Exceptional A Walk and Rememberence Melancholy Musings by bhogg

Ory Elizabeth Smith, I sort of met you today. Your tombstone is headed, 'In Memory and Love for Our Daughter.' You were born November 11, 1882 and died April 13, 1885. I met you quite by accident. I'm by myself today on land that has belonged to my family for over 150 years. Feeling melancholy and a bit lonely, I took a long walk. It is a beautiful day today. Adjacent to the family property is a cemetery. That's where I found you. The cemetery has not been taken care of, and is actually quite a mess. Most of the headstones were lying on the ground. Yours was on the ground, but I believe by design. I couldn't make out your parents' name, just yours. There is a small hackberry tree growing up right next to your grave. These are wonderful little trees that actually have a small edible berry. As I arrived, a beautiful red cardinal was strutting across your headstone eating a berry. A few weeks ago, it would have had small pinkish white flowers on it. The bark is quite decorative. Probably years ago, someone must have planted running jasmine in the cemetery. It shoots out tendrils that are a lovely multi-color shade of green. It has spread everywhere; almost like you and all your neighbors are resting under a green blanket. It is also shady. There are massive pin oaks, cedars and hickory trees. Some are probably sixty feet tall. I visited the cemetery to go by one of my relatives, a great uncle or something. His headstone reads, 'Robert White, Captain, Confederate States of America. Died in the Cornfields of Antietam, September 17, 1862'. He is buried about 30 feet from you. This was also a time to revisit my past. My last visit was over fifty years ago with a good friend of mine named Virge Gates. Virge is long dead as well. He won't be buried there though. Virge was an old black man, the son of slaves, and is buried at a church about two miles away. Virge told me a story those 50 years ago, right at the gravesite. In those days, the old home place was full of quail. More specifically, the Southern 'Bob White' quail. His story was that everyone loved my great uncle so much, that when he died, God taught all the quail to look for him and call him out by name; Bob White, Bob White, Bob White. Virge even taught me how to whistle the return call. It's of course just a story, but one I've never forgotten. I just wanted to let you know that you are not alone in that worn down old cemetery. I know that you are there now. Uncle Bob knows that you are there, and I suspect that Old Virge knows you are there too. Rest well, little Ory Elizabeth Smith. Recognized Author Notes Written today, coming across what is almost a forgotten graveyard.

© Copyright 2024. bhogg All rights reserved. bhogg has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.