It was warm, but with a chill coming down into the Barbarian gorge, early in the morning, my bones lightly shivered. The sun had melted the last of the light patches of snow on the ground, as we drove along the potato fields. It was spring in the gorge but he sun was extremely warm. We came along the roadside, women were planting in the fields, and their backs were bent carrying seeds in their aprons. As we passed the cemetery a burial had just started. Chris (the German-Jewish young lady I had been dating), said, “My grandmother is buried here, I want to see her, I will be also be buried here, beside her right here in the cemetery (she had leukemia).”