anders pearson

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visit my own gravestone
my gravestone

I got an email from my dad one day talking about how he and my mother had finally gone up to New Sweden, Maine for the Midsommarstag festivities they have up there. During a break, they wandered the town a bit and ended up in the cemetery. In the cemetery was one large, white, marble stone much larger and fancier than the rest. When they came around, they saw that the name on it was mine (I have a relatively uncommon, though very Swedish, name). There was apparently someone quite wealthy and important in New Sweden in the 1800’s with my name.

It freaked my mom out pretty badly, but now I really want to go see it for myself and take my picture with “my” gravestone.


I want to:
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