Flower Ridge near Estes Switch

With the pastor and 50 percent of the deacons being out, Centerville Baptist did not meet Sunday, May 7th, 2023. Penny and I decided to attend Memorial Day at Flower Ridge United Methodist Church just outside of Estes Switch, Mississippi. That is the closest thing to a family reunion the Hodge clan has. There are not too many of us left anymore, and my lone aunt is now 90 years old. I couldn't waste the opportunity.

We arrived at the picturesque little church just before the start of the 11:00 a.m. service. After depositing food in the fellowship hall, Penny and I made our way into the little sanctuary where we found some kinfolk already assembled. John Walter and Paul Darby were there. The last aunt, Mary Darby, was seated like a matriarch overlooking her brood. Several cousin's whom I had not seen since Mamaw passed in 1983, were there.

The worship service-- after Roche Law's funeral in the Episcipal Church in Greenwood-- seemed refreshingly informal. And the sermon far exceeded my expectations. It was actually good. Pastor Keith Williams preached on sheep and shepherds. After traipsing through the Bible showing us the images of shepherds throughout Scripture, he gave the charachteristics of shepherds and then both showed us how and challenged us to be shepherd to the sheep even though we are sheep ourselves. Yes, I will steal some of that.

Of course we had the noon meal with our loved ones. Church lunchens are the best. It was good, yeah, and there was even chocolet pie for dessert. After all of that, we took a stroll through the cemetery.

This one always tears me up. Our Uncle Bo
joined the Marines and never made it 
home. He has a marker
in the cemetery.

Mamaw and the Granddad I never knew are buried there. My Aunt Johnnie and Uncle Teddy Bear lie at rest there also. So do Mary Darby's baby daughter and another uncle.

Aunt Mary (seated) and cousins Norma, Judy,
and Pam during lunch.

After lunch and the cemetery stroll, we went to Noxapater and sat a couple more hours at Aunt Mary's. The chatter went from memory to memory, from person to person, from year to year. Eventually the talk turned, like it always does, to the Christmas when some of those bad Hodge boys caught a professional photographer's car on fire. No, I am innocent. I am in the picture, but just as a baby in my mother's arms.

While we were there, Mary Darby had a visitor. Her former pastor and son stopped by. She used to teach the boy Sunday School when he was "this high," she held up her hand about four feet high. Now the kid is six foot five at fifteen years old.

A round of hugs saw Penny and me head home around 5:00 p.m. It was a very enjoyable day. Maybe next year we can do it again, and my prayer is that Aunt Mary is still here, and that a few more living ones join us.