Dinner for four, we'd like to be seated next to the Hunt Family grave site.

I grew up with a cemetery down the street. My best friend, Heidi, lived on the other side of the grounds, and we would often meet at the entry. It was a kind of playground for us. I don't mean that we rode on the tombstones or had races over the graves, but we did spend an inordinate amount of time there. Our parents knew this of course. I'm sure that we were reminded to be respectful and such, but in my memory, they never dissuaded us from spending time there. We had favorite graves, and we invented grand stories about the people interred there. As a child I had no negative association with the fact that people lay beneath the ground returning to the earth, ashes to ashes and so on.

My sentiments changed as a teenager, and I remember many a late night walking, nearly running, home and singing at the top of my lungs so that I wouldn't have to think about the remains buried on the other side of the fence. I can't recall when I made the transition between cemetery as play-space to cemetery as creepy-place. Thankfully, as an adult, I no longer harbor those feelings. Cemeteries are contemplative places for me now. I think they're tremendously beautiful, and perhaps, nostalgia for my youth draws me to them.

Macon, like other grand old southern cities, has two fabulous historic cemeteries within walking distance of our house: Rose Hill and Riverside. As part of a venture to get Maconites out into the community, the Historic Riverside Cemetery Conservancy partnered with the College Hill Corridor to sponsor a picnic on the cemetery grounds last night.

How I love a good picnic at a grave site. It's been twenty some years since the last one. Late yesterday afternoon, Craig and I loaded the girls into the duallie, packed a cooler with beer and sandwiches and walked down College Street to the picnic spot. A jazz trio played, and families and singles reclined on the lawn. People drank beer and wine, sampled each other's picnic baskets, and relaxed in the waning sun. Grace played with other preschoolers, running amongst the graves and sitting on benches. Julia ate crackers and charmed senior citizens. Craig and I enjoyed adult conversation.

Goodness, it was a really lovely evening. Could it be? Do I actually like living here? Can a picnic dinner in a cemetery change my mind about this place? It's too soon to write those answers, but you can bet I'll be packing another basket for a graveside picnic soon.