Our neighbor, who had been fighting cancer, slipped away yesterday in the late afternoon. One skilled carpenter made a beautiful casket, and this morning 5 or 6 folks took shovels and dug the grave. His casket was slowly transported the quarter-mile or so to the cemetery this afternoon on the flat open back of a little truck, with two young people riding back there with it in ceremonious fashion. It had a cloth draped over it, a pink dahlia, and a cross.

A few dozen of us gathered in a circle in the cemetery. The school let out early, so the kids and teacher could walk up the road to join us. His daughter expressed her gratitude for the circle of community, and we passed around some photos of him in his youth while people told stories.

Then some of the stronger men put straps under the casket, lowering it into the hole. There was some singing, some laughing, some crying. Dirt was shoveled down by people taking turns with the shovels, and when the grave was part way filled in, the little kids helped by getting in and jumping on the dirt to tamp it down.

A flower farmer had brought some rainbow bouquets of more dahlias, and they were set in place by the time it got cold and we squeezed into the front seat of the truck with our neighbor and headed up the hill to home.