This is Kerry, taking over for John this week. And possibly next week. John is visiting family and friends over the Memorial Day weekend. So I’m left to my own devices…
As I was being bombarded with self-righteous memes on social media reminding me that Memorial Day is about remembering our fallen soldiers, I pondered about where the tradition originated. As time goes by, it seems the holiday concentrates on those who have died in wars in the last 80 years, such as World War II (World War I, the War to End All Wars, is rarely mentioned anymore). After World War II, we add in the conflicts of the Korean War, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.
Yet the roots of Memorial Day lay firmly planted in the bloody soil of our Civil War. It was this war where 600,000 Americans died. Each one of them fought for what they believed to be a just cause. As for remembering the fallen, some reports credit women—mothers, sisters, wives, nieces, grandmothers—for establishing our current tradition. Women, sometimes the only surviving members of a family, decorated the graves of their loved ones, and their neighbors. Usually they did this in the spring when flowers were in bloom and available. Thus, Memorial Day began as Decoration Day, the day when the cemeteries were decorated with flowers. It evolved from there, first celebrated on May 30th, then, in 1971, it was designated to be the last Monday of May. Still the perfect time for spring flowers.
Considering how it originated and why, isn’t it fitting that families use the holiday to reconnect? To enjoy each other’s company? To ring in the changing of the seasons?
So please enjoy the weekend in the best and most joyous way you choose. With friends and family, with riotous laughter, and abundant food. Yes, the holiday is about memorializing those soldiers who died for us. This doesn’t mean that it is a weekend only for grieving or for solemn reflection, though these are important aspects of the holiday. We can also honor the fallen by living our days to the fullest, because that is what they fought for.
Holidays can be personal celebrations. While John is away this weekend, below are his most treasured memories of Memorial Day traditions. The cottage on the lake, as John describes it below, has now been replaced, but remembering it and the good times that his family shared there lives on.
An excerpt from The Anvil’s Ring archives:
Every year, for as long as I can remember, our family had a tradition of going to Grandma’s downtown house to watch the Memorial Day parade and then head up to the cottage at the lake. We always called it The Lake, never it’s actual name. We would have a cookout, put the dock in and have a very fast swim in the icy water if the sun was shining.
The porch furniture had to be arranged and the green awning hung out. The awning had multiple cords, hooks and pulleys that were always tangled no matter how careful we put it away in the Fall. Grandpa would always tease us that we looked like rookie sailors setting sail for the first time, but we would eventually sort it out. As the awning was finally unfurled, Grandma would come out and exclaim how nice it looked like she had never seen it before. The end of the day would come all too soon. And then we would head home.
Back in my parents’ house I would lay in bed and smile a little before drifting off to sleep. The end of that traditional Memorial Day get-together meant something: School was almost over, and summer was here.
I could stay for weeks at a time at The Lake in the summer. There was fishing and swimming. Grandpa and I could talk about history and politics on the porch while watching the boats buzz by. It meant late night snacks with Grandma, her stories about the old neighborhood on North Street including all the characters that lived and worked there. The summer, it seemed, would begin that night of Memorial Day after the family get-together. Even as an adult, I found it difficult to fall asleep, caught up in the anticipation of summertime at The Lake.
That tradition might not seem like much to someone from the outside looking in, but I remember the very first time that tradition ended for me. It was when we moved to Montana, and the first Memorial Day at our new home. I was cooking my special bacon cheeseburgers for everyone, when my sister called from The Lake. The raucous family noise in the background on the phone was so familiar I had to grin. When Grandma came on the line, I abruptly had a difficult time controlling my emotions. I choked up and made some silly excuse to get off the phone. That family tradition meant more to me than I knew, or maybe it was the people involved with the tradition that meant something more.
I’m sure you have traditions that mean a great deal to you. Tell me about them in the comments below. I would love to hear them.