All My Ancestors

At 10:00 Wednesday morning I went to the funeral of a dear friend. The memorial service was here in Oklahoma City in a big air-conditioned church with a pipe organ and rituals and attendants in their suits.

The committal service was 5 hours later and 156 miles north–in a small-town country cemetery. It was hot and windy and lots of people came who had not attended the memorial service in the city.

Many of them had on their boots and starched Wranglers and straw hats. Others wore their knit slacks and a light cotton top and brought an umbrella for some protection from the unrelenting sun.

And there were also a couple of horses.

My picture didn’t turn out all that well despite using the zoom lens, at least in being able to see the horses. But it does give a good picture of the cemetery and the day.

I like country cemeteries. And I liked seeing the men with white foreheads and brown faces, holding their hats in respect for the service and for Elmer, with their heads bowed and reciting the Lord’s Prayer. We were all standing in the blazing sun when the minister/hubbo started to gather us for the service. Then I heard the unmistakable rattle of a trailer. Across the road I saw a pickup slowing down and bumping along the road’s shoulder. It stopped, two straw-hatted men got out and came over to join us gathered around the casket. They’d parked over there to avoid having to negotiate the curves of the cemetery road, I’m sure, and because there were two horses in the trailer they were pulling. These were working men taking a few minutes from their day to come pay their respects to their friend.

I know Elmer would have had a grin over the fact that his funeral was attended by horses as well as lots of loving friends and family.