Ummm… I wish the architect of this courthouse had not taken a break from his (or her) lucrative career designing nursing homes. This hurt me on so many levels. You don’t even know… Unless, of course, you’ve been reading this for a while, in which case, you probably have at least an inkling. I feel sadder for just having seen it.
I get that the old courthouse is definitely not in the right shape to tackle the needs of the modern county government, but it’s so much nicer aesthetically (after a power washing and a little paint, mind you. I’m not blind). Unfortunately, calling the phone reception terrible out here was an insult to terrible phone reception. Luckily, however, I managed to find a nice little coffee shop with a clean bathroom, wireless, and a good excuse to stop for an Arnold Palmer, path to my next destination, and log my find. As with Mena, I grabbed the cache on the way into town.
There’s always a cemetery. While some bikers were doing a little maintenance outside, I slipped right in. This cemetery was interesting in that a good number of the stones were handmade, as if someone had taken clay or plaster, shaped them into flat shapes, and then wrote the inscriptions with their own fingers. I’ve seen that on occasion, but never so many in the same place. I’ve always considered that to be the last reverent act of the truly and deeply poor. Most, no matter their station, have striven to make sure the world knew that their loved ones were people who existed and were loved. The lengths to which they would go have always varied by degree, but that has also always been something that bound human beings together. To see so many made by hand? There’s a certain earnestness you don’t see every day. I also was guessing it was a family cemetery perhaps. It was both small and remote. The last date I saw on any of the stones was the early 2000’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if the only visitors for the last few years were coming to find that little thing dangling on the fenceline. Logically, someone probably comes out and mows every so often, but I like the way I said it much better. Besides, a cache is a cache is a cache. And once I got into town, I was able to log it while lazily sipping my Arnold Palmer. But that didn’t last long because I had things to do. I took the drink to my car and set off for a two-fer because it was time to go to…
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