Friday, October 8, 2010

Pataskala Cemetery


This summer, while visiting my family, I went to Pataskala Cemetery to find Eleanor's headstone.  The family marker stands in the southwest quadrant, halfway between the earliest graves and the most recent.  Eleanor's is the last in a line of four granite blocks memorializing--from right to left--Eleanor, her husband Brigg, her son William, and her daughter-in-law Helen.    

 
Two obituaries appeared in the Standard following her death on October 8, 1968, forty-two years ago today.  The first, a brief notice, is from 10 Oct. 1968, page 10A:

Mrs. Eleanor Youmans, 92 of East Atkinson Street, Pataskala, passed away Tuesday. She had been at the home of her son in Plain City for several weeks. She was a member of the Plain City Presbyterian Church.

Surviving are the son William C. Youmans, a grandson Richard Youmans and two great-granddaughters, Suzanne and Sharon Kay of Plain City. She was the widow of Brigg Youmans.

Services will be held at a Plain City funeral home today (Thursday) at 1 o’clock. The Rev. Charles Stenner officiating. Internment Pataskala Cemetery.



The second ran a week later, on 17 Oct. 1968, page 8A, and includes a poem she composed in 1933, for her son:
Eleanor Youmans, daughter of Dr. Charles and Missouri Harbison Williams, was born near St. Louis, Mo, Sept. 7, 1876, and died October 8, 1968.

She married Brigg M. Youmans, April 30, 1900, who died in 1927.

She was the author of twelve published books and numerous short stories and poems. Her interest lay in nature. She was a member of the Plain City Presbyterian Church for many years.

Survivors are a son, Wm. C. Youmans, Plain City, one grandson, Richard A. Youmans of Plain City, and two great-granddaughters. Burial, Pataskala Cemetery, Thursday, October 10.

The Long Tryst

Eleanor Youmans / To my son

Weep not for me –
I go where Love is waiting
When Mother Earth enfolds
me in her breast,
‘Tis but my form she takes.
My spirit, eager, restless,
Yearning to be free
Goes not to rest.
Though tired hands
And weary head lie sleeping,
Pillowed in Nature’s warm embrace,
My soul the long, long tryst
Of love is keeping.
Waiting, waiting for you.
In that far place –
Where dear ones keep the tryst with me.
Until you come –
Until you come, there shall I be.

June 24, 1933
Pataskala, Ohio