the powell cemetery on grapevine mountain

Pa spent the day on the mountain. Fixing his mother’s grave. His hands have kept it from sinking…for years.

No one knew where he was. A man of 70. Of five heart attacks and so much more.

Ma worried. She wrung her hands and waited. When he came home she asked him where he’d been? Why was he up there? All alone?

Something could have happened. No one would have known.

“I wasn’t alone. All my family was there.”

He should know. He was the one who buried them.

Pa doesn’t build coffins. Not anymore. But he builds the graves to put them in. He does it because no one else will, and because people deserve to be laid to a real rest…in a family cemetery….where family do it all. Pa’s been doing it since he was twelve. (WTGWM)

I know why he goes to the Powell Cemetery on Grapevine Mountain. Why he thinks and prays and sits alone with everything that was and will be.

I know because he told me.