It was a long drive home from the memorial service for Evy. There were probably one hundred people in Skokomish Valley Grange; husband Paul...he's 91...children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and great, great grandchildren. Of course there were lots of friends, who like Evy had been born and and fed from the fertile fields of the valley.
Every once in a while the Skokomish River floods, carrying rich soil over the banks and onto the fields. Where other plants won't grow, in the Skok they don't have much of a choice. Evy didn't have a choice. Like everything else in the valley she grew and blossomed into not just a woman, but more of a character...with character.
Evy never did quite grow up. I don't mean that she didn't grow older, she did, but always kept some...perhaps a lot...of the child that is curious, excited, playful, and sometimes breaks the rules and gets into trouble. Yes; that was Evy.
Our pastor (Jennifer) preached a fine memorial "sermon;" the kind that makes people sit up and think about their own life and destiny. Folks were invited to share their memories of Evelyn, and they did. One old saint (95 years old) was seven years Evy's senior and she had lots to say...mostly about herself and graduating from the eighth grade right there in that Grange Hall.
After the prayers and testimonials we did what people always do after a funeral or memorial; we ate. What is there about food and funerals? It's like a full stomach takes enough blood from the brain that for a while at least you can forget that a precious soul has died and that your turn is getting closer; which was one of the points in Jennifer's sermon...it wasn't really a sermon, more like a question; "What will be your answer to God's call?"
Will it be "Thank You Lord!" or maybe "No thanks, Lord. I like it right here where I am."
I'll spend the rest of the day thinking about that. e.c.
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