Exploring Winkler, Part 6: Winkler Cemetery


This post will be yet another testament to my lack of organization and memory. (I am truly the worst amateur wannabe historian.)

First, well, I should say that I was not actually failing in my goals, I suppose. After all, I was spending time with family. Being loved and fed well in Andrew’s absence. Encouraged to pursue local history. The entire visit had such a golden glow cast over it all. I am grateful.

On the evening of July 11, 2023, I returned safely to my aunt and uncle’s home after my adventure to Neureinland. I then enjoyed a lovely evening telling them all about what I had seen and done. I gave them an update on the condition of the cemetery, and showed them pictures of their brother’s grave marker.

I slept well, and in the morning arose to a beautiful relaxed brunch in the sunroom, after which I was urged to get back out there, and this time to go speak with the old men at Mulligan’s. This sounded good to me. My aunt filled a travel mug with coffee for me and sent me out the door toward new adventure. I had some time before crashing the historian coffee time at the golf course restaurant, and was drawn toward the obvious — the nearby Winkler Cemetery.

8:20am on July 12, 2023: day two of exploring in the WR begins!


Bordered by tall cottonwoods… I just love the sound of their leaves in the morning breeze.
Six grave markers in a row. Have I stumbled upon a story?
“These six gravestones moved here in 1963. The deceased are interred at the Kronsfeld Village Cemetery…”

So, these stones are here, but not the deceased whose graves they are meant to mark. I had to check the Mennotoba archives and it looks like I’ve never visited Kronsfeld. (Yet.)

The old Winkler Cemetery is nestled next to a body of water or possibly swamp, I’m not sure… it doesn’t have a name on Google Maps, and kind of looks like it’s fed by a drainage ditch and then kinda peters out by the highway. Anyway, there’s a lovely path that follows the edge of the cemetery along the berm.

There’s even this lovely lookout:

Which is less lovely when seen up close:

Returning to the cemetery, I loved this little bench under this old tree, overlooking the cemetery’s edge:

This cemetery holds other stories. Like this bit of cement holding a faded funeral home marker. Likely there were not funds for a very expensive granite marker so they DIY’d it the best they could…

Here a stone had been… broken off?

I was enamoured by the trees in this cemetery.

And the way Winkler’s walkways led to and around the cemetery.

City sidewalk on the far right, sheltered by towering cottonwoods.

As I admired the trees and stumbled upon the family stories of others, it did briefly occur to me that this cemetery may hold family connections for me…

Not my Brauns, probably. (But, I did stop to wonder.)

(Now… why was this a failure for me? Because after all this, I had failed to remember/realize/be cognizant of the fact that my great-grandmother is buried in that very cemetery. Ugh, facepalm.)

I checked my phone. It was time to meet the men at Mulligan’s.