June 15. Richland Center, Wisconsin
The Courthouse was closed. It was too late.
I turned away, but Mom peered through the window and motioned
for the janitor to come to the door.
"Where's the oldest cemetery in Richland Center?" she called through the glass.
He walked over, mopping as he went. "Well, there's only one, old
one," the janitor said with a smile, and gave us the sort of directions only locals do, but said them three
times to make up for it, and told us where to get the best supper.
That's the thing about Wisconsin. People are not too much in a rush
to help someone. And that's the thing about Mom. Never assume that people will be too busy or uninterested to
tell you everything you need to know.
We drove up and down streets looking. It
was starting to feel hopeless and we didn't see another soul to ask. All l of a sudden there was a cemetery
gate ! Could it be the one? Burton parked and took Rachel's stroller out.
We made our way past hundreds of family graves.
A statue of the Virgin Mary stood high on a hill of grass in the distance, pure
white against emerald green.
"Who are we looking for?" Burton called out quiet. He had stopped Rachel
in the stroller a little way off.
"The Fowlers," we said.
"This one is Fowler."
Within five minutes, in acres of paths and hundreds of names, Burton
and Rachel found them.
John and Sarah Allison Fowler
John W and Eva Renick Fowler
The Fowler family stone was light gray, decorated with verse, roses and
symbols of faith and bounty on four sides; the witness to all the family who had loved and missed them.
A sheaf of wheat was carved into the stone, and underneath were
the words...
GATHERED HOME
