I used to drive out state road 22 on my way to the horse barn for lessons. It was a lovely drive, especially for a claustrophobic teenager with a freshly printed drivers license. I could hit the gas as the beginning of the turn-off, and fly through these great rolling hills, almost like being in the country. There’s this family plot a few yards back off the road, I used to see it sometimes whenever the owner of the tract mowed. The area has since been developed into suburbs, but that tract is still there, though it isn’t being mowed anymore. The trees are over my head now.
Here’s a shot of the plot from a distance:
Notice the tractor trail, I didn’t follow it, but it’s nice to know somebody still pays attention to the area.
That’s honeysuckle draped over the entrance, it smelled so good out there.
Thomas Maddox, died 1892. I fell asleep on his grave a few years ago, and woke up covered with chigger bites. I think he would have approved, notice the bottle of bourbon next to him.
I don’t know that brand.
That looks like a foot stone, but if it is, I couldn’t find the headstone.
I couldn’t read the dates well, but this one looks like a child’s grave. Especially sad.
The suburbs encroach.