“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right. We go up to the next street, hang a right and go back to the road. We turn left and go to the second rise, just past the red tractor, unless that worthless sob Joe has moved the red tractor, but that is unlikely, as Joe is as lazy as the day is long. The tractor has been up there since the ball game last Sunday. We turn right on that lane and head until the first right, where we go down to the two houses, which naturally are big white farmhouses, then go to one of the houses and ask permission to cross their cornfield to get to the cemetery.”
“Yep, you got it.”
Valeria, Iowa is small town. Streets and roads may have names, but nobody knows what they are. We found the farm houses, got permission (and directions) to go to Sams (or Valeria) Cemetery. So we took off across the cornfield, and as predicted, there it was at the top of a hill. We never found Chads and Lottie’s gravestones. Maybe we were in the wrong cemetery or, more likely, their markers are among the dozens that are broken, unreadable or under the sod.
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