I did many hours of research into period funerary traditions, and wrote the service. In New England, it was traditional to have a funeral procession out to the burying grounds. Since she had died a few weeks before the annual French and Indian War weekend at the fort, we had her creamated, and I built a half-scale coffin to carry her in the procession. I used the infamous coffins that were printed in the Boston newspapers the day after the Boston Massacre as a pattern.

We set up a table under the overhang of the Great Hall upon which was her coffin, a photo of her, and a few symbolic belongings of hers: her pewter mug, her cane, her deerskin bag, etc.

I took on the roll of minister. The measure of cloth tied over my shoulder was a traditional gift from the family to the minister. We had gifts of gloves for all participants, another old tradition. There was a short service, some singing of hymns, then we formed a procession and carried her coffin out to the South field outside the gates of the fort while singing Amazing Grace.

Since there is no graveyard at the museum, we marched out to Raechel, the big bronze gun. Earlier in the day, we had loaded up a "special" cartridge for the gun, containing a cup of her ashes as filler on top of the powder. When the gun fired, there was a smoke ring, the cloud of smoke drifted towards the river, then slowly rode the breeze back and dispersed over the fort. When visiting the fort, step easy on the grass in the South field, it is now hallowed ground!

There wasn't a dry eye in the place. her funeral was attended by firends and strangers alike. A few tourists were upset when they found out it was a real funeral. Screw 'em. Most of the tourists seemed to realize that they were a part of something special. I'm glad we did it the way that we did.

Here I am, posing as minister. My Mother's ashes are in the halfscale pine coffin.

The procession led out of the gate, singing Amazing Grace.

Her big sendoff.