Hilda Stob Prose
When grandpa and grandma Stob would come to visit us in Hamilton in the spring or summer, we, Grandma and Elizabeth and me, Amy, would always take a walk through the cemetery which was across the street from our house.
There was a nice straight road-way through the cemetery which had at one time been graded with gravel, and was bordered by beautiful old trees, where birds nested each spring.
We would always each take a small bag along on our walk and pick up pebbles to take home with us. We found all kinds of stones, some were pink, some green, some white, and some were even black. It was fun to see which one of us would find the prettiest stones.
Then we would stop and look at the trees, and talk about the different kinds, and listen to the birds sing, and try to find out which kind they were. Sometimes all we could hear was the wind blowing through the trees, and that sounded like music too.
Grandma would read some of the names on the tomb-stones and we would make up stories about them. Some of them had died long ago, and some of them were children, and we would wonder what they had been like and where they had lived in Hamilton.
We always looked forward to that walk with grandma, and I think that she enjoyed it as much as we did each time.
(A true story told to Hilda Stob by Amy Van Dyk, 1976)