Cars flock to the tiny church in the middle of Sticksville. They line the neighborhood streets.
The church pews are filled, extra folding chairs line the walls.
The community hall portion of the church is filled to standing room only. Younger folk give up their seats for the elderly.
Men in cowboy boots and hats, their best Wranglers. Women in slacks, dresses.
Then the Reverend comes over the loudspeaker.
The only sounds are sniffles, and one gentleman's oxygen.
The Reverend reads passages from the Bible. He reads things that others wrote.
When he's done, people file out of the little church to find an additional 50 people outside the church.
Everyone drives 15 minutes north of town to the cemetery in a nearby town.
Watch the grandsons carry the casket from the hearse to the grave site. All dressed in their best Wranglers, blue button down shirts, and black blazers.
The Reverend asks everyone to draw close.
Watch the husband, sisters, children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren put white roses on the casket.
Drive back to Sticksville to the fairgrounds for the potluck.
Imagine enough food to feed a whole battalion. And then a little more.
A table of pictures of a long life well lived, loved, respected, and admired.
Watching her great-granddaughter put her elbows on the table to stare at a picture of her great-grandmother.
People sharing memories and laughs.
A day long tribute to a woman who was born and died in this valley. Was one of the most widely known, loved, and respected woman in the valley.
She will be missed.