My mom is pretty into genealogy. One of our like-minded family members had located the grave of the woman who, if I understand correctly, is my great, great, great, great grandmother. That’s four greats – pretty far back in the ancestry. We were on our way for Thanksgiving dinner* at my Aunt’s in Orillia anyway so we decided to take a detour through Bolton to find this this little abandoned cemetery.
I’ve never seen such a cemetery. It won’t be long until it’s completely returned to the earth. Completely overgrown with periwinkle, very few upright tombstones – the few stones that remain erect were quite impossible to read. But we found the grave. She died when she was 33, I guess in childbirth.
We were already kind of breaking the law by traipsing around in this graveyard, so we went for broke and explored the rest of this sad abandoned place. I’m not sure what this place was all about – there was a house that was quite lovely at one time with a beautiful stone fireplace, stables, stalls, a grain silo, a church and several tiny buildings that perhaps housed hired hands. Most perplexing was that, although the buildings were all very old and crumbling, it seemed that people had lived there not so long ago. The evidence was there in busted out motion detectors and a fairly modern ceiling fan in the house. My dad and I ventured into the house only briefly before we got creeped out by the deep darkness inside. I felt quite sure I would see a ghost but I did not.
* which was wonderfully civilized with real plates and everyone sitting
at an actual table – I note this for everyone who had to listen to me
whine about paper plates and sitting on the couch this week. Also, I had an allergic reaction to something and my eye swelled up all crazy-like. So that was exciting.