Written by Diane Taylor Roberts
Cemeteries can be a place to find comfort and often times they can give us a sense of connection that is often hard to find elsewhere. They have a peaceful atmosphere, with a stillness that surrounds the rows of headstones, allowing us to spend time with lingering memories without feeling rushed or judged. One of the most beautiful cemeteries I have been to is the Highland Park Cemetery where my parents are buried. Having grown up in Whitley County, I have a kinship to this sacred ground. As you walk among the graves, you see the headstones of the parents of your friends, neighbors and acquaintances, and are consumed with memories from a different time. You can get a glimpse of the cemetery from I-75 between the two Williamsburg exits and feel a deep connection, for a fleeting moment, as you drive by.
I am sharing another chapter from my book, “That’s What I Thought.” It tells the story of another encounter at a cemetery near Nevisdale in Whitley County.
Chapter 63 – Condy
After my mother died, it seemed as if the world was a sadder place. It was very difficult to find joy in just about anything. Laura and I were living in a trailer, working and scrimping, but we found we were beginning to act like much older women than the young adults that we were. We needed fun in our life, adventure, happy moments.
We came up with a plan. We were going to have a picnic. A picnic would cost very little money, and we would be doing something young and carefree, and most importantly, out of the ordinary.
We got a quilt off the bed, a basket from the shed, and our mood was already getting so much lighter.
Laura filled that basket with several Melmac plates, silverware from the drawer, and a stack of napkins. I added sleeves of saltine crackers, some potted meat, pickles, and Vienna sausages in a can. We had a chunk of commodity cheese, and remembered to take a sharp knife to cut it. We had a pitcher of Kool-Aid in the refrigerator, so I poured it in a Mason jar, got some plastic Tupperware glasses out of the cupboard, and we were set to go.
When we got in the car, excitement was in the air. I was driving and pulled onto the main highway. Laura looked at me and said, “Where are we going to have this picnic?”
I had no idea. I hadn’t thought that far. We just needed to get away, see some different scenery, find some solace.
I told her we could take a drive in the country out past where Condy Wright lived. Condy was my Aunt Thelma‘s dad. He had married my grandma’s sister the second time around, so technically we weren’t related, but it always felt as if we were. Condy was a no-nonsense kind of guy and had a reputation of taking care of things in his own way. He lived in a beautiful country area toward Gatliff in the Siler community.
So, it was settled. We were going to have a picnic in the country, somewhere without a lot of people, someplace with a beautiful view. I told her I knew just the place, the cemetery. We drove out Highway 92, past Mulberry, and Siler until we got to the Powers Cemetery.
We could not have picked a more beautiful day for a picnic. We took the gravel road off the main drag toward the graveyard, where my grandmother’s family had been buried. I had been there before, years ago, and it was one of the most serene places I had ever been.
The cemetery was atop a hill overlooking the valley. The view was spectacular, and we could immediately feel the sadness begin to dissipate as we unloaded the car, carrying our basket and quilt to the top of the hill. It was so quiet there, there was not a house around for miles. It was totally secluded.
The cemetery can be an interesting place. We looked around and found some gravestones that were hardly readable, making it difficult to make out the names of the deceased. We were surprised by the dates of birth and death on many of the headstones, for there were so many graves of infants. We cleared off a few graves, walked to the top of the hill and settled on the perfect spot for our picnic.
Where we sat, gave us a perfect view of the gravel road and our car at the bottom of the hill, although it was a good distance away.
We spread out the quilt and opened the contents of the basket. While drinking cherry Kool-Aid and putting out our food, we heard sounds that alerted every nerve in our bodies.
We could see them from a distance, and they could see us. A white pick up truck was barreling down the gravel road at record pace, creating a large plume of gray gravel smoke behind it. We watched it from a distance and as it came nearer to us, we could see that there were two people in the cab and three people in the back of the truck.
We could not only see them now, but we could also hear them. They were all males, and according to the loud whooping and hollering, were just aimlessly driving around to see what they could find. If we could see them so clearly from our vantage point, that means they could also see us.
As we watched the truck, Laura said in a quiet voice, “Keep on going, keep on going, that’s it, keep on going.”
They must have looked up at the hill after seeing the car parked along the road, as the truck began to slow as it neared where we were. Then it came to a complete stop by our car. The guys in jeans and dingy white T-shirts jumped out of the back in unison, and then voices carried as they spoke to one another. We could hear their comments and laughter. We knew we were in trouble.
We could hear them clearly, for their sounds echoed in the stillness of the hills. ”Lookie there will you! We can give the dead graveyard folks quite a show. Yum. Woo hoo.”There was much laughter as a sinister cloud of doom engulfed us.
Laura and I looked at one another in sheer terror. How stupid it was for us to come to such a secluded spot. What were we thinking?
The young men made hand motions to one another. Two of them walked to the right of the hill, and one went to the left of us, as the driver and passenger walked straight toward us.
We had no place to go. In order to get to the car, we would have to walk past the two grinning goons walking straight toward us.
I told Laura, “I need you to reach me another plate and glass quick.” She did. I sat the plate on the other side of us and put food on it so it would look just like our plates . I poured Kool-Aid in the glass. I told her to let me do the talking. She said she had no problem with that, been speechless.
As the guys encircled where we were sitting, I tried to act as if everything was fine, knowing nothing was.
I said, “Hi guys.” The driver said, “Well hello to you. What are you two young ladies doing here?”
Laughter from the guys ensued. They were getting comfortable in their new surroundings, like they planned to be here for a while, one leaning on a gravestone, and one sitting on the ground near our quilt.
I looked at my Timex watch, and said, we are here to clean graves today with our grandpa. He should be here any minute. He is running late picking up his tools to get these graves cleaned. He’s usually on time or early for everything. He should be here any minute.
I looked at my watch again, nonchalantly. Laura looked down the road where the truck had just come from, she put her hand over her eyes to shield the sun, like she was looking off in the distance for a grandpa to arrive any second.
The driver looked at our picnic lunch and saw the extra place setting, complete with poured Kool-Aid. “Just who is your grandpa?” he queried.
I said, “You might know him, his name is Condy Wright.” The guys looked at one another, and then looked down the road like Laura had. He said, “Yep I know him.”
The young man hesitated, and then we watched them slowly get up one at a time. They spoke among themselves, and then hurriedly trekked down the hill in unison, all five of them. We did not move or breathe, as we watched them get into their truck and start the engine.
When they were driving away, we tossed the food and Kool-Aid in the bushes and gathered the quilt by all four corners, dishes and all. Laura grabbed the basket, and we were in the car in the twinkling of an eye.
We rode in silence. As we passed the Siler community, there on the right was the home of my make believe grandpa, Condy Wright. We could see from the highway that he was sitting on his front porch in his overalls. He would never know how he saved us that day from a peril worse than death.
