Cemeteries

Some people may think it strange or morbid, but I enjoy walking through cemeteries.  First of all, they are peaceful and quiet.  Finding a place with those qualities these days can be difficult.  Secondly, I feel a connection to the past as I read all the names of those no longer among the living.  Even if I don't know the names, it's intriguing to put together a story of what may have happened.  As you pass old markers etched with the names of babies and young children,  you begin to clearly see how extremely fragile life was before the advent of antibiotics and modern medicine.

There was a cemetery within walking distance of the farm where I grew up, and many times over the years I would wander through the graveyard.  This past summer when I was in the area, I stopped there and took photos of particular gravestones that had caught my interest in the past.  The passing of time was shown by how many more familiar names I now saw as I passed the graves of the people who held an important place in my formative years.

This gravestone was one that has held my interest for many years.  It is a simple statement made by a family that apparently had few resources.  Despite that, it is evident there was love.

                                         OLE AND OLENA LUND

The second stone that I always visited when I strolled through the cemetery was one that came with a story.   The postmaster and his wife married later in life, and they had one child.  She was a daughter who was named Lillie.  When she was 14, she died after riding her bike on a hot summer day.  Apparently, she was extremely hot and drank quite a bit of very cold water.  As you could imagine, this was devastating for this couple.  They closed the door to her bedroom and left it as it was.  

On several of our trips, we have stopped at cemeteries.  On the East coast, the dates of death were often in the early 1800s or even late 1700s.  Of course, one of my favorites was Henry David Thoreau and Louise Mae Alcott.  The most famous one we visited was Pere Lachaise  in Paris.   There we saw small houses built for the dead with magnificent sculptures and artwork.  

So that is my story about why you can often find me wandering around amongst the headstones.

Thought for the day:  The only real equality is in the cemetery.  German proverb