Buried my Grandfather on Sunday. Drove from the funeral home to Jefferson City, which is about 30 miles east of Knoxville. The cemetary was a scene of almost unreal beauty. Rolling, grassy hills, dotted with trees that had been growing there for longer than Tennessee has been a state. Apparently my grandparents pickeed these plots out in the 60s, to be buried side by side, together forever. There was a heck of a front blowing through during the graveside service, with the wind really whipping across the grassy fields. It's amazing the flowers and all the old lady's hats stayed in place. The preacher was a young guy in a suit with cowboy boots - not what i would have expected. But he was perfect. He just knocked it out of the park. After the service I noticed another grave marker next to Grandfather's - all I could see was "...ner." Moved the thing away that was covering the rest, and saw the last name Horner. Robert Horner, to be exact, and his wife. I knew him as Uncle Bob, my Grandfather's brother. We spent summers going up to his tobacco farm, playing in the cow pasture and the creek that ran through his farm. I can still remember how good the tobacco curing house smelled. That's cool that they are all buried together in that country cemetary in a little corner of East Tennessee that is about the most beatiful place I have ever seen.
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