MK and I took the dog and walked through Union Dale Cemetery on Sunday. It was a gorgeous fall day. The sky an infinite blue and the air as crisp as a freshly laundered sheet. The cemetery sits atop a hill overlooking the northwestern part of the city and is spread out on both sides of Brighton Road on 96 acres. Not long after we arrived, as we aimlessly wandered around, we kicked up two deer, which led to Bela bawling like the good beagle that she is. She cast a look back at us that said, 'Shoot it! Shoot it!' But neither of us could get our cameras up in time. I really hate to disappoint the dog, but if not me, then who will teach her the harsh lesson that people often fail you.
Anyway, there's a natural poignancy to a cemetery. Whether it's the graves of young children, or like poor Hugh here, those working dangerous jobs and killed by same. He left behind a wife, who survived him by decades and never remarried. We came across quite a few of those sorts of graves; the men dying young the women outlasting them even into the next century and not remarrying. I wonder why, though I suspect that the reasons are different in every instance.
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