WEST RESERVE
This post will be yet another testament to my lack of organization and memory. (I am truly the worst amateur wannabe historian.)
First, well, I should say that I was not actually failing in my goals, I suppose. After all, I was spending time with family. Being loved and fed well in Andrew’s absence. Encouraged to pursue local history. The entire visit had such a golden glow cast over it all. I am grateful.
On the evening of July 11, 2023, I returned safely to my aunt and uncle’s home after my adventure to Neureinland. I then enjoyed a lovely evening telling them all about what I had seen and done. I gave them an update on the condition of the cemetery, and showed them pictures of their brother’s grave marker.
I slept well, and in the morning arose to a beautiful relaxed brunch in the sunroom, after which I was urged to get back out there, and this time to go speak with the old men at Mulligan’s. This sounded good to me. My aunt filled a travel mug with coffee for me and sent me out the door toward new adventure. I had some time before crashing the historian coffee time at the golf course restaurant, and was drawn toward the obvious — the nearby Winkler Cemetery.
So, these stones are here, but not the deceased whose graves they are meant to mark. I had to check the Mennotoba archives and it looks like I’ve never visited Kronsfeld. (Yet.)
The old Winkler Cemetery is nestled next to a body of water or possibly swamp, I’m not sure… it doesn’t have a name on Google Maps, and kind of looks like it’s fed by a drainage ditch and then kinda peters out by the highway. Anyway, there’s a lovely path that follows the edge of the cemetery along the berm.
There’s even this lovely lookout:
Which is less lovely when seen up close:
Returning to the cemetery, I loved this little bench under this old tree, overlooking the cemetery’s edge:
This cemetery holds other stories. Like this bit of cement holding a faded funeral home marker. Likely there were not funds for a very expensive granite marker so they DIY’d it the best they could…
Here a stone had been… broken off?
I was enamoured by the trees in this cemetery.
And the way Winkler’s walkways led to and around the cemetery.
As I admired the trees and stumbled upon the family stories of others, it did briefly occur to me that this cemetery may hold family connections for me…
(Now… why was this a failure for me? Because after all this, I had failed to remember/realize/be cognizant of the fact that my great-grandmother is buried in that very cemetery. Ugh, facepalm.)
I checked my phone. It was time to meet the men at Mulligan’s.