At first glance it is a desolate place. Scrub-brush and cheat grass and an almost endless wind that blows through and shakes the branches of the juniper trees. The oldest headstones are from the late 1800's. It is a tiny country cemetery in Tumalo, Oregon, in the high desert between Bend and Sisters. Four and a half years ago my son Dylan died at birth and that little cemetery became my strongest link to him. He is buried underneath his great grandfather's favorite juniper tree, right next to his great-great grandparents Otis and Grace, who are remembered as being kind people. This is an odd comfort to me.
