Going home...

That is my parent's house... At the end of the road, through the trees... brown house with white shutters.And here is their final resting place... to the right of the white statues by the light pole. It seems really strange that my parents would live in one place for over 50 years and then in death move a scant 2 blocks away. Seems strange to me but probably not to them.

One of the many things my Dad did in his small town was take care of the Cemetery Association. I vaguely remember Dad and my brother Bill mowing the cemetery too. We had a map at our house of where people were buried. People would come to our house to get a lot.

And now my brother is in charge of this. Small town continuity.