Sparks and I spent Thanksgiving, of course, in the tiny town where his ancestors have lived since the early 19th century. Back then the place was on the rise, with a general store of its own. The people got together and built a church, which is still there, and bought land for a graveyard behind it.
The little town now has a handful of houses, the church and graveyard, and church recreation grounds across the street, including a community building, a retreat center, baseball diamond, picnic pavilion, and playground. The general store is no more, and the mail to the residents is addressed to the next town over.
Sparks and I took a walk through the graveyard, and I took pictures of some of the interesting tombstones there. I have wanted to blog about the experience ever since, but haven’t found the words. Maybe the feeling–which is by no means an unpleasant one–just can’t be described. Here are some of the pictures.
This last stone is so interesting because it’s new. Someone bought a stone for an infant who died 135 years ago. What is the story there?
My father in law is putting together a website of all the small graveyards in the area. You can find this cemetery here.
