DECORATION DAY

The old term for Memorial Day was Decoration Day, and when I was a child, that’s what my family called it. In the "old days," Memorial Day was May 31^st, regardless of the day of the week -- and yes, I remember those old days.

Many of my Grandmother Portfors’ family, the Stinsons and the Sanders, are buried at Burnt Ridge Cemetery near Troy, Idaho. On Memorial Day, she and my grandfather would load several washtubs of flowers in the trunk of his Lincoln (she didn’t drive), and travel to Troy where they would pick up Aunt Hattie (Harriet Chapman Stinson). Her husband, Grandma’s uncle, had died, and they would add her flowers to the mix in the car and head out to the cemetery to place bouquets of fresh flowers on family graves. Afterward, they would have dinner – either at Aunt Hattie’s or at the hotel in Troy.

After Grandma Portfors died (May 1955), my mother stepped in to help my grandfather carry on the Decoration Day tradition. Grandma was buried at the Normal Hill Cemetery in Lewiston, so of course that cemetery became one of utmost importance, but we also continued the tradition of visiting those old graves at Burnt Ridge Cemetery and others in the area. Of course, I went along.

By May 31, school was out, and this lovely tradition marked the beginning of my summer vacation. Rest assured that we were dressed in our Sunday best, regardless of the weather or the fact that we would be bending over in breezy conditions to sort flowers. (Women did not wear slacks in public in those days. Apparently it was better to show your undergarments than to be seen in pants.) My grandfather wore a suit. It was a rather solemn occasion -- showing respect for the dead, as it were.

And I just have to mention this – on the way back to Orofino from Troy in the afternoon, my grandfather would find the Indianapolis 500 on the radio. BOR-R-R-R-R-ING!! And I assure you, nothing was provided for my entertainment and if I had complained, the consequences would have been swift -- and unpleasant.

But – I digress.

We made lovely bouquets of mixed flowers. You may wonder that there would have been enough flowers, but in those days we had lots – iris, tulips, lilacs, bleeding heart, peonies, columbine, coral bells, roses, and sprigs of hawthorn blossoms. Yards had flowers in those days – which is probably a glittering generality but a concept with which I grew up nevertheless. Not only were there flowers at our house but also at Grandpa Portfors’ and Grandma Walrath’s. And if the lilacs were past in Orofino, my dad would go to the farm at Gilbert – two thousand feet higher in elevation – and come back with a pail of lilacs and maybe some narcissus.

But finally the day came when there weren’t enough flowers. Grandma Walrath passed away in 1957. Grandpa Portfors became too ill to care for his yard. And by the early ‘60s my parents had remodeled the house and grounds, eliminating flower beds in favor of easy-care landscaping. Did Mother give up on Memorial Day decoration? No. Instead my dad made planter boxes for her, and late in April she would plant them so that they were at their peak by Memorial Day. KW

[Top photo: The William and Eliza Stinson family, my great-great grandparents on my mother's side. The woman seated back right is Alice Mary Stinson Sanders, my great-grandmother (Grandma Portfors' mother). William and Eliza, Alice, and one of the sons (Will?) are buried at Burnt Ridge Cemetery near Troy.  Note the iris in the picture of the doll. The picture was probably taken about this time of year at Gilbert.]