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A cottony billow of dandelion seeds caught my attention Saturday, while I placed flowers along the row of family members’ graves in the Oakdale cemetery.
The flower seemed out of place among the carpet of velvety green grass, its wispy, circular head swaying in rhythm with the gentle breeze. By the time I’d placed bouquets near each headstone, most of the seeds had scattered.
The moment reminded me of family and Memorial Days past, times we would gather at our grandparents’ farm and celebrate the beginning of summer. Like the dandelion, our family is scattered now: Nebraska, Washington, Minnes...
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