I'm researching the Center Cemetery in Farmington, Maine. Because the headstones are so old and weathered, it's easier to read them in the evening; you shine a flashlight across the letters and they stand out better.
So there I am, crouched down in the middle of a cemetery at dusk, reading gravestones and dictating what I find into a digital recorder--and the wind wafts the (delicious) smell of cooking hamburgers from a nearby restaurant and my stomach growls. I had to laugh. The moment was just so odd, so incongruous.
Then I went inside and fixed myself some dinner.
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