And They Hung Their Feet in the Plot

I have grown up hearing the story about my Grandfather, John who took care of the cemetery in Murphysboro, Ill.   Apparently when my Mom was pregnant with me she and my Grandmother would go to the cemetery and sit with their feet hanging over the side of the freshly dug grave and eat lunch with my Grandfather.  That is the beginning of my love of cemeteries.  Pre-birth I was introduced to the magic of the cemetery.
There are more stories of disinterring a Civil War solider and only finding gray dirt that was his body, the hilt of his sword and some buttons off his uniform.
So now I find myself in cemeteries, taking photos, reading headstones and making up stories about the headstones.  I always look for surnames that match ones in my family.
I take Cemetery  Tours and read everything I can on graves, headstones and cemeteries.  I do feel like I came late to the party.  There are so many things to learn about cemeteries.  What do the symbols mean?  What is a footstone, a cenotaph?  I do know the answers for some of the above.  The rest I am willing to learn.

So today when I was taking photos of graves what should wander through the cemetery?  A Graveyard Rabbit.  Okay it was a Jack Rabbit, but I will take it as a sign that I should be blogging about graveyards.