This weekend we’ll once again, as a nation, celebrate Memorial Day. And once again, I will become nostalgic with memories of Memorial Days past.

In my now very distant youth, Memorial Day was not just the beginning of summer. It was a day of remembrance, a day of patriotic fervor and a day of reflection. We bought poppies from veterans, and we went to the cemetery to view new flags placed on the graves of deceased military. There were parades, and in my Scouting days I marched with other Scouts proudly carrying a large American flag in a file that extended well over a downtown city block. A picnic and cookout ended the day, maybe a band concert in the park as well.

Like some of you, I remember Dec. 7, 1941, albeit vaguely (I was in second grade). I remember very well the celebrations of VE Day and VJ Day.

However, like some of you, I also remember Gold Stars in the windows of homes in my neighborhood. I remember my cousin hearing of the death of a young man she dated in high school who lived next door. And I vividly remember the wail of the mother of the cousin I admired so much and with whom I exchanged V-mail, a fighter pilot based in England who survived mission after mission, only to die in a plane crash as he waited for his voyage home after VE Day.

World War II, as do all wars, reached into every part of our country, including Millen. I have often gazed at the dozens of names on the list at Millen Baptist Church, some with a * noting killed in action. World events reach even here, even now. The list of local family members serving in the military we see in each issue of The Millen News is a present-day reminder of this fact.

In 1919, John McCrae wrote In Flanders Fields. Flanders was the scene of some of the bloodiest fighting of World War I. Visiting the site, he noted the military cemetery and wrote: “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. . . . 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.”

In 2006, Sen. Orrin Hatch joined Lowell Alexander and Phil Naish to write Blades of Grass and Pure White Stones. As members of The Augusta Choral Society, Joyce and I have been fortunate enough to sing this in our Memorial Day concert. Joyce and Sandy Becton sang it in Millen Baptist Church last year and plan to do so again next Sunday.

I never make it through these words without emotion. Right now, the screen is blurry.

“Blades of grass and pure white stones shelter those who’ve come and gone. Just below the em’rald sod are those who’ve reached the arms of God. Buried here with dignity, endless rows for all to see. Freedom’s seeds in sorrow sown ‘neath blades of grass and pure white stones. , , ,cover those who left their homes, to rest in fields, here side by side, lest we forget their sacrifice.”

Six years ago, Joyce and I attended Memorial Day ceremonies at the Netherlands American Cemetery in Margraten, Holland, just east of Maastricht. A childhood friend’s brother is buried there. Hundreds upon hundreds of area residents were there. A small number of survivors of the fighting there were also present.

So were the dead. I found Gerald Kowalski’s grave among the more than 9,000 “pure white stones.”