I went to Ottawa top visit with one of my sisters for her birthday. The day following I went to this small country church on the edge of a mountain lake to meet with an undertaker - all right - funeral director. Some time this past summer another sister and I had visited this cemetery to see if we could tidy up our grandparents' graves, but they had disappeared. We took a shovel and sunk it into the earth in a grid pattern for a half hour until we heard it stricking metal. The bronze plate was eight inches under the ground and under a new chain ink fence. The other smaller brass was six or so inches deep. We went home and made some inquiries which led to this meeting. We shall have a base poured and mount the two brasses on a block of granite. Then we might not lose them again in our life time. We needed to honour the dead, even the dead of fifty years.
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