Memorial Day in my Podunk Town

The ceremony starts at 9:30am at the old town cemetery. Early enough for the old timers to head straight from breakfast at the Trolley Stop. Late enough for parents to avoid complaints from kids in the morning. A few folks make remarks -the Commander of the American Legion, one of the Selectmen, and the Town Historian. No one uses a microphone. Everyone can hear them. The speeches end with a polite applause and the Committee Chair reminds everyone that the parade starts in fifteen minutes.

Twenty minutes later, the Color Guard turns right and begins down Main Street. Behind them are a handful of Veterans from a variety of wars. Some impressively old, others shockingly young. They all march with the muscle memory of their much younger selves. Behind, marching with less muscle memory but just as much enthusiasm, is the local Boy Scout Troop. They wear their own uniforms and carry their own colors. Following them are a combination of police officers, firefighters, and first responders. A small convoy of antique cars and tractors bring up the rear.

The route is short enough for the remaining residents to line the sidewalks and still give everyone room to see. As the small contingent passes through, the crowd waves. Flags in celebration. Hands in familiarity. Behind them red, white, and blue clashes wonderfully with pink and purple rhododendrons and green lawns. Everything is vibrant. Everyone is smiling.

The parade devours itself as it progresses. People on the sidewalk fall in behind the procession until they culminate in a small crowd outside the Post Office. At the front of the crowd sits a simple granite monument. It is freshly adorned in flowers and flags. Here the speeches are shorter. A list of names and dates is read. It spans the entire 104 year history of the town. The crowd is asked to bow their heads in prayer, and they do. It is not religious. A bugle playing Taps breaks the silence. It is perfectly melancholy. A salute is fired and the ceremony ends. The crowd disperses.

Most head back home, or to the backyards of family and friends. From there the day marches on mercifully slow. Time is better measured by smell. The sweet scent of freshly mowed grass is ushered away by the aroma of countless backyard cookouts carried on the breeze. As the sun sets, grill smoke mingles, then transforms, into campfire smoke. The dull murmur of conversations, punctuated by laughs, can be heard over fences and through open windows. Everything is vibrant. Everyone is smiling.

From there, friends and family slowly head home. Parents with sleepy toddlers first. Those with a long drive ahead of them next. Everyone else last. All of them take a plate of leftovers with them - some begrudgingly.

The vacated chairs at the fire are soon filled by neighbors. They bring with them a few stray beers or slices of dessert to share over a recap of their day. The last of the logs turn to embers and months of work, life, and family updates are condensed into a single conversation. A not-so-subtle reminder of how fast life moves. Eventually, a sudden realization of how late it is (and mosquitos) lead to hastened goodnights and see you tomorrows.

Back inside, the last few cold hamburgers and hot dogs are wrapped up, or fed to a lucky dog. Dishes are washed and put away, or left for the morning. The last of the lights are turned off and the day ends. Everything was vibrant. Everyone was smiling.

-CKaz