See that tall headstone in the center of the photograph? That line of headstones were vandalized a couple of years after I took this photo. One headstone memorializes Harley, a dear son of some of the first pioneers who settled in this area. He was almost 8 months old.
I used to take my children to this pioneer cemetery for picnics and quiet conversation. Death just is, you know? The cemetery is in a secluded area surrounded by farmland and smelled so pretty in spring, yet only a mile from city limits. A lilac was near the grave of Avis, who lived for one day. The lilac is enormous, a sweet tribute for a tiny baby who wasn’t long for this world. That is what I assume anyway, about the age of the lilac. I’m just going to continue to think the lilac was planted by someone who loved baby girl very much. It was planted to keep lovely company, regardless.
I wish I knew their stories, these little ones who lived and died in 1880’s and 1890’s eastern South Dakota. So many small green hints left behind.
Driving past the site every once and a while, I say hi to Avis and Harley, as the idea of them being forgotten pains me. Lilacs were the first shrub I planted when we moved to this house. They remind me of Avis sometimes. My family already knows, that while they are free to keep my cremated remains, I’d much prefer the last of me feeds something that will be here far longer than the memory of me.
The cemetery also features a memorial sign for the Foster Children, who died in a blizzard. Another prairie blizzard, the Schoolhouse Blizzard of 1888, aka The Children's Blizzard, was called such for tragic reasons. One of the worst blizzards in American history, particularly for children on the prairie. The day started out unseasonably warm (common before a blizzard), encouraging parents to send the kids to school not fully dressed nor prepared for the literal blizzard that hit while many were in the middle of the school day or walking home. No warm buses to take the kids safely home in those days. Weather forecasting was actually more advanced than one would assume, but how to inform the isolated farmsteads, so many being sod homes, that had only begun to dot the prairie?
Pioneers William and Kate Kampen, who lived in a small sod house in Marion, South Dakota territory, were caught ill-prepared for the blizzard. They ran out of coal for their fire, so William was forced to leave for the town of Parker, South Dakota some 23 miles (37 km) away to buy more coal and supplies. He took two of his horses with him. While William was gone, 19-year-old Kate gave birth alone to their first son, Henry Royal Kampen, on January 8. While William was in town, the blizzard hit. Several of William's friends tried to persuade him to stay in town, but he knew he had to get back home to Kate, not knowing she had given birth. The storm raged on as he tried to make his way back home. He stayed with his horses, but eventually, both of them died because the wind was so strong that both the horses suffocated. William was able to find a barn with pigs in it, and crawled in with them to try to keep warm. Meanwhile, Kate kept herself and the baby warm by staying in bed. William finally made it back home to Kate and the baby after spending three days and nights out on the prairie alone. Wiki - includes source in Cite 18
Talking to my husband, we are both wondering how indigenous populations fared. Already suffering yet more acclimated to the environment and the local climate. The Lakota and Dakota Sioux, Cheyenne. All the stories just fascinate me, all are worth hearing. I must not be looking in the correct spaces, as my google-foo is failing me.
A geocache is somewhere in or around the cemetery, but I’ve never found it. I only looked for it once. Wasn’t really down with my private spot attracting a bunch of people looking for fun, but I admit I may be wrong with that thought. I have an attachment to the place, and what lies there. Why look for a treasure already found?
My Dakota blizzard story. I, being a so very wise 21 year old, got caught up in a rural S.D. blizzard that struck on my way home from my grandparent’s house. I *knew* I could beat the storm (being a worldly 21 yr old who learned to drive on ice and snow), as home was less than an hour away. Halfway there, visibility goes from flurries to white out within five minutes. Suddenly, I could see nothing but white going in all directions. It was highly disorienting. A few minutes after that, the car is in the ditch, facing the wrong way. Somehow a farmer passing by noticed my headlights and picked myself and my brother up a few minutes after the spin out. We got so lucky. We were fine.
On a happier note, Next Saturday is my Seed Giveaway, right here at SMGB. Same rules apply as last year. Free to any address that accepts a U.S. postage stamp. Visit the diary linked below to review rules. The dates will change, but the rest will be the same.
Seed Giveaway Last Year
I had a great experience last year and have all of you to thank for that! Only one person requested seeds then disappeared before sending me their info, with no response to all my attempts to contact them before the deadline. Not the biggest deal. I am strict about the deadline. Now that I have the dreaded J-Word, my time is quite limited.
Isn’t time for all of us so valuable?
I will not be offering Baker Creek seeds for this giveaway, the few that I have, based on last year’s feedback.
This weekend I am going through posting videos that have been impatiently waiting for editing. I have a new one posted from this summer, reminding me of why I advocate for gardening so passionately. It’s under 3 minutes.
Funny aside. This was yet another diary that was changed last minute. My original diary idea was going to incorporate quotes from our favorite holiday movies while reviewing the year in my garden. Who doesn’t love an Easter egg hunt? So I sat down to write the diary and needed that first header photo. The Bethel Cemetery photo has been on my mind (one of my favorite photographs) so I put that in on a whim. And just like that, the other diary idea was scrapped. On a quiet Friday night.
Sometimes a story demands to be told.
I wish you all a good week!