Robert Penn Warren's Grave, Stratton, Vermont 7-30-13

We made a trip out to this very tiny graveyard, which lies within the Green Mountain National Forest in the vicinity of a settlement that I am not sure even qualifies as a town. The cemetery is down a long gravel road, and no other cars or people passed by in the entire 30-45 minutes that we were there.

We took our lunchboxes and had a picnic. The spot is tranquil and beautiful and well-maintained.

Given that Robert Penn Warren as an author is so strongly identified with the South, it was somewhat of a surprise to find his grave in this well-kept but obscure corner of Vermont. Evidently he summered there for many years.

What thoughts did I have at this memorial? Nothing pertinent. I do not know very much about Robert Penn Warren, other than that he had a successful career, and people trusted and respected his talent and knowledge in literary matters, which has always struck me, absurdly really, as the most desirable state to which a person could attain. I thought about the loneliness of the spot, the now complete passing of Warren's literary generation, which retained some prominence and authority even in my youth. I thought about the universal male desire for money, power, and sex, and thought that in his own milieu Warren seemed, compared to me anyway, to have attained a fair portion of the first two of these--I don't know about the sex. So yes, this is what I thought about, in between my major concerns about my children behaving, not climbing on or tipping over gravestones, and so on.  

This has a Vermont Life magazine feel to it, don't you think. I must confess, I love that magazine. Though the older numbers from the 60s and 70s are a world of their own that can never be recaptured, I like the newer issues too.

I thought this was an unusually beautiful tree. It reminded me of one that used to be in my grandparents' yard.