FROM THE OPINION SIDE – Mountain memories in the love of the family on the big decoration day | opinion

The second Sunday in August – there was nothing like it. Oh, Christmas was still Christmas and it would never be replaced. Giving gifts and visits, snow and “Suschhen” on the smooth sidewalks and streets were always something special, along with the Christmas story, the star and the greatest gift of all. And then Easter was perhaps the most important day on the calendar when more visitors came, although the weather was usually much better and the special sacrifice made for all of us was on many minds. It was also more of a “dress up” day, which was very popular with most of the family – but not all. There was some disagreement there.

Of course, the birthdays were important. With a family of more than 10 children on one side and their children and even some grandchildren, it was much more difficult to keep the deadlines for them. There was no calendar that was distributed by the drugstores or funeral home or the grocery store on the kitchen wall or in the living rooms that were now scattered across states that could contain all of this increasingly abundant information. No, it was always up to the individual families to remember and recognize their own.

However, in those days of handwritten letters, special messages were often thrown into the mailboxes from time to time. In fact, it was a matter of pride to check the envelopes because the signatures were unique and even before a letter was opened, someone knew who had mailed it. It was almost like looking at the Declaration of Independence – you only knew the person by the vortex of their own written alphabet. Certain teachers were mentioned and how well they had taught both the written and italic alphabet. It wasn’t just the girls who were good writers and had great handwriting – no, most of the boys did a great job and the “chicken scratch” handwriting was seldom found on anything important enough to get in the mail to be sent. That was in the days of the three and four cent stamps, and the money couldn’t be wasted.

Yes, the year was filled with phone calls and notes and letters. There were occasional visits and meetings in town when it was food day for those close enough. This kept the family in touch for most of the months and between the major holidays.

Ah, but August was approaching and there was excitement in the air, just a little different than before. The second Sunday was “Decoration Day”. That meant a great get-together and a hive of activity in every single home to prepare for the event.

Everyone knew that at Haw Orchard Baptist Church down in Rugby, Virginia, the deceased and everyone who gathered to show respect, pay tribute and deference was something not to be missed or overlooked.

Grandfather Frank and Grandmother Inez were born and raised in Grayson County, miners who would later come over the rugged mountains to settle in Jenkinjones, West Virginia, to earn a living and raise a family. That was all well and good, but it didn’t mean the distant relatives who still lived near Mount Rogers and perhaps further toward Lansing, North Carolina, or those who lived peacefully on the high mountain next to the little white church slept snuggled under the split railing fences along the winding bends of Route 58 would be neglected as the summer days grew shorter as the leaves of a thousand oaks slowly changed color.

Mom started to get ready. There was food to be repaired and Grandma had to be consulted. Mom, Dad, and I took trips over mountain number 8 to discuss things. It wasn’t just the food – that was a big job in itself – but the wreaths and flowers had to be made too. Nobody went to a flower shop. The flowers were made of crepe paper and wire and made into bouquets and wreaths and garlands and just anything. It was arduous work and took hours and days as the time drew nearer.

They came from near and far. Up in Clinton, Maryland, Aunt Gladys had planned time off from Sears, and Uncle Alfred was taking days off from Giant Foods, and cousin Brenda was ready to help. Nearby, Uncle Elwood was ready to take a break from his work at Kroll Petroleum, and so he, Aunt Lillian, Shirley, Alan and JD were soon out and about in their dark Cadillac.

Junior also planned Decoration Day outside of his work at the Southern Railway and we would meet him at the station during the week. Uncle Rudy and Aunt Hazel, who lived at one end of the street Gladys and Alfred lived on, were out too, and as always, I wanted to check their bumper for the blue and yellow sticker that marked his job in the Washington Navy garden.

What a time – Rudy and Dottie up in Bluefield, Grace and Carl across from my grandparents, Onnie and Bea on the high hill in Conklintown, Dwight and Pansy down in Leckie. Randy and his family in Montcalm. As we would say, just tons and tons of people. Children and grandchildren make plans for the pilgrimage. Everyone cooks, does handicrafts, laughs, visits, thinks about past and present and future times.

On this big day, the procession somehow meandered through Tazewell County and Brushy Mountain and on past Hungry Mother’s Park through Marion and then 53 miles on Rt. 16 before turning left at the Mouth of Wilson and going up the mountain. There were always a few who preferred Route 91, however, and they drove past Saltville and Chilhowie and up the steep hill to White Top Mountain, coming in from the west on Crooked Road.

Roasted chicken and country ham and bowls with potato salad, green beans, biscuits, corn bread, tomatoes and corn, meat loaf, cherry and apple pie, German chocolate cake and milk, lemonade, ice water, waxed paper, toothpicks, names stuck on the bottom of the container – all that and much more – after the Sunday sermon and flowers were lovingly placed on the graves.

What a hassle. Thousands of miles of travel and countless dollars spent to make it happen. For a few hours the world came together on a high mountain top that was loved by family. It was a once in a lifetime experience.

Until next year.

Larry Hypes, a teacher at Bluefield High School, is a columnist for the Daily Telegraph. Contact him at [email protected].