We were on our way to Wegmans, driving south on Main Street; the hill heading out of the village. And we took a slight detour up to the cemetery. The one that sits right smack in the center of the village.
If we’d wanted to, we could have left the car at home and walked here. If we’d had the time.
It was Sunday. Late in the afternoon when the light from the trees beckoned. Said, “I dare you to take a picture.”
This is one of the few sacred spaces I know of where there is no past or future. Just the present moment.
Our son comes here too. Sometimes with us and sometimes by himself. His grandparents are buried here. And, some of his friends from high school. I wonder if he understands that this is a place where time stands still?
I’ll bet he does. He’s pretty smart that way.
We’ve walked dogs here. We come, twice a year with other people from the cemetery association, to spruce the place up: the Fall and Spring Clean Up.
It’s kind of festive – these clean up times.
Other times it’s a sad place. It’s achingly sad when burying takes place. And, sometimes, it stays sad for a period of time after that. For those of us who are left behind.
That sadness tempers itself with other feelings and memories as visitors come to pay their respects, to walk their dogs or to take photographs. It’s a scenic shortcut for walkers on their way to school or on their way into the village.
It’s over 100 years of Fairport history. It’s where soldiers, babies, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, dearly loved uncles, aunts, cousins, friends and lovers rest in peace.
I’ll be it seems odd to visit a cemetery on the way to the grocery store. Not to us. We do it all the time. [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]