Robison Cemetery

 I have come to loathe Goldenrod. Walking through this place (once I found it) was like walking through one of the Southeastern Asia festivals where participants pelt each other with powdered colored chalk. Except in this case it was all yellow. It was almost as though someone deliberately planted the stuff so as to cover every square inch of the cemetery. Every step, every movement, disturbed at least 3 stalks of the damned stuff releasing literal clouds of vivid yellow pollen.

I haven't sneezed so much in my life. Trying to read headstones was an exercise in frustration due to the constant flow of tears. Between sweating in the summer heat coupled with the copious tears and nasal ... discharges ... I was truly concerned about dehydrating! 

But with fewer than three dozen graves completing the audit was not a problem. Well, aside from the wheezing and sneezing it was not a problem. 

Finding it, however, was the challenge. Not that it was hidden or far off the road or anything like that. No, in this case it was because the Find A Grave coordinates were off my about a hundred or so yards. And the road signs had different names in places than what shows on on-line maps. Basically I was being sent to the wrong place using incorrect street names. Fortunately I was able to spot a clue that put me on track.

A clue. Yeah. How about a street sign reading "Robison Cemetery Rd"? Given that I was searching for Robison Cemetery it was a safe bet that the cemetery should be on or near it somewhere. And considering that the road is only some 75 yards long I could be pretty sure that I was close to my destination. Problem was that the directions in hand had me looking in the opposite direction for about 10 minutes. It was only when I was about to give up and move on to another destination that I saw the sign. 

Just Damn.

And yes, that name is Robison. Not Robinson. I can't recall finding that name before. 

Infant graves are always sad, but seeing one like this is all the more poignant. 

The tree stump and dead or dying bird were popular icons in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. But I have only seen one or two where the bird's wing is extended like this.

Georgia has an abundance of granite. But this type with the variegated color strata are infuriating. Even when there is no dirt, lichen, moss, or such material on the surface it remains infuriatingly difficult to read. I keep finding markers like it all over the area.