05/15/2026
Before folks started callin’ it Memorial Day,
back before plastic flowers from Walmart and little solar lights blinkin’ on graves all night,
around these parts it was called , Decoration Day.
And buddy, Decoration Day in Appalachia wasn’t just some holiday.
It was near about a homecoming, a family reunion, a church meetin’, and a grieving day all rolled into one.
You could tell it was comin’ for weeks.
Women would already be fussin’ over mason jars full of peonies, iris blooms, and snowball flowers.
Kids would be sent out through fence rows and hollers huntin’ wildflowers.
Men would be weed-eatin’ and mowin’ around family plots while mutterin’,
“Well… reckon Papaw wouldn’t want this place lookin’ like a jungle.”
Old folks would start tellin’ stories again too.
Stories about who was buried where.
Who fought in the wars.
Who got snakebit.
Who died too young.
Who married wrong.
And who still haunted the creek bend after dark.
Then come Decoration Day mornin’,
the roads across Appalachia would fill up with dusty pickups, old Chevrolets, and cousins you ain’t seen since the Carter administration.
People would come home from Ohio.
Michigan.
Indiana.
Florida.
Some hadn’t stepped foot in the holler all year,
but they came for Decoration Day.
Because around here,
you don’t forget your people.
Little country cemeteries up on ridges would suddenly bloom like gardens.
Every grave cleaned.
Every stone washed off.
Fresh flowers laid down with care.
And if you listened close enough,
between the bumblebees buzzin’ and church bells ringin’,
you could hear generations talkin’.
Kids runnin’ between tombstones playin’ tag while mamaws hollered,
“Don’t you dare step on that grave!”
Old men standin’ with their hands hooked in their overalls quietly starin’ at names carved in rock.
Women settin’ out enough food to feed half the county.
Lord have mercy-
the food.
Fried chicken.
Country ham.
Green beans cooked to death.
Macaroni salad.
Deviled eggs.
Banana puddin’.
Coconut cake.
And enough sweet tea to float a bass boat down the Nolichucky.
And after the cemetery was decorated,
folks would gather under shade trees and eat till buttons started surrenderin’.
Then the singin’ would start.
Old hymns driftin' across the hills.
“Shall We Gather at the River.”
“I’ll Fly Away.”
“If I could hear my mother pray again”
Some cried.
Some laughed.
Some sat quiet.
But everybody remembered.
That’s what Decoration Day really was.
Not perfection.
Not fancy wreaths.
Not social media posts.
It was simple, common people makin’ sure the dead were still loved.
And truth be told-
a lotta us still feel closest to our people standin’ in those old cemeteries,
readin’ names on weathered stones,
listenin’ to the wind move through the trees they once walked under too.
Share your memories of Decoration Day.
~~banjo~~
