother to watch over. He was a "grandfather" of sorts for us nieces and nephews, and is remembered for the twinkle in his eyes and his devotion to his mother and the farm. That, and Nesbitt's orange pop, which always seemed to be waiting to treat us above the cistern!
The fourth marker is that of my mom's sister who died when she was 19. My mother, at the time, was only 16. From what I've been told, she had some kind of heart defect which ultimately took her life. Someday I will get to know her, too.
Uncle Melvin is the other one buried in this cemetery. He was the quieter of the two brothers, but equally devoted to his mother and the farming. His interests moved on to include marriage and eventually the adoption of three children, but in my childhood he provided us many happy memories. Precious memories.
Just beyond the cemetery lies what is left of the small town of Corinth, North Dakota. Once a thriving little prairie community, it had a school, church and "general store" I remember visiting as a child with Uncle Henry. A special frozen treat could always be found when you lifted the top from the freezer unit. The church eventually closed and was moved to a Bible camp, but there were many Sundays we attended services there.
Stopping by my aunt's farm, I found only their daughter, who now lives with her, at home. We had such a nice visit about growing up years and the memories we shared because of these special people in our lives. The drive home took me once again past the "castle barn" which was the sign we were "almost to grandma's house!"
As I got closer to Crosby, I found myself taking a bit of a detour into Hawkeye Township where my paternal grandparents had homesteaded. The drive back to town from that direction took me past the Crosby Cemetery where my parents are buried and I felt my "Memorial Day Journey" was complete.
Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of his faithful servants.
is the death of his faithful servants.
~Psalm 116:15
