Only yesterday I realized that there was a cemetery in the area, so today I decided to take a bit of a longer walk to visit it. I’ve always liked cemeteries, especially small, old country cemeteries like this one. I like coming and keeping the dead company, even if the dead couldn’t care less. This one was nestled in between a few corn fields and partially sheltered by rows of large Eastern red cedars and pines. I definitely wanted to take pictures, but I spent most of the time just walking (briskly, as it got very windy and cold) and looking around, especially at the old graves, trying to read the names and the odd Bible verse. I love all the old names I saw. Ephraim. That was the day’s best name.
This cemetery looked to be fairly well-tended. I saw many bright artificial flowers still, at least in the newer section of the cemetery; and this in spite of the Cemetery Rules expressly forbidding fake flowers outside of the narrow two-week window around Memorial Day. The eastern side was a little lonelier — these were the much older, illegible graves, with hardly any flowers or anything except for the ones that had blown in from the other side and frozen to the ground.