Looking at the green vegetable growing on the puddle of water in the cemetery, you will be shiver. Do not know after being brought in the market for sale which family will have this delicious dish on the meal.
Lots of fresh vegetables stretch in the cemetery.
The plants grow on the grave.
Vegetables here do not need to irrigate every 4.5 days to lush
To many of us, cultivating the land where we’ve buried a loved one is no strange practice. Every Easter after church (the one day a year we did go to church), my family and I would drive to my father’s parents and, still wearing his Sunday best, my father would tend to their graves, plant new lilies, trim the rosebush, sweep the dirt off their names. What things my father must have felt—longing? peace?—while digging his hands into the soil that concealed if not became the grandparents already gone by the time I was born. Most of these plants, though, are ornamental. Flowers, vines, all bright colors and soft petals, fulfilled little other purpose than to lend the end of life their transient beauty.
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