We buried my oldest cousin yesterday who
passed after a ten month fight with cancer. After a traditional church service
and VFW/American Legion 21 gun salute in Craig, CO, his cremains were interred at
a private family cemetery West of Maybell, CO located on a 1913 homestead that
is still in the hands of family members.
Lee was a gunner’s mate on destroyers in
his younger days.
A portion of the road in.
The entrance.
His cremains were placed in his boots and those and his hat were interred.
The church was packed while the gathering
at the cemetery was mainly relatives.
One of his daughters insuring his favorite
M&Ms went with him.
In our clan, we dig the graves and fill
them.
R.I.P Lee. Ride those wild horses cowboy.
There is nothing formal about the graves
area. People just pick a spot.
My father’s grave.
What appears to be a
rope in the upper left corner hanging from the tree is bark caused by a deer
scraping velvet from his antlers. From the location, he probably stood on the
grave. My father would be pleased. Seems the badger has stopped trying to den
in the grave as noted from our last visit. A cousin’s husband added some more
rock to the site.
I rode over with my sister. We have
started getting rain, helping to put out wildfires, and the early dawn light
show was amazing.
At 8,000' ASL the leaves are starting to
turn.
As always, life goes on. The youngest
person at the church was a great grandchild, age two months.
10 comments:
What a great place to be buried. I'm glad it's still in the family, and hopefully it remain so.
A friend & I flew my Dad's ashes up to his favorite hunt'n camp, recently. Quite the thunderstorm after we flew out of the area, just Dad settl'n in I think...
Condolences.
I'm with Brig, if you have to be buried, there is no better place to push up daises than at a family plot there in the mountains.
We considered aerial dispersal for my mother's remains. Other family members requests led us in another direction.
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Something my sister found in conversation with survivors, who had never been to the homestead, found themselves feeling a connection with their previously unknown roots. For them, this was an unexpected solace.
What a magnificent place. Tradition is good.
And a testament to the stubborn people who eked out a living dry land farming in a place with a 60 day growing season. The final blow was the sons going off to fight WWII.
He sounds like a tough man, and I really like that he was burred with his boots and hat. I also like the chain and anchor for an old Gunnersmate. Fair Winds, mate.
He was tough. For more than 25 years, his "town job" was running dozers at strip mines.
He was from the branch of family deviants who joined the Navy instead of the Army but we still accepted him.
Fair winds and following seas to him!
Nice.....very nice.
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