A Kentucky Funeral

Glenn Roland Voshell was buried on a hill on his Kentucky farm last week. "We can still do that here in Kentucky," his wife Gayle said. And so my brother was laid to rest on the land he loved. His Amish neighbors volunteered horses and wagons to carry him to his final destination.  The horses chuffed and snorted as they plodded up the hill with their cargo of grandchildren, who momentarily had forgotten the reason for their ride up the hill.  As all little ones do, they seized the moment, laughing with pure joy over an unexpected hayride. We adults trudged in silence behind the wagon loaded with Glenn's body as a kindly sun warmed our shoulders, a soft breeze blew across our faces, and the vaulted blue sky looked down.  The jingling of harness hardware and the soft thud of the horses' hooves were the only sounds.  A hawk wheeled overhead. The wagon came to a halt at the top of a hillock surrounded with rolling hills turned blue-gray by the late morning mist. ...(Read Full Article)