"Home is where your ancestors are buried."
~Jerod Story~

Plainview Cemetery

The property was laid out for a cemetery in 1901,
but the records for the first 10 years were lost.
The Lincoln County Court House in North Platte
reportedly had a fire "under unusual circumstances".
My Great Grandfather, L.E. Story was elected president
in 1911. He served for 25 years as president and then
7 more as secretary. William Story, Howard Story,
and Jerod Story also served on the cemetery board.
Storys served continuously from 1911 until 1995.

I Have a Rendezvous with Death

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade
When Spring comes round with rustling shade
And apple blossoms fill the air.
I have a rendezvous with death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath;
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

~Alan Seeger~

Fort McPherson National Cemetery

Historic McPherson grand pride of the plain,
Where majesty reverence and sacredness reign.
Your precinct environs are hallowed indeed.
Here rest the defenders who succured our need.
We thrill with an owe that is gripping and deep.
And raffle the step where superb troopers sleep.
We love every fold of the flag over head.
True sentinel guarding the bivoacked dead.
A spirit of homage like soft wafted breeze,
Prevail where the sunbeams glint down through the trees.
We cherish achievements our noble sons wrought,
The prestige of nation their sacrifice bought.
We bow with respect as we enter the gate,
And depart with a prayer for the enclosed estate.
~John K. Barnett~

(This poem was from a newspaper clipping
found in my Grandma's Scrap Book)

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the popies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~Lieut.-Col. John McCrae~
By courtesy of Punch.