Cemetery Road

The lane is graveled and narrow with trees lapping at its sides. There are only two houses along the half mile leading to the cemetery for which the road is named. I am interested in old cemeteries and so visit this one that is near home. It is my first visit even though we have lived here ten years or more.

Through the trees along Cemetery Road a chain link fence can be seen that is topped with three strands of barbed wire that lean out. The road ends, for all practical purposes, at the cemetery. (The lane that is Cemetery Road continues into the forest guarded by a gate warning that trespassing is prohibited on the military reservation beyond this point.)
The first grave inside the fence surrounding the burial ground is a modern one of polished red marble. It bears the name of a man who died four years ago and that of his wife who survived him. She is well known in our little community and I know her from town meeting pot luck dinners.

It is surprising to me that so ancient and isolated a cemetery is in current use but on further exploration discover that there are a number of graves with dates from the last decade. Some are adorned with flowers or other artifacts meaningful only to the giver and recipient.
In addition to the new graves there many much older ones. The oldest I see marks the remains of a woman who died in 1843. There are several others whose tenants died in the 1860’s. I wonder to myself whether or not there might have been a church in the vicinity that would explain the presence of a graveyard of this vintage. Looking about there is no evidence of any structure. I know from walking in this area though, that the woods are riddled with stone fences and cellar holes.

Just as I am about to leave the cemetery a memorial stone bench catches my attention. It is new, highly polished, and bears an image laser etched from a photo. It shows the honoree proudly displaying a deer he has just killed. All around the bench someone has placed small American flags. The legend identifies the deceased as a Sergeant in the army “K.I.A. Ramadi, Iraq.” Killed in Action is not spelled out.

As I ponder the significance of this, a series of shots ring out. It is automatic weapons fire and is unmistakably military in origin. I don’t panic. The reservation abutting the cemetery includes a firing range and this sound is not unusual here. Still, I wonder if our Sergeant finds it reassuring or if it haunts him instead.