We were driving back to the Airbnb after eating ice cream at Mr. Whippy’s. It certainly isn’t a long drive.  Chincoteague is an island, and on that little island there are deer everywhere. I’m not sure there was a single time I was driving around that I didn’t see a deer hanging out in someone’s backyard, crossing the road, or in this case…standing in a graveyard.

This little fawn was simply eating away at the lush grass and enjoying her dinner with her mom and about five others. We pulled off the road, and I hopped out of the truck with my camera in hand. She didn’t mind me one bit. She looked up and then went right back to feeding.

The thought crossed my mind though: she has no idea where she is. She has no clue that this is a place where people have set markers all over the ground to remember loved ones who have passed, memorial stones meant to live on. The names carved into the stones meant nothing to her. She knew nothing of the people who had laughed, worked, raised families, suffered, loved, and eventually passed from this life.

To her, it was simply another patch of grass, another place to wander and eat in peace. She didn’t know where she was because this place was just another green pasture. But I knew where she was, and for a moment, that contrast was impossible to ignore.

Maybe there was something peaceful about her ignorance. She didn’t have to think about the names surrounding her. She didn’t wonder how long those people had lived, how they had died, or whether anyone still remembered them.

She simply ate.  I looked at the stones.  She didn’t know where she was. I did.