This is the family cemetery in Swan Pond where my mother's family is buried. The family has been using the same funeral home since 1905. The cemetery (the Hampton-Lickliter cemetery) is outside Barbourville up Swan Pond Hollow, then up a gravel road to a flat place by some fields about halfway up the mountain. The weather was funereal, but it stopped raining a little before we got there and started raining as we left, which was more than anyone could ask for.
Bob had never been to any place quite like Barbourville and so was not accustomed to having almost every conversation start with, 'And your grandfather was?' and the careful sorting of genealogy that follows. The other place I have lived where this happens is China. And there it is also something that doesn't happen in the cities but still happens in rural China. Or at least did the many years ago I was there. (Not with me, since everyone knew that MY grandfather probably wasn't from around there.)
Flew back from Lexington last night. Today I go back to the airport to pick up Christopher Rowe and Gwenda Bond who are flying in for Turkey City tomorrow. Christopher and Gwenda tried to extract themselves from staying with me when they heard about the funeral, but frankly, I was so looking forward to seeing them I insisted they come. Tomorrow, we will all go mano a mano at Turkey City, the workshop that requires real toughness. (Twelve stories, twelve authors, twelve hours, or something like that. I keep feeling as if it is some sort of reality TV show and we are all going to be eliminated by critique.)
Monday I fly to California for work. Then Friday, Adam and Jason fly in and the holidays start.