Tuscumbia and the Dog

On Saturday, September 29,  we said goodbye to my dad in a simple ceremony at the church that he had always attended in his hometown of Tuscumbia, Missouri.  Dad was a deacon in the Tuscumbia Christian Church, affiliated with the Disciples of Christ denomination.  His mother was a member of the Presbyterian Church in town.  The girls, Betty and Barbara, attended church with her and Dad attended with his father, Homer Lee.  I even have a picture of Homer Lee at age 10 or so standing in front of the very church.  Dad was buried in the Hauenstein plot in the Tuscumbia Cemetery where countless of my relatives (and his) are buried.  He is with mom, resting there in his beloved Miller County.

Tuscumbia is a small town, located along the Osage River.  It has an "upper town" and a "Goose bottom" along the river.  Sadly, the best days of the town are in the past, at least in part but the people who live there are gracious, lovely, kind, warm-hearted people.  When Harry Truman spoke of "God's Country", I am sure he was speaking of Tuscumbia.  It is still the county seat and there's still a high school and elementary school there.  My dad had been president of the school board back in the day and chairman of the Annual Homecoming Picnic for many years.  He was proud of his community and the people who lived there.  He worried about the cemetery and even in his papers I found some figures that he had put together on the costs of mowing the cemetery grounds, $5000 annually, according to Dad, and the annual Memorial Day donation, $3,000.  The cemetery is a private entity.  Dad's records indicate the land was deeded by a Goodrich (of some family connection) as a cemetery.  One of my earliest memories is accompanying my grandmother to the cemetery with some 30 plus containers for "Decoration Day".

On Saturday, I drove to the funeral services by myself.  We had been asked to get to the church early.  I made a trip from Jefferson City that I had driven many times, most recently at Memorial Day.  I was struck by the beauty of the morning.  The first early hint of fall has arrived in Central Missouri and the trees were beginning to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red.  The sumac that grows along the road was already a fiery red.  In places the trees almost touch over Highway 17 and it was peaceful, lovely drive.  As I reached Tuscumbia, nestled by the river, I saw the sign, Population 218.  It hasn't changed much.  I think when I lived there it was 258.  People who have never lived in a small town have a hard time understanding why anyone would do so and further HOW anyone did so.  Even then, I was a bit annoyed by the fact that cell service is intermittent at best.

I learned that it was a tradition in Tuscumbia for mourners to walk to the cemetery from the church.  It's a short walk, perhaps a half mile, and many of the people at Dad's service walked through the school yard and around the corner to the cemetery.  There, they picked up a dog, or rather a dog picked them up.  He was healthy looking dog, but obviously a mutt of mixed parentage.  As the military honor guard fired the guns and blew Taps, the dog nosed among the mourners, rubbing up against my leg and those of my brothers and wandering among our friends.  I smiled and thought how my dad would have loved that dog being there among us.  It was almost as though dad was there, checking out who was attending the services, reassuring us that everything was okay.  My girls are convinced that Bamber sent the dog or perhaps was there with us through the dog.  Later, after the lovely luncheon provided by the church, as we stood in the street, ready to leave Tuscumbia, the dog reappeared.  Becca wanted to take him home but I am sure he belonged there in Tuscumbia.  At least that's what I choose to believe.  I left another piece of my heart there on Saturday.  I'm so glad Dad is there, among his family in the community that he lived in and loved for most of his 93 years.  Welcome back, Dad.