Memorial Day was originally called Decoration Day and it began amidst the Civil War as a way to pay tribute to those who died in battle. When this cemetery was started in the early 1860’s, Decoration Day was on May 30th – regardless of what day of the week it fell on. On that day, the hillside was filled with people and all of the graves were decorated – some with a single flower made of crepe paper and placed on the grave with love.
After World War I, there was a need to honor those who died in all U.S. wars, so the name was changed from Decoration Day to Memorial Day. At the time of the change no one knew that World War II would be on the horizon and many would once again defend our Republic at home and abroad.
In 1971 there was another change made by the federal government. Memorial Day would no longer be observed on May 30th each year, but on the last Monday in May.
Regardless of what day (or days) you celebrate, remember, and give thanks for those who served, remember when you look at our beautiful American Flag, that it was forged in sacrifice and the blood of patriots, and many generations since the 1700’s have sacrificed so that we could remain Free, live in a Republic where our movements are not restricted, we are free to worship our God, and live with the protections of The Constitution of the United States as written by the founding fathers of our Nation.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a Canadian who served as a brigade surgeon for an Allied artillery unit during what was then called The Great War, now referred to as World War I, wrote In Flanders Fields channelling the voices of the fallen.
Today, on the original Memorial Day, May 30th, it seems fitting to share John McCrae’s poem. For the lost of the war. The loss we feel and mourn for those brave souls who stood up and defended these United States, The Constitution, and Freedom.
“In Flanders Fields”
by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
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