Next Stop, Bethlehem Baptist Church and Cemetery
Not one to let the mere sight of a machine gun barrel slow me down, we continued on with our journey. Our next stop was Bethlehem Baptist Church and cemetery. Little did we know that the beasts which would attack us there, were going to be far worse than a gun barrel.
Bethlehem Baptist Church is a beautiful little country church, located on Bethlehem Church Road in Harris County, Georgia. It sits directly across the road from the cemetery. By the time we arrived at the cemetery the sun was beating down on us pretty hard. We were happy to see that most of our family were buried under the shade of a beautiful sprawling oak tree. Poison ivy was evident in the woods to the back of the cemetery. My brother and I can just look at poison ivy and break out in a "steroid injection is mandatory" rash. Once again, we were fearing the wrong beast.
I savored my moment, hovering over the graves of my great great grandfather, Alexander H. McCarter and my great great great grandparents, Marshal and Elizabeth Huff Stevens, thanking them for my life as I always do when I "meet" a previous generation. I always take a moment to think about how one different choice in their lives could have altered my entire existence. I thank them for their choices, which eventually gave me life.
It was hot, very hot! Because I live in Ohio, and might not soon be back to this beautiful little cemetery, I wanted to take as many photographs of the headstones as I could squeeze into the time frame that I had. When you are traveling with an 85 year old in the hot Georgia sun, your time may run out sooner than later. I ran from grave to grave, snapping as fast as I could, not taking the time to frame the shot carefully as I normally would. An imperfect photo is sometimes better than no photo. Dripping with sweat, I decided that I had made everyone wait around for me long enough. I packed up my camera and crawled into the cool car, not knowing what beasts I was carrying away with me.
It was about 36 hours before the first signs of the red bugs showed up. We were sitting on the sand in Panama City Beach, Florida when we began to scratch. How can something so small be so irritating? The welts kept popping up for days and days. It has now been 10 days since I was at the cemetery and the bites (thanks to steroid cream from the dermatologist) are finally settling down.
Would I do it again? You bet! To see grandpa Marshal's house...To see the faded Confederate flag leaning against grandpa Alexander's grave...To see the beautiful way the old oak tree shades their graves while framing the beautiful country church behind, I would without a doubt endure rude cousins who own machine guns and feisty little red bugs. It is a small price to pay for touching my history.
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