Although I live in a large city, the phrase that comes out of my mouth most is, “There is nothing to do.” I, like most people, seem to think I have to travel to Chicago, St. Louis or Bora Bora to find something to do. I thought a detour had to be something everyone would find interesting, when actually, it just has to mean something to the explorer.

I got in my little blue Pontiac Sunfire to run errands, but when I finished I decided I wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t sure where I was going, and I didn’t care. I got on the highway and started toward my grandparents’ house. I turned onto the bridge leading into their little tic-tac-toe board of a town – but instead of going right like usual, I turned left.

The road had only a few scattered houses on it, and I began to hear the crunching of gravel under the tires. I played kickball back here as a child but never took the time to care about where I was. I pulled off to the side of the road and started walking. It had been raining, so the earth was soft under the few pieces of gravel left on the road.

Curving slightly, the road approached two old grain silos that sat side by side, creating a narrow path. I had never been allowed to go beyond them. To my right an empty field extended for miles, and to my left a line of trees hid a steep drop-off that led to an old railroad below.

I wedged myself between the grain silos – because it would have been too easy to go around – and found an overgrown dirt path leading to a cemetery about 50 yards away. 

Forget the stereotypical descriptions of cemeteries, because this one didn’t fit any of them. No flowers lay at the graves, and there weren’t zombies walking around in a blanket of creepy fog. Weeds and vines wreathed the graves, and the engravings on the headstones were barely visible. The most recent dates on the graves were from the early 1900s, and some ranged all the way back to the 1700s. Hitching posts remained in the ground near the railroad where people had tied up their horses during funeral services. Nearly 100 graves of individuals, seemingly forgotten over time, lay undisturbed.

If you climb one of the trees in the cemetery, you can see the highway on the other side of the railroad. As I made my way back to my car, I looked back one last time and a smile crept onto my face at my discovery.

People pass by that cemetery every day and don’t even know it’s there.

Photo by Kara Bollinger