MASON CITY — The volunteers walk the rows at Elmwood-St. Joseph Cemetery on this soft spring morning, wondering about the inscriptions found on the rough stones.

They read the names and calculate dates as they place flags next to the markers.

Many of the stones are illegible from the effects of weather over the decades.

The eight women — “God’s chicks,” organizer Jenny Thada chuckled — are members of a Bible group from Praise Community Church. They say it is a privilege to volunteer their time to the cemetery.

On this day, they are visiting Civil War graves in preparation for Memorial Day, because those sites, said cemetery manager Randy Opheim, are the ones seldom visited.

With bundles of flags clutched in their hands they search for the stars  embossed with “GAR” — an acronym that stands for “Grand Army of the Republic,” a now-defunct veterans organization for Civil War Union soldiers.

Some admit they aren’t as knowledgeable about Civil War history as they might be.

But these women know about the military and what that service means to families.

“It’s such a bond” that connects all servicemen and women, said Jeanne Haas of Mason City.

 

“My father was a Marine, a big, big guy,” she said. “Till the day he died, when he heard ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ you would see tears streaming down his face, every time.”

Julie Lindsay of Mason City kneels in front of one grave, trailing her fingers across the face of the moss-covered stone, trying to make out a name.

She isn’t sure why, but visiting the graves “stirs up memories of my father,” said Lindsay.

Marlin Nolte, a World War II veteran, was struck down early, dying from Lou Gehrig’s disease — ALS — at the age of 65.

The loss of the vibrant man still hurts 20 years after his death, she said.

He was a man who loved this country, she said.

“He started the Avenue of the Flags” project at the Leland cemetery, she said, smiling at the memory.

She recalls her father standing in the cemetery as a member of the rifle squad for the VFW. “I can still see him there. He could barely raise his arms to lift the gun, but he did.”

Amy Palmer’s grandfather was also lost to ALS. Palmer, of Clear Lake, said John Ketchum was a World War II veteran who “lived for baseball,” she recalls.

“He just loved the game. I can remember my grandmother saying, ‘He’s my Lou Gehrig.’ ”

Speaking of grandfathers, Sandy Lamont of Clear Lake chats about hers, who was born in Germany. He traveled to the U.S., enlisted and served for the Americans during World War I.

“He earned the Purple Heart,” she said. “He never wanted anyone to know it, though. It makes you think what these men did for their country. It’s very humbling.”

An acquaintance, biking through the the cemetery, greets the women.

He tells Thada of a “famous Civil War grave,” that of Henry I. Smith, a Medal of Honor recipient. Thada searches it out.

Smith, she learns as she places the flag, was an Englishman who came to the U.S. and enlisted with the 7th Iowa Infantry.

 

“Wow, I never knew about this,” she said, as she placed another flag. Others gather to read the inscription and wonder about the hero who was only 25 at the time he rescued a fellow soldier from drowning.

They honored the not-so-famous as well.

Thada stopped at the grave of Charles Toinbee, the only Confederate soldier to be buried in Elmwood-St. Joseph.

“And though the body slumbers here, the soul is safe in heaven,” the stone said.

There is no GAR emblem here. The stone doesn’t mention his service — perhaps not a surprise in a state that was loyal to the North.

Nonetheless, Thada said, he should be honored, too.

“We’re here to remember the forgotten people,” Thada said.

This morning’s walk is mindful of what is important, she adds, even if we don’t know the names.

“It makes us thankful for everything that we have; it makes us thankful for family.”