Thankfully, the rain did hold off today, so this afternoon I set out on the 4-wheeler for an adventure. It was a bit brisk, even with my stocking cap. On the way home, I regretted forgetting gloves. I chose Portland Mills as my destination, but decided to take a different route there. I stopped at an abandoned farm and spent most my afternoon there. Dad had taken us there when we were little, because in the spring, the area was full of daffodils and irises. I’ll have to go back when everything’s in bloom. Trespassing has become my favorite hobby.

From there, I cut across the most barren area near me. I stopped in the middle of the road and attempted to mimic a panorama. I made about it 180 degrees, when I noticed a gas truck heading my way. I didn’t get dusted too bad. You can see the truck in the full view…coming in & departing. This was the first day I’d realized our farm was visible from so many locations. I had to zoom a lot, which my camera sucks at, but I got a closer shot of the farm part of the pan.

Click image for larger version

By this point, I was nearing Portland Mills. The pic above shows the road right around the bend from it. I hadn’t visited the grave since grandma’s funeral, about 6 months ago. It was strange because the rectangular outline was still slightly visible in the grass. While attempting to get the church in the shot, I found myself sitting in front of their grave. I used to have this severe fear of walking over a buried casket and now I found myself sitting over one. Some people drove by and stared at the random girl sitting in the cemetery with a black stocking cap and ragged green jacket. I found an odd peace sitting there. I stared at the tombstone, thinking about grandma & grandpa and glanced around at all the other people I’d once known or known of. I noticed the grave of the 10-yr-old sister of one of my elementary teachers. I wondered how she’d passed. I also wondered about the death of my great-grandpa’s first wife at 32. If she hadn’t died young, I probably wouldn’t be around to be thinking about it.

Life’s sure funny. Now that I’m over my cemetery phobia, I think I’ll visit the cemetery where my grandmother’s relatives are all buried. That place definitely holds many stories…it’s said that the reason it’s split on 2 sides of a road was because a slave owner was buried on one side and others refused to be buried near him. The victims of the 1977 Hollandsburg Murders  also rest there. It happened just down the road from my house. My dad believes he passed the killers on the road. He was a junior in HS. The lone survivor just passed away near the time of my grandma. It’s a sad, horrible story of killing for the sake of killing. The sister of the boys murdered was attending Purdue at the time. Her daughter and I were good friends in elementary. Her husband died very young from cancer. It’s easy to forget how much pain other people have experienced.

Sorry for the depressing story, but I have to type what’s on my mind. Tomorrow will bring better news.