Nestled in the middle of our woods there was an old graveyard. No one had been buried there in the past fifty years but it was still well taken care of. New flowers were placed at each grave every year. Beautiful ferns grew along the perimeter of the graveyard and a lush moss covered much of the ground along the one side. During spring and early summer violets grew profusely.
As children it was one of our favorite places to play on Sunday afternoons when there was nothing else planned to do as a family. We knew each of the tombstone inscriptions by heart. Wandering through the graveyard I often wondered what the people buried there had experienced in their life. Often when we had visitors with children we would go play in the graveyard for a while. Most of the time that was fine but one time we took a family of children that climbed all the tombstones and jumped as far as they could. There was one especially large headstone with a cross on top. John, David and I watched in dismay as they climbed on top of it and jumped off. After quite a few jumps as the one boy was climbing up again the cross broke off. We knew we had to get them away before they do more damage and convinced them to come help us float homemade boats on the creek.
After they left we had to tell Mom and Daddy that a tombstone had been broken. They weren't very happy with us and said that from now on we weren't allowed to take visiting children to play in the graveyard.
As I grew older I loved going there to spend time alone to simply think and dream. Other times I would take good book along to read. Sunday afternoons my brothers and I would often spend time there talking and reading and every once in a while we would once again play a game that we used to when we were little children.
It is still one of my favorite spots from my childhood and I look forward to visiting it soon for the first time in years.