![\"Palestine,](\"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Palestine-Decoration-Day-1961.jpg\")
<\/a>Pictured, left to right: small girl Penny Townsend, adult lady Faye Hart Wilson, in front of her Peggy Townsend, in background Linnie Britt Milam, foreground Bertha Britt, in back of her Thelma “Rooster” Hart Hopper, Ruth Hart Townsend, Louise Hart, Kaye Hart McLemore, Charles Perry.
The last two people named were married later that year.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
Bertha Britt and her daughters, as well as her maiden sisters Ada and Millie, along with as many granddaughters as she could persuade to help out, had been making crepe paper flowers since the last Christmas, preparing for this June day.\u00a0 The stretchy, brightly colored paper was inexpensive\u2014each folded and creased roll cost only 10 cents.\u00a0 Whenever anyone traveled to Lexington, TN with a list of items to purchase\u2014coffee, sugar, or flour in the grocery category, or perhaps, fertilizer, cottonseed, snuff or rolling tobacco in the \u201chave to have\u201d\u2014he was instructed to pick up a packet or two of the crepe paper.<\/p>\n
Only the paper needed to be purchased; baling wire and twine could be found around the house or barn.\u00a0 Rounded petals were cut with scissors, several at once, from red, yellow, blue, or purple folded lengths of paper, each stretched out with the thumbs to form a bubble-like lump that imitated the bud area of a blossom.\u00a0 One-half inch streamers were cut from the green bundles, then wrapped around seven inch sections of baling wire to become the floral stem.\u00a0 As each individual petal was placed just below a loop that had been fashioned at one end of the wire, twine was used to secure it to the stem.\u00a0 If one was lucky, she might have some very thin metal strands the man of the family had taken from inside a section of rubber covered, heavier wire used with farm machinery.\u00a0 These lengths held the petals together more securely and was easier to use than twine.<\/p>\n
As each flower was finished, it was placed into a clean fruit jar that had previously held food the family preserved the previous fall and opened to be cooked for meals during cold winter days.\u00a0 By the time June arrived, every flat surface in the house would be covered in bouquets of bright blooms so that it resembled a commercial florist.\u00a0 Bertha was proud if her house was so full of flowers that they were in the way, and it was difficult to do the household chores of cooking, cleaning and washing clothes.\u00a0 Today, she was very pleased that it took ten individuals to remove cardboard boxes of paper flowers from the old ford pickup, along with the fresh roses, cannas, and peonies the family had picked from beds along fences and across the high, front porch of the house.\u00a0 However, there were so many Britts and Wallaces along with kin of other surnames buried at Palestine, the graves were barely decorated to her satisfaction.\u00a0 Once the flowers were lined up along the mound of dirt behind each tombstone, someone would place a ladder-back chair under the shade tree, at the southwest edge of the cemetery, for her.\u00a0 Then, she would forget the flowers, take a dip of snuff, and prepare to hold court among her many progeny and friends.<\/p>\n
Other high royal priestesses of ritual and tradition in this family of Southern women walked somberly across the open spaces of the mountain top in their freshly pressed, cotton dresses, minding their newly coiffed, beehive hairdos. They reverently conveyed the carefully created decorations in outstretched arms to markers of loved ones who had passed on too soon.\u00a0 Along the way, they made sure to stop and speak to everyone they recognized, some kith and kin they had not seen since the year before.\u00a0 Responsible for making these reunions meaningful and a cherished memory for so many, they were very good at it.\u00a0 Most eventually gathered under the shade tree to visit with Bertha\u2019s family, where laughter replaced solemnity as people reminisced about their youth.<\/p>\n
Sometimes the jokes became a bit ribald as cousins shared details of escapades and adventures they had experienced as children.\u00a0 Often people would be teased about personality traits and idiosyncrasies.\u00a0 Reble Britt Carpino, Rooster (Thelma) Hart Hopper, and Imogene Woods Britt would almost strangle themselves with guffaws every time they got together.
\nThree beautiful, statuesque ladies, standing 5 feet, eight inches to 5 feet, ten inches tall, they were gifted by God with very ample bosoms–each had a 40D chest and a sense of humor to match their \u201cbigger than life\u201d physiques.\u00a0 A delightful act that everyone looked forward to was the performance put on by Reble, Rooster, and Imogene as they hassled one another as to which bosom was holding up the best and which ones had sagged to waistlines and beyond.
\nFarther toward the East, small groups would stand around tombstones, shaking hands and embracing with tears in their eyes.\u00a0 Two small, carved stones stood at the west end of short mounds, proclaiming that they memorialized the lives of\u00a0 Jimmy and Garry Waddle, sons of Helen Britt and Odis Waddle.\u00a0 The first stone identified Jimmy who, tragically, died at birth.\u00a0 The second honored Garry, whose story was even more affecting.<\/p>\n
Every year, folks were reminded of his death, and few could contain their emotions.\u00a0 The energetic, five-year-old had awakened one morning complaining of pain in his legs and telling his momma that he\u2019d dreamed last night about being shot by an Indian\u2019s arrow.\u00a0 Western programs and movies were popular at that time.<\/p>\n
Doctors determined that Garry was suffering from spinal meningitis.\u00a0 With few and inadequate treatments available, he lived for less than a week.\u00a0 Those two little headstones, resting side by side, could wring tears from the hardest of hearts.\u00a0 Standing beside them, gentle words were always spoken to the family by the dear, Christian man Harold Pollock.<\/p>\n
Most of the deceased Pollock family members were buried at Chapel Hill Baptist Church cemetery, about five miles away.\u00a0 However, they were also related to the Wallace\/Williams\/Holmes families, so many Pollocks attended the Palestine reunion each year.\u00a0 Harold, the second oldest boy in the George Pollock group, was loved and revered by everyone.\u00a0 His smiling demeanor, gentle voice, and wealth of information about \u201cdoings\u201d in the community made him a welcome sight to everyone.<\/p>\n
Some years, Harold\u2019s wife Vivien, sons Andy and Marty, with daughter Nila would accompany him.\u00a0 Other times, only Harold and Andy would attend.\u00a0\u00a0 Everyone knew they could look forward to seeing father and son.\u00a0 A man of Christian convictions, Harold Pollock could gently speak to those in distress and soothe their anxieties, always advising folks to lean on Jesus, and He would make things right.\u00a0 He also knew, many of them firsthand, genealogical stories and family tree details for almost every surname carved into the ancient granite markers. Harold was related to so many of the families.<\/p>\n
He was kin to the Wallaces because his mother Ida was a Wallace, sister to Ethridge, Bud Wallace\u2019s father.\u00a0 One Williams group came from Harold\u2019s mother\u2019s sister Elenor Wallace Williams.\u00a0 The Harts were related because Samuel Wallace, Ethridge\u2019s father, was a brother to Marion Hart\u2019s second wife, and Sam married Marion\u2019s granddaughter Nancy.\u00a0 In one-way or another, everyone on Palestine Mountain was related to everyone else.<\/p>\n
Finally, it was time to meander down toward the grounds of the Palestine Presbyterian Church at the foot of the mountain, to the annual \u201cdinner on the ground\u201d spread in the shade, under trees by a natural water aperture.\u00a0 The spring had brought pioneers to settle land and build houses in the area.\u00a0 Every first Sunday in June, for one hundred, fifty years afterward, they or their progeny had gathered beside it to honor their dead by decorating graves and to reunite with friends and family over a meal of the best foods their agriculture, animal husbandry, and cooking skills could provide.<\/p>\n
Today, the menu would be composed of some of the same dishes, recipes for which had been handed down from generation to generation for one and one-half centuries.\u00a0 There was the big pot of broken, green beans cooked for hours in chunks of cured pork, always contributed by Aunt Mildred Hart McLemore: cornbread dressing prepared in a large, 9\u201d by 13\u201d pan, with long pieces of stewed chicken that was the specialty of Aunt Ruth Hart Townsend; Ruby Britt Fryman never forgot to bring miniature, chocolate fudge pies; the buttermilk cornbread, brown and crunchy on the outside, moist and sticky on the inside was always made by Grandma Lula Mae Hart Wallace Baker; the best chocolate pie ever tasted, created and\u00a0 double-cooked by Linnie Britt Milam would be devoured before everyone could get a bite; Roxie Milam Wallace, mother of the Wallace younger generation, could be depended on to provide a succulent dessert\u2014fresh strawberry tart or moist coconut cake; Ginny her sister was expert on potato salad with deviled eggs, and her carrying utensils would be empty after everyone had eaten; and, Aunt Reble\u2019s super thin French cookies were an exotic touch.\u00a0 Some relatives would bring homemade pickles, especially the bread and butter recipe, while others put out casseroles of rich, golden squash, crisp fried, green tomatoes, luscious field peas, Irish potatoes in a skillet with onions, gallon jugs of candy-sweet tea, biscuits with country ham, and of course the obligatory banana pudding made in the \u201cfrom-scratch\u201d, country way with fresh eggs and cream. \n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Most Perfect Day by Roxie Milam Wallace and Jeff Wallace The blue sky was faultless, and the air crystalline\u2014the most perfect First Sunday in June Decoration Day anyone could remember.\u00a0 The old man, Palestine Mountain, sat content, robed in the verdant splendor of cottonwood…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":20,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"advgb_blocks_editor_width":"","advgb_blocks_columns_visual_guide":"","ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,22,24],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3073","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-church","category-life","category-people"],"author_meta":{"display_name":"","author_link":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/author\/"},"featured_img":null,"coauthors":[],"tax_additional":{"categories":{"linked":["Church<\/a>","Life<\/a>","People<\/a>"],"unlinked":["Church<\/span>","Life<\/span>","People<\/span>"]}},"comment_count":"0","relative_dates":{"created":"Posted 13 years ago","modified":"Updated 13 years ago"},"absolute_dates":{"created":"Posted on March 23, 2013","modified":"Updated on April 9, 2013"},"absolute_dates_time":{"created":"Posted on March 23, 2013 8:43 am","modified":"Updated on April 9, 2013 10:49 am"},"featured_img_caption":"","series_order":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3073","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/20"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3073"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3073\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3179,"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3073\/revisions\/3179"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3073"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3073"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tngenweb.org\/henderson\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3073"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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\nThis year everything had changed. Halleluiah! Now, the families walked many paths down Palestine Mountain.\u00a0 They had grown in size to numbers unanticipated. They walked hand in hand in groups, the young with the old from ages passed, all the way back to the beginning.\u00a0 The church expanded until it became a huge open pavilion, a beautiful impressive structure in a meadow that seemed to go on for miles and miles of gently rolling hills beside a river of sun dappled light.\u00a0 Thousands of faces beamed and smiled at their children and each other, greeted old friends with handshakes and pats on their backs, mothers cried and hugged one another. With daughters, sons, and fathers, they all moved together toward the church sanctuary and joined, singing there all the hymns they dearly loved, \u201cShall We Gather at the River,\u201d \u201cIn the Sweet Bye and Bye,\u201d \u201cWe\u2019re Marching to Zion.\u201d\u00a0 These Christians\u2019 marching orders were over forever.\u00a0 They had arrived at their final destination, just as they had practiced at Palestine on the \u201cMost Perfect Day.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a>