Several years ago, a dear cousin who lived in Georgia sent me this picture, hoping I could shed some light on the who, what, where, and when. Also, why. That was important too. My brother and I looked, magnified it, and looked some more. We even went to various cemeteries, trying to find grave stones that seemed to match the ones in the picture. We came up empty.
We don’t know where, who, or when, but we did figure out the what and why. My brother is a more thorough detective than I, and he noticed that the mount was not a horse, but a mule. On its side were sweaty marks left by a harness. So, had the mule been used to carry a wagon that had hauled a casket to the cemetery? And, the two men leaning against the headstones–they all looked tired and sad. Had they been involved in digging a grave? Everyone’s head was bare, as a token of respect.
The season of the year was winter or fall. The trees were mostly bare. No sunshine. It was a cloudy, cold day. The men wore coats. And, where was the cemetery? The person who was taken to the cemetery in the wagon–who was he or she? Was this, perhaps, after the funeral and burial? Had the men just finished filling in the grave, everyone else having already left?
I love old, mysterious photos, but they fill me with a longing to know more, to know their secrets. This photograph, however, may keep its secrets forever. It remains an unsolved mystery.
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