Kerry’s loft

During a visit home to Kirksville over Labor Day weekend, Dad and I drove around town on a history tour. We used the Travel Storys app, which uses GPS to automatically launch an audio description of interesting sites as we drew near. Using our car rather than proceeding on foot, in two leisurely morning drives consisting of about an hour each, we were able to visit all of the sites marked with a green bubble on the map.

What a joy and delight it was to experience some of the stories of Kirksville! We are thankful to Mayor Zac Burden and the City Council for making this history tour available. The mayor narrates the tour, and there is no better voice we would rather hear guiding us around the sites… clear and distinct enunciation, yet with a contagious sense of appreciation for those whose stories have shaped us.

What I discovered from doing the tour is that it makes me wonder all the more about all the other stories Kirksville offers in the older homes and structures that were not included! Such a tour as this is an entry, a doorway, a starting point, not an endpoint. It changes the way one looks at old familiar places, or how one responds when certain names are mentioned. It is a guided introduction not only to the history of Kirksville, but also to beginning to think historically in general.

In other words, it’s not just for tourists! Even more so, it deepens a sense of civic identity for those who live in Kirksville, or grew up there, and causes us to look more attentively to appreciate similar stories as we encounter them among us, wherever we are.

Now hopefully Truman and ATSU will sponsor their own tours that coordinate with the Kirksville tour for a comprehensive and integrated picture of Kirksville’s past.

If I have another home than Kirksville, it would be Wyoming, and in the Travel Storys app I see a long list of tours for Wyoming. Not so much for Oklahoma. So a big thank you is in order for those responsible for creating this tour, who made it possible for residents and visitors to Kirksville to enjoy experiencing a historical dimension of the place we all hold dear.

To try out the tour, download the free TravelStorys [sic] app from the App Store or Google Play. Open the app and then search for “Kirksville” and download the free tour (about 60MB). I granted permission for the app to know my location only when I am using the app; this GPS location awareness is necessary for autoplay of location descriptions. Alternatively, one may browse any location manually, wherever one may be. Note: The platform includes some premium tours, but the app and the Kirksville tour are available at no charge.

The Old Churchyard.

Over Labor Day weekend, Candace, Rachel and Hannah got a chance to learn several songs, among which was Old Churchyard, an Appalachian folk song. Here it is from the last practice session, Monday September 5, 2022 at Dad’s. There was no sheet music to go by, so they worked by listening to the recording by the Wailin’ Jennys. They are holding their own individual notes and squiggles to guide them.

The last frame shows their surprise at how it is coming together (!). To my mind, this frame illustrates the true meaning of the song, that Jesus has conquered death for all of us and so the day will come when he will heal us completely.

The Old Churchyard (lyrics PDF)

Come, come with me to the old churchyard
I so well know those paths ‘neath the soft green sward
Friends slumber in there that we want to regard
We will trace out their names in the old churchyard

Mourn not for them for their trials are o’er
Why weep for those who will weep no more?
For sweet is their sleep, though cold and hard
Their pillows may be in the old churchyard

I know that it’s vain when our friends depart
To breathe kind words to a broken heart
And I know that the joy of life is marred
When we follow lost friends to the old churchyard

But were I at rest ‘neath yonder tree
Why would you weep, my friends, for me?
I’m so weary, so wayworn, why would you retard
The peace that I seek in the old churchyard?

Why weep for me, for I’m anxious to go
To that haven of rest where no tears ever flow?
And I fear not my fate when it’s time to depart
I will sail with the sun in the old churchyard

I rest in the hope that one bright day
Sunshine will burst through these prisons of clay
The trumpets will sound in the hills near and far
Will wake up the dead in the old churchyard

I rest in the hope that one bright day
Sunshine will burst through these prisons of clay
The trumpets will sound in the hills near and far
Will wake up the dead in the old churchyard

The trumpets will sound in the hills near and far
Will wake up the dead in the old churchyard

The next morning at Highland Park Cemetery, Dad and I visited Mother’s gravestone (photo by Laura). At some point in the future, I’m planning to go there myself so to speak.

Above is a photo of Madderty Church in Scotland, a half hour north of Dunblane, which Candace and I visited in 2018. A number of Magruders are buried at both locations (Dunblane and Madderty). The gravestone epigram is from Madderty (photo by Rachel earlier this year). Our relatives struggling over the centuries in Scotland probably never imagined that someday some American descendants might return to Scotland to visit their gravesites in gratitude for their lives (cf. Communion).

Another song they practiced is Bird Song, again from the Wailin’ Jennys.

Bird Song