Last week my in-laws came up to visit the grandkids (and Wendy and me, too). One of the places we visited was the Granary Burying Ground.
Now, I don’t mean to brag, but I know burying grounds. My dad’s a preacher and when you grow up living near churches you grow up living near burying grounds. In fact, we even used a fancy, specialized word for them (“cemetery”) because “burying ground” just sounds primitive. I used to take my dog, Sandy, for walks through the cemetery behind one of my dad’s churches, but then somebody called my dad to complain that walking dogs in graveyards was disrespectful and that ended that. Continue reading Granary Burying Ground: Back in colonial days people really knew how to die!