You see, this cemetery is run only by a loose association of folk. We dig the hole and bury our own there, set our own stones, and update the records once a year or so at this annual meeting the week before Memorial Day to indicate who is now there in our family plots.
About 40 of us showed up, and we mowed, trimmed, scrubbed stones and spread grass seed on the newly buried and the bare spots - all in about two hours.
We have always marvelled at the amazing study in group dynamics at this event. There is always a mix of old and young, and no one is in charge. People show up and start in on what needs to be done, and there always seems to be the right mix of mowers, rakers, stone scrubbers, trimmers, weed-whackers, wheel barrows and hands present to get the job done in two hours, then we have a pot-luck lunch, after the blessing sung in Norwegian of course!
Anyway, the first time I saw the place it was just a pasture with a fence around it. It was before we moved to Oklahoma and I stood in that cemetary and remembered my grandmother saying she "stood in the cemetery and looked out over the hills and wondered what would become of her." I stood right there, looking out at the same hills, almost a century later. (My grandma died almost 20 years ago...this just happened about 4 years ago.)
Anyway, the last time I was out there, it was all fixed up. They had mowed and cleaned it and put up nice gates. But there are wild roses growing there that I want to get a cutting of.