This isn’t a courthouse. This is a church extension where they teach Sunday school or run a daycare. I guess it’s possible that it could have been an elementary school in the 1960’s, but it’s not a courthouse. Except it is and that makes me sad. But that is the way of things. I have no power over the county I reside in, much less over counties in far flung states.
There’s always a cemetery. It was starting to get a little dark, so I decided to grab the cache on the way into town before I really started losing light. Besides, it meant that I could slip in and out of town when I eventually got there. There was a couple here, possibly husband and wife, possibly father and daughter, doing something at another stone seventy-five yards off from me and we were the only people here. While I have well acclimated to finding cemetery caches, I always feel a little strange doing it when there are other people there. I know I can always fall back on the claim of photographing gravestones, but it’s always something I try to be cognizant of. I know not everybody respects the fact that we do this in graveyards sometimes. Heck, not even all geocachers are alright with it, but it gets lumped in with all those things we collectively do. As long as we are careful and respectful, I personally don’t see a problem with it. Your mileage, however, may vary.
Behind the central pavilion was an appropriately gnarly tree with an appropriately placed pill bottle ensconced within. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy (as they say in the parlance of our times). I did what I came to do, and then put the bottle back in its bed, eager to rush off away from the couple, who coincidentally left at the same time I did, and towards the courthouse, which brought me no comfort or joy. Once I had completed my work here, I chased the setting sun to make landfall in…
Geocaching While Black 