At the shore near the campground, two hunks of ceramic pipe were stuck into the ground, inscribed with black marker. One read July 27, 2008. The other was a typical marker children put out, words, numbers and little pictures imperfectly drawn. One of my children had rowed with his friends years ago to mark "Friendship Island" in a similar way and were pleased to follow up the next summer.
This particular marker looked more like a headstone, as when oversensitive children bury a turtle in a shoebox and dutifully note the date of its demise. More sadly, they commemorate a dead pet, not buried in that location, but remembered fondly.
The makeshift headstone must have tilted over in the torrential rain, and it was at an angle easier to read the next morning; a butterfly, a branch of some sort, and what might be a tree across the top. Then the large block capitals: MOMMY.
Lara S. Foster, July 25, 1975 - December 27, 2007, with four girl's names in a left column beneath it. It had originally read July 27, 1975 - December 27 07, but the first "7" had been crossed out and a "5" placed above it, and the "20" was squeezed in above the "07," the inscriber apparently going back over to improve her work.
A right column read
32 years old. Four daughters. The oldest, perhaps nine or so, had put in the names of her sisters, the last of which is likely quite young. At church camp the summer after her mother's death, a girl had wanted to create a memorial, and likely brought her sisters to see it. The next-most-likely scenario is that the daughter is with her grandparents at camp, and listed her sisters even though they were not present.
I don't have any problems in life. Really. Some people have real problems.