Blog Archives
Great-grandmother’s final rest
When my grandparents left Branson, during the Depression, for the hoped-for greener pastures in Texas, they left behind a son who’d died from diptheria when he was only four years old. Later on, my great-grandmother joined him in this desolate little cemetery.
Branson, Colorado
photographed 9.5.2016
Arcade
I don’t know which of the houses in town was the one my dad grew up in. It might have been this one, with the arched arcade of a porch.
Branson, Colorado
photographed 9.5.2016
Church and recreation
The Branson Community Church has a lot to offer. In addition to the church itself, there’s a swingset and a basketball goal. And a lovely view.
Branson, Colorado
photographed 9.5.2016
The occasional picnic
My dad was born in this little town, almost 93 years ago. Our trip fell shortly before the one-year anniversary of his death and I was strangely drawn to the place. I wanted to look at my great-grandmother’s grave. You know what? I needed to look at it; somehow I thought that connection would make things feel more right*.
After that, we took advantage of the picnic tables provided by the town, for the use of the occasional traveler, and had lunch before we continue home.
Branson, Colorado
photographed 9.5.2016
*Did it? No, I don’t think it did, really.
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