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by Tamara Hillman

May 1st—does anybody celebrate May Day anymore? I know we did when we were kids, and it was a neat way to teach kids to give to others without receiving any praise or kudos.

At school, we would wind cut-to-size, colorful, construction paper into many cones in funnel shapes, and glue or staple a strip of the same type paper from one side to the other over the top to make a handle. Then we would fill them with wild flowers that were always numerous that time of year. When we got home from school in late afternoon, we would scurry around the neighborhood hanging one on several different front doors, knocking, and running before the neighbor saw who had left the gift of May Day flowers! Nothin’ wrong with that little lesson in life, right?

So, how are those flowers and gardens sproutin’ up in your neck of the woods? I keep hearing about late snow showers happening right up to last week, and think, “Will it ever end?” My brother, who still resides where we grew up, finally retired his scoop shovel and snow blower for the winter…Sure hope he doesn’t have to drag them out again.

May means a lot of different things to a lot of different people; to some it means planning for a June wedding, to others it’s finally spring where they hale from and time to plant that garden, and yet to others it means Memorial/Veteran’s Day when we honor the dead and our veterans who served valiantly.

Since I’m not in the category of a young bride any longer, that isn’t my main concern when May rolls around, nor is the finally spring thing now that we live permanently in Arizona. No, I feel a patriotic tug at my heartstrings in May, and start reminiscing about veterans, my grandparents, and other close relatives and friends who have passed. In my memory bank, I pull up all those scorching hot days we spent weeding and raking our family plots a week in advance of Memorial Day in preparation for the big day, (in those days the local cemetery was not planted in grass, so the weeds would be knee-high in spring.) Most families who had relatives buried at Beaver Creek Cemetery brought their kids to pull weeds while Mom’s raked dirt, and set up pots for flowers, and made a nice place for the legionnaires, (of which my Dad was a member) to place a small, American flag on any person’s grave who had served in the military—They still perform this ritual only those flags look so much more beautiful waving against the lush green grass that was planted forty years ago, and is well maintained in these modern times.



I don’t know about you, but I just wanna stand, salute, and give homage to each and every grave with a flag at its head. It’s not something I take lightly—so many have died far too young to give you and I the Freedoms we take for granted. Others have served their time and come home not wanting to even talk about what they saw or had to do for America to remain Free. I shiver at how much of what they died for, and were wounded physically an’ emotionally for has already slipped into a socialistic government with passive, sociopathic young people thinking THAT’S OK!—It’s NOT OK!!!! Being raised by a Marine who spent three long, and dangerous years in the South Pacific during WW11, I know the difference!



I know I get on my soapbox sometimes, but what will it take to get these young people, (mid-forties down to eighteen-year-old voters) to see the light—the complete collapse of our American way, (which used to mean capitalism at it’s best, and a growing economy where workin’ folks are not taxed to death to SPREAD THE WEALTH, and pay for those who don’t work or ever plan to? Well, we’re sure headed in that direction, and it won’t be pretty when we get there!
Steppin’ down now,

Granny Tam

LIBERTY BELL Patrick Henry said it best, “Give me liberty, or give me death!” But do we heed those words today in the same determined, stoic way? We have the symbols all around where soldiers died— now hallowed ground. Our flag—Ol’ Glory, let it freely wave on land and sea, o’er the home of the brave. Words on parchment brave men signed though threatened, cursed by loyalists—blind. Statue of liberty—standing tall, greeting immigrants, one and all. Civil war battlefields strewn with cannon— only the ghosts have not abandoned. Indian monuments carved on hills— they counted coup— too many kills. My favorite monument—The Liberty Bell makes me feel humble, my heart swell. Our forefathers sacrificed to set us free, fighting hard for victory. With strengths untold, they forged ahead— their children inheriting not fear, nor dread. A land made free of king, or fool who sought to conquer, repress, and rule. So ring that Bell of Liberty— it represents FREEDOM for you and me. Tamara Hillman ©2010

Epps Brothers Honor American Veterans Music Video

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