When I was in my mid-20s, I used to ride a mountain bike along country roads that extends from my first house. One destination was this old cemetery located behind a country Baptist Church. I\’d grab a snack, a drink, sometimes carry a lunch and wonder about the folks that were buried here. Not too many years later, I started researching genealogy and had these unanswered questions about where the family of my grandparents were from and where they were buried. Yes, I found out from family that quite a few of them were in this very cemetery, even my gr-gr-grandparents. I made a trip and found their headstones right off. Seems as though it wasn\’t much of a secret, I just hadn\’t asked the right questions to the right family members. Now a big new road has replaced the small dirt roads and everyone zips past the cemetery, sometimes I stop and walk through it and try to remember the stories told to me. The one, and perhaps the only one, that really sticks in my mind is the one of the distant uncle who decided to remove a stump from behind his house. With dynamite. It didn\’t go off..until later, and here lies the rest of the story.
We need two kinds of acquaintances, one to
complain to, while to the others we boast.
Logan P. Smith