by Loren Jim Atwood:
Margaret Atwood 26 Jan 1912 – Oct 14, 2001
Wife of Josiah Richardson Shurtleff, Matriarch of the
Atwood Family, passed from the bonds of this earth into the
presence of the Lord God Almighty on the 14th of
The youngest of three children of Anna Mae Stringfield and
Theodore Green Atwood. Her brothers Loren and Forrest preceded
her in death. They are all buried here. Just a few feet away
rest her Atwood grandparents and numerous aunts and uncles.
Margaret is a Daughter of the American Revolution with a
Stringfield Great Grandfather being listed in the first book
of the D.A.R., with his son as "Patriots". Margaret
was also a patriot. She played a significant role for her
country during World War Two with the OSS. In her role with
the OSS she was involved in the decoding of messages to and
from the European Theater of war.
She has given her body, for the good of mankind, to medical
research at the University of Nebraska.
I always called her Marno. As a child I could not pronounce
Margaret and she has been Marno to me and my children ever
Margaret very strongly believed in family. As she believed,
so, also should we believe and love our family. Therefore it
is very fitting that we, her family, husband, nephew, great
nephews, great nieces and friends, should gather here to
celebrate and remember her life.
Margaret had a very outgoing personality that made everyone
she came in contact with like her. She has many friends. She
was very intelligent, being involved in business much of her
life. She was a farmers wife dedicating her life to Joe. This
woman will be greatly missed.
Shorty and Joe
Ours was no adolescent love. No starry eyed exclusion
of the world. No perfect match, hand and glove, But
rather we joined forces in our attack, With
confidence, with battle flag unfurled.
We faced the trials of life as one. No
Turning back. No innocent dreamer with an optimistic
bent But rather one who forsook a business roll
That she could be a farmers wife and
be content. The farmer reappraised his goal, The
choice his own, after prime time spent, After Service
had enriched his life and took its toll.
A farmers day is dawn to dusk, The
toil is sure, not so the gain. Some years the fruit and
some the husk. Soaked with sweat or drenched with rain,
Each night to be welcomed home again, By a laugh, a
smile and a hint of musk.
We toiled in our chosen field One
dealt with numbers, row on row On papers signed and
The other watched nature multiply and grow. Years
slip by unnoticed as they go,
Engrossed with the joy of living, unmindful of the
yield. Now memory recalls well, the past, But falters
day by day.
Strength never meant to last Has quietly slipped
away. The die is cast and come what may, What ever else
may ebb, this much will stay,
I love you