Kickin' back, musing, observing, and gathering inspiration from the hills of East Tennessee.
Monday, October 6, 2008
We have an old cemetery on our property. I don't know how old it actually is. Only two of the graves have markers. Those graves are for an infant and a two-year-old. The rest of the markers are field stones turned on their sides and in some cases, a larger field stone for the head and a smaller one for the foot of the grave. We know that our neighbor's little sister, who died at the age of 5 or so about 70 years ago, is buried there, but we don't know which marker it is. The cemetery could date back to Civil War times. I go up there once in awhile. It is so peaceful there among the pines. I never go up when it is windy, and the picture of the fallen tree shows why!
Rabbits cookin' coffee -- that's what the locals call it. But here in this little hollow in East Tennessee, when the hills surrender their misty hostage to reveal the stalwart cedars growing by the stream in our pasture, I know there is no place on earth I would rather be. The welcome mat is out! Come and sit on the porch and chat with me awhile!