Photograph by Alise O’Brien, Library of Congress Historical Building Survey, HABS MO-1940.
These days, we can find anything in a walk-in cooler—beer, or a dozen red roses—so we forget why Memorial Day falls in late May. Nothing’s seasonal anymore. When the Romans visited a tomb in March, they observed a dies violationis (“day of violet-adornment”). If they went in June, it was a dies rosationis. Decoration Day was declared in 1868, and they waited till late May, when many different flowers were blooming. Peek into a cemetery trash bin these days, and it’s clear that most Americans practice dies plasticus, despite the environmental and aesthetic drawbacks. These headstones, even warped by the curve of the glass and framed by peeling paint, look appropriately neat and consistent, recalling soldiers in uniform. Yet they are far more beautiful in May, when they are messy with plastic flowers and plastic flags, challenge coins and rained-on teddy bears—that’s when we know that there’s also a civilian buried there, one connected to grieving people: the parent, the child, the sibling, or the friend.
