May Day 2014

If you find yourself lost in the middle of what seems like nowhere, on a quite Mississippi road off highway 61, in May, shut your eyes for a minute. You may be able to hear the sounds of an old church hymn coming from the woods where an old cemetery sign points. Of people talking and the laughter of children playing.
No, your not imagining it.  
Year after year and generation after generation, our ancestors then, and family now,  have gathered together on the first Saturday in May at Trevillion Cemetery in BlueHill, Mississippi. Just like that old song says, "There's a sweet sweet spirit in this place."

As I drove down the dirt path to that clearing in the woods, I got that sense of coming home and even after parking and starting the walk to the top of the hill where the sleepy little cemetery sits, I get a sense of those gone on before us, motioning us on. Its so sareal, the feeling you get when you top the hill and see the beauty that lies before you. The grass has just been cut and fresh dirt cleared for the cars to park. The sun is shinning through the tree tops, and there's a smell of honey suckle in the air.
Everyone begins to gather under the shaded pavilion, bringing in covered dishes for lunch on the grounds and then taking a seat on the old church pews. There's a nice breeze in the air and the birds singing in the trees are our only instruments. Songs began  to be sung out of the old worn hymnals and Jenna Smith Bearden sang one of my favorite songs, "Sweet Beulah Land."

A yearly report of business was given by Johnnie Harold Smith. This year he read the names from the business book page dated back in 1964. I heard him say my grandfathers name, Louie Thomas, and one of my grandmothers brothers, Aubrey Smith. The donations may have seemed small but back then a single dollar was worked hard for money was tight. I bet my Granny sold a basket of fresh hen eggs to make that two dollars, but I know that the money was given in love just like the collection made here this day.

The message was given by Brother Burt Brown on what happens after the grave. As he spoke, I looked past the people to where those that have gone on were buried.  I can picture the scene of everyone of those graves one day. Everyone will rise out of the grave and those that are still alive will follow. What a wonderful gathering that will be. I 'm ready, the people sitting around me are ready, and those bodies that are buried in this sweet little cemetery in the middle of no where are waiting.

 
  Van Smith brought John H Smith's, his Great Grandfathers, one cylinder Witte that had once pulled his gristmill and syrup mill. John passed away 11/20/56 and Van restored it in honor of his great grandfather.

 

 Van reminded many of us of the memory's we had of our grandparents long ago and hopefully the gatherings here by generations to come, will have them think back on that day they witnessed a real old gristmill motor that was still around and the sound it made as it sputtered and popped.  This gathering at the Trevillion Cemetery in the woods will live on through the generations we leave behind and one day they will share Mayday with their children and walk beyond the graves of long ago and those that will follow.

 

  A special thank you to my dear sweet cousin James and his wife Ruthie for the hospitality and love they shared with me and my friend, Patsy, while staying in their Country home down the road from the cemetery. And for introducing Patsy and I to new friends, James and Joyce Richardson. Our life's are blessed by the paths that God has crossed us with.
Thank you Patsy for the friendship we share, for being my traveling partner, and for coming back with me again to the middle of no where.

 

MayDay, May 3, 2014 in the middle of nowhere down an old Mississippi road.
by: B. Hall

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