My friend and I were somewhere in the flatlands of farm country when I told her childhood is the word for the week. "You've written often enough about childhood; you can write anything you want!" Which seems like great advice since that's what I wanted to hear. Be forewarned, this is a photo heavy post.
We stopped in Mount Gilead, Ohio and ate in a Masonic Temple. I gotta say, the creme brulee French toast was awesome and Korki loved her breakfast scramble. The diner was filled with locals and I watched as a waitress helped an elderly woman with a bunged up shoulder out of her coat and settled her comfortably in her seat. Korki and I agreed "You don't see that very often anymore" as we smiled at the vintage manners and decor.
|Korki demonstrating good natured tolerance |
while getting sleeted upon
Korki was humoring me by accompanying me on my visit to the dead ancestors. My facebook cousin Michael Miller posted pics of our ancestors' graves in Morrow County, and I thought it would be a great day trip. Let me be start by being fair and saying Michael gave me clear enough instructions. It's not his fault Korki and I drove a couple miles one way, then several miles another, to backtrack and reattempt the first failed direction before going back to the last correct thing we'd done with Michael's instructions where we immediately found Rt. 156 next to the river just like he'd said we would.
|Barn we saw when we were on the wrong road|
It was a sludgy day with a flat, gray #5 sky. The entrance to the graveyard is a long, narrow drive of mud and brambles. We parked the car because we worried about getting stuck and slogged our way through the muck while getting gently sleeted on. Then the hill of stones appeared in the woods. Duntadaduuuuh!
I'm pretty sure I'm related to just about everyone on that hill in one way or another. A lot of the stones are down or broken, but my direct ancestors' stones were up and waiting for me. Someone put stars and flags on the vets' graves which pleased me. Some of you know I'm a life-long pacifist who really wants wars to stop -- and yet I can't help but be pleased that my ancestors repeatedly fought for freedom. From the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, and the Civil War, my people were willing to bleed for the country's right to exist.
Korki is a very good sport and let me tromp around taking pictures and reading illegible stones despite the inclement weather. She was an extra really good sport when I was unsuccessfully rocking my car in the mud. She got out and gave a push and we managed to get out of the muck.
|Christenia's stone is broken. It should match Jacob's.|
We stopped at Grandpa'sCheese Barn on the way back home. I was the one who wanted to go there, but oh my was it busy! Between cheese, trail bologna, lime pickles, chocolate turtles, and fudge, well, I'm poorer than when we went into the place and that doesn't even give me credit for all the stuff I decided not to buy.
It was a good day despite the muck and weather. The best part of it for me was getting time to just yackety yack in the car. Some of that actually included discussing the ancestors, and maybe here's where I'll tie this all in with "childhood". Korki pointed out that I may be interested in genealogy because I spent a lot of time on Grandma's porch while she talked about the people long gone. I sat on her lap while she rocked, and I loved listening to the cadence of her voice as she talked about the people who made me. It's a gift of childhood that I hope many people give to the children in their lives.
|No idea if this is a good idea or not, but I like limes and I like pickles?|