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In Independence County, Arkansas, between Oil Trough and Batesville, you turn off the main highway onto a paved county road, travel about 5 miles and come to a gate in a fence surrounding a cow pasture. There you open the gate and drive down a dirt lane till you come to the Wyatt Cemetery. Wyatt cemetery is an old cemetery out in the middle of a cow pasture and it’s the most beautiful cemetery I’ve ever been to. It’s filled with rose bushes and planted flowers, beautiful old headstones, and birds. The temperature is at least 10 degrees lower than the surrounding area. I try to go there once a year to visit the graves of my ancestors. I have an Uncle, his first of five wives, and his daughter who was raised during her very short life with my Mother. My Granny and Grandpa Ross are also there, Grandpa’s mother, aunts, grandparents, greats, great-greats, etc. One is Benjamin Hardin. Benjamin is my ninth great grandfather. He fought in the Revolutionary War at the Battle of Kings Mountain. He received a pension and there is a large headstone at the cemetery giving his history. I love visiting the cemetery just to feel the calm and imagine the decades of ancestors visiting and caring for the graves.

I don’t know if caring for the graves of lost ones is something that is done in the South or if it’s a country wide thing. When I was a kid we would go to the cemeteries every Memorial Day and clean the headstones, pull weeds, place flowers, and do general care. It was a family outing as it was for every family I knew back then. Most had picnics afterwards somewhere between the house and the cemetery. It was an all day thing for families like mine. We had at least five cemeteries to visit and two were about a 2 hour drive from where I grew up. That was just one side of my family. I still go ever year that I can plus I try to visit a couple from the other side of my family. I enjoy genealogy research and cemeteries are a great place to find leads.

What I really like about living in Arkansas is this: One time I was headed to the Wyatt Cemetery after years of not visiting. I knew the road to turn onto but it seemed like we had driven way too far. I asked my husband to stop at a house, any house, so I could ask for directions. He thought I was crazy but he pulled into the drive of a house. I went up and knocked on the door. When the lady of the house answered, I told her who I was, who my Mother was, and who my Granny was. She knew exactly who I was because she had gone to school with my Aunt. In the few minutes I was with her, she told me where my Granny’s cousin lived and gave me directions to the cemetery and to the cousin’s house. I believe that whatever house we had stopped at would have given the same results. Now, I hadn’t seen my Granny’s cousin in maybe 15 years but we drove to her house after visiting the cemetery and I knocked on her door. This lady was 95 years old, living alone in her own house and doing her own cooking and yard work. When she answered the door, she knew who I was. She couldn’t recall my name but knew I was my Mother’s girl. I just don’t think you find that just anywhere. Once I asked my Mother why we went to visit dead people and she told me that as long as they were remembered by someone that knew them or someone who knew someone who knew them, they weren’t dead, because they lived on in our memories. Some might not believe this but I think she was right.