Love this story! And I love the idea of a Green Cemetery, even though the genealogist in me would miss the headstones! The statue of the farmer with the horse and plow took me back some fifty plus years ago to the little town of Tate, Georgia. My Daddy would plow his red clay garden with a borrowed mule, and a plow much like this one. The hot Georgia sun would bake the ground into an early stage of pottery. The ground would be too hard for the plow to penetrate deep enough. So, he would place a pillow, and one of his young sons on top of said plow to use as a weight. I don’t know if we fought more to see who got to ride the plow, or who HAD to. You would think nothing would grow here, but we would always be amazed by my dad’s gardening skills. Thanks for sharing.
Love this story! And I love the idea of a Green Cemetery, even though the genealogist in me would miss the headstones! The statue of the farmer with the horse and plow took me back some fifty plus years ago to the little town of Tate, Georgia. My Daddy would plow his red clay garden with a borrowed mule, and a plow much like this one. The hot Georgia sun would bake the ground into an early stage of pottery. The ground would be too hard for the plow to penetrate deep enough. So, he would place a pillow, and one of his young sons on top of said plow to use as a weight. I don’t know if we fought more to see who got to ride the plow, or who HAD to. You would think nothing would grow here, but we would always be amazed by my dad’s gardening skills. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, I love your story of weighting down the plow! Thank you for sharing.