Memorial Day memories

Hi neighbors. Happy Memorial Day weekend!

As a child growing up in Wichita, Kan., most of my memories of my father's family involve holiday trips back to Missouri when my father had a day off and there was no school.

Memorial Day always involved a trip to the cemeteries, a picnic at the park and a family gathering at my grandmother's house. Since watermelons were not ripe yet, homemade ice cream was the norm. People would cringe these days, but ice cream was made with real cream and raw eggs, sugar, salt and fruit for flavoring or just a couple of "dribbles" of vanilla.

This concoction was beaten smooth, and then poured into the "innards" of the ice cream churn. Surrounding this metal tube was a wooden bucket. The area between the exterior of the metal tube and the interior of the wooden bucket was filled with salted ice.

The top of the ice cream maker had a paddle attached that fit into the tube holding the liquid ice cream "makings." Once fastened together, a crank on top of the bucket turned the paddle and churned the liquid until the ice made it firm -- ice cream!

The ice cream churn was passed around between the boys and then the men as turning it became more and more difficult. After everyone had a bowl of cold ice cream, we all climbed into assorted cars, all carrying flower arrangements, hammers, digging implements, flags, etc., and headed to the cemeteries.

We always went to Alder Cemetery first.

My grandmother would point out everyone related to the family buried there and tell a story about those she knew. She included everyone who fought in every war since the Civil War and placed a small American flag next to their tombstones. This took some time, as at least 90 percent of the burials at Alder Cemetery were related to my family.

In hindsight, these family tales were more precious than gold, and I am sorry to say I've forgotten more of them than I remember.

Then we would head to Dunnegan along the old dirt road. We would stop at the Dunnegan Spring and tell the story of how Grandmother's parents camped there when they first arrived by wagon from more than a month on the road migrating from Indiana to Missouri.

We would visit the "town house" where my great-aunt lived after getting too old to live alone on the family farm. A section of the homestead was devoted to the family graveyard. That would be our next stop. Up a dirt road, left turn, right turn, and then pull into the Dunnegan Cemetery.

I must admit, I had no idea who these people were having never met any of them except one brother and one sister of my grandmother. It was only after I started doing genealogy research in earnest that I realized what an opportunity to learn about these ancestors I had missed. I am certain my grandmother told stories of these people (her family) just as she did about my grandfather's family, but I don't remember them.

There were a couple of stops then at small cemeteries or of those with only a few burials. But we would finally arrive in Bolivar to have lunch at the park and visit the cemetery there.

After a full day of celebrating the dead, we would return to my grandmother's house for a supper of leftover lunch and another churn of ice cream. Then we would all sit in the front yard, women on the porch and men on the cellar or lawn chairs. Children, myself included, would wander between these groups to hear the adults talk and to finally settle with our own gender to hear family gossip and news.

All in all, Memorial Day was a day to relish family, to share life stories of the living and dead and to reconnect with each other as a cohesive group.

Although most of those generations are now gone, my children and I will head to the cemeteries this weekend to find our roots once more. It will be an all day journey; but there will be a time and place for ice cream!

Until the next time friends, remember, the strongest bonds are those of family, but they don't stay connected without a little effort. Have a great Memorial Day!