Flags, Syrup and Shoes in a Southern Cemetery

In 2001 I traveled to Gainesville, Florida, to finally see the graves of  my grandparents and great-grandparents.  Oddly, the most treasured image I brought home was that of a grave of a Confederate veteran at Antioch Cemetery near LaCrosse.  A  small Confederate flag stood in the sandy soil at the footstone of Columbus F. Moore’s grave. The flag was faded with age and looked tiny and quiet. I imagine that Columbus’ descendant placed the flag on his or her great-grandfather’s grave as a gesture of respect.  I understand, and I am touched by its simplicity, honesty, and, if nothing else, tenacity.  What an interesting regional symbol to find on this morning in a Southern cemetery.

I wished I had thought to bring my great-grandfather, Doss, a flag. He served in the Florida 9th Infantry, survived the Battle of Olustee, more remarkably survived the war in Northern Virginia where his regiment surrendered under the command of General Lee.   A man who wrote home during the war asking his wife, Celia, to send syrup and shoes, he is buried beneath an official Confederate marker.  But an official marker did not feel adequate for someone I never knew yet have loved.  For a moment I thought that maybe I would borrow Columbus’ flag, put it on my Doss’ grave only as long as it took to take a photo. What a fine picture that would be for future generations, and what a memorable way to introduce them to Doss.

But no. As quickly as the thought entered my head, my conscience came into focus and overrode my artistic frenzy. I knew I had to leave it be. You cannot borrow love; you cannot steal respect; you cannot tamper with sacred ground and sacred emotions. All I could take of this scene was a picture to honor the past and the present - the Confederate soldier and the descendant who refused to forget him and his history, and who, in so doing, honored and remembered my great-grandfather as well.

It would likely be a waste of energy and good will to try to explain why this touched me to some people because people feel in different languages, and sometimes there is no translator.  I suppose the best I can do is to say that graveyards are sacred. Even the callous know that. Likewise memory is sacred. But even the enlightened sometime forget. So while emotional strangers fight over symbols, I  will go about my business and forego the debate. Part of my business, as his great-granddaughter, is to remember Doss. And next time I visit Antioch Cemetery I will take a small Confederate flag to place on his grave. I think he would like that...and maybe a bottle of syrup and some shoes.