I know. I know that the name of the cemetery was “Graves.” But that sign was still hilarious – so hilarious, in fact, that it required the Patient Spouse to make a u-turn so I could get the shot. (And, then another u-turn to head us back in the right direction. It’s our usual path when we travel.)
I came here to spend the night inside the walls of a Spanish fort, Presidio la Bahía, which dates from the 1740s. But before I sequestered myself for the night, I spent a little time exploring the nearby town of Goliad. That’s how I found this tiny, unnamed cemetery. Eventually all these cemeteries start to look the same, so I was disinclined to stop and make some photos. But then I saw that sprinkler perched on the stone wall. It reminded me of my very favorite book Traveling Sprinkler, by Nicholson Baker.
It’s mostly a ghost town now, but at one point the place had six silver mines and a population of around 4,000. (The 2000 census listed the population at 11; I’d guess that by now the population is in single digits.)
But the cemetery is sizable. It’s also rugged, with cactus and mesquite trees alongside rocked-topped graves. Most of the graves are marked with simple wooden crosses, none of which have any identifying information on them. And, oddly, in a town with almost no inhabitants, the paint on most of the crosses appears to be fairly new. But someone paints them…