Sunday, May 29, 2016

Deep in the Mississippi Woods

Deep in the Mississippi, Blue Hill woods, there is a place where our loved ones lie in wait towards the East sky's. Their headstones tell of the years that have slipped by, generation after generation. The grounds are immaculately groomed, the sweet smell of the Magnolia trees are blooming, and the Spanish moss continues to sway in the wind among the old trees. 
Each year, on the first Saturday in May, people come from all over just as their Great grand parents did before them. To fellowship with each other, have dinner on the grounds, and reminisce about those buried there.  The Elders tell the old family story's to the younger ones in hopes that they will pass them on to the next generation long after they are gone.
As I sat under the old pavilion on that weathered wooden benche, listening to Brother Burt share God's word with those that have gathered this year, my eyes gaze past behind him and then down to the graves. I can almost hear the voices of my ancestry's talking around us. The birds sing their hearts out in a beautiful melody behind us in the trees. The wind is softly blowing and I can smell the honey suckle on the other side of the fence. My mind wonders into the peacefulness of it all and I picture my Grandparents, Vida Smith and Louie Thomas, walking along those graves hoeing the weeds, picking up fallen limbs, and sitting down with Annie Trevillion under the shade trees for lunch. If you look closely, there's John Hiram Smith and John Orr cutting down an old tree with a cross bow. Can you see them? Hear them? One by one, another wagon pulls up and people share the day helping clean up this peaceful little cemetery. They don't do it as a chore, they do it for the love of those that sleep there...
Then I hear the Preacher again as he closes in prayer. I bow my head feeling humbled and blessed to be there sharing MayDay with my own husband and the many friends and distant cousins that sit around me.


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