When I am fortunate enough to take a trip to my birthplace, Austin, Texas, I always make an effort to visit two very old cemeteries, Hornsby Bend and Jones Cemetery, where my ancestors are buried.
The road to Hornsby Cemetary was long and bumpy. We had to stop halfways to the cemetary because recent rains had made a big deep gulch right smack in the middle of the road, making it necessary for us walk the rest of the way in the sizzling, humid weather.
It might sound a little morbid, but I love to walk through these cemeteries, looking at grave stones that are so aged and sometimes broken.
I find myself wondering about the people that lived many years ago, and wishing that I had known my relatives.
At Hornsby Bend we found my grandfather, who died before I was born. His marker, a cross , was broken but the words were very legible.
Both cemeteries have an entrance sign stating that it is a Mexican Cemetery. On the other side of the fence is the cemetery for Anglos and down the road is where the African-Americans were buried.
So even in death they were segregated.
Fortunately a few things have changed , and people are not separated by race or color in the burying grounds.
Now they have a choice and some do choose the Mexican Cemetery because their families are buried there.