My son Aaron and I took a drive yesterday to a quaint old country church south of Red Lake to look for the graves of our four forefathers: Ole, Jens, Tom, and Harry. I’d been there once years ago, but it was new to Aaron.

Along the way, the geese were amassing in the fields. Every so often, a huge flock would lift from the field like a blanket of fog, and begin their long flight south.

As we passed Red Lake, I felt it was my patriotic duty to capture the colors of the red ferns, white swans, and blue heron.

We made it to the church, and because all country churches are nearly identical, I walked out to an adjacent field for a photo of it from a more unique view.

Unless you live near your family’s cemetery, it’s a little unnerving to see your own name on a headstone. But in another way, perhaps it makes it a little easier to accept one’s eventual place in the big picture.

For now, it’s important to live my life right, by following my heart, so that when the time comes, my forefathers will be waiting for me with open arms. It won’t be Valhalla, for I am no warrior, but I’ll be in good company.

–Photos by me