Part One--People behind the Memory Gardens--Liz

Improving the look of Memory Gardens has been the summer-long goal of those who labor in the cemetery, especially the landscape crew—I’ve gotten to know two by sight, but there are at least three or four more men and women.  Yet, the driving force behind these efforts to green-up the garden is the event planner, Liz, a woman of average height, a friendly and kind smile, and filled with the abundant energy of youth.

For a while I have wanted to tell you about some of the employees of my next door neighbors, and even though Liz works in the front of the office, I’ve come to see her as the little engine, whose wheels move things along. 

The back offices have two more women managing the finances and the finer details that go into carrying off a funeral with grace and dignity, and I’ll tell you about them in due time—as well as the office’s cleanliness manager who also doubles as a landscaping specialist—and the hardworking, and usually heat-exhausted landscapers—the so called “grunts” of the business.  I want to tell you about each and every one.  I admire their love for the garden and the residents they serve with such affectionate care.  Today, I will focus on Liz.

A few entries ago a mentioned her; since then, I’ve discovered her drive, her dedication, and her devotion to the job she has had for only a year and a half.  She amazes me.

I happened to be in the office chatting with her when a potential client called.  Her conversation enlightened me, not only about the daily operations of the office administration but affirmed my suspicions about her commitment to her position.

The Memory Gardens are under the hospices of The American Cemetery Association which helps fund the burials of any veteran of any military branch and allows these honored dead to be interred for free.  The gardens provide discounts for spouses to sleep beside them.  To my surprising, I discovered people who lived in Farmington, sometimes decades earlier, have had their beloved departed shipped to the gardens from as far away as Pennsylvania and Texas and a bit closer like from Colorado.  They come here perhaps to be with family already in residence, or because they were veterans, or maybe because once you have had “home” imprinted on your soul, you will always return alive or dead.

Liz knowledgeably answers any question, those coming from people on the phone or from a nosey neighbor.  There are parts of any job generally loved and hated by those who work at their occupations, and Liz seems to love many more tasks than those which may be undesirable, such as going to a county fair and suffering the heat for entire week.  I couldn’t blame her for that, this being my first summer in Farmington—but it is as hot here as it is in Utah and Idaho—and for the last two weeks as hot and humid as Omaha, which sits on the blanks of the Missouri River.

She knows stories, and I plan to dig out of her. For now, I will say, Liz is a vital cog in the machinery that has been working on improving the gardens, much like those mentioned in a parable of the Biblical lord who sent his servants into his vineyards.  The garden gathers its own to its vast lawns, sublimely ornamented with bronze and marble, both counterfeit and genuine blossoms of every hue, dark purpled butterfly bushes, clumps of heavenly light lavender, and divine and patriotic statuary.

The dogs and I enjoyed a cool morning stroll, and took a hot and steaming saunter through the park which is home to so much life and bathed in streaming light which slants so strongly in a New Mexican mountain desert.