As you enter the burying grounds from the upper entrance one of the first things you notice is the white shed in the background. This is the caretaker's shed. For many decades, Jim's grandfather Hugh was caretaker for these burying grounds and kept his grave-digging tools in that shed.

Michener Family graves in the burying grounds. The caretaker's shed is located directly behind me. I took this photo a year ago before I even knew who Jim Michener was.

Caretaker's shed. Jim had mentioned in an email to me that underneath the window you see in the photo there had been two or three nails where his grandfather used to hang, secretly, the key to the shed.

Being the curious sort that I am, I grabbed a friend and we went over to investigate this. We walked up to the window, knelt down and, sure enough, even after all these years, they were still there! Hugh Michener, Jim's grandfather, had passed away in 1968.

Of course there is no key suspended there now. Times have changed and the present-day caretaker needs to store the toolshed key in a more secure location.

Indians are buried in this section of the burying grounds, one in a hollowed-out log.

What amazes me most about these burying grounds are the number of veterans who are buried here. Throughout history Quakers have generally been pacifists but there are quite a number who have served in the military.

The headstone of Jim's Quaker grandparents, Hugh and Bertha.

Helen Walton Fitting's grave. This is the first grave Jim remembers digging -- he was 13, his grandfather, 77.

Mrs. Fitting had been Jim's teacher for grades 1 through 3. She is one of the local characters in Jim's novel, "Poison in the Wind," and takes a secret to the grave.

Jim has a lovely recollection of Mrs. Fitting, which I will share with you here:

Helen Fitting died in 1957. It was early summer. I remember porcelain vases of tumbling, lavender lilacs in the meetinghouse windows, a flower I've associated with her ever since the funeral and the open casket. I can go there now -- it's a beautiful memory, really one of the most beautiful memories in my life -- seeing everything as vividly as it was, even the scarlet orchid that was pinned to her cream-colored blouse. I had just finished 7th grade, which made her my teacher only four years ago, so you see why I remember it so well. She was 64 when she died, which was considered young -- most Quakers didn't die until they were in their 80s. In the one-room schoolhouse, where wounded Revolutionary soldiers had convalesced or died, she taught us how to make Indian handicrafts.

On Sunday mornings, even before he was a teenager, violin case in hand, Jim (then called Jimmy) would often be seen walking to meeting, which was in the woods at the top of the hill. This road (Meetinghouse Lane then, School Lane now) was a dirt road in his youth, and the fields to the left had belonged to his grandfather, and those to the right had belonged to the Walton family to whom the Micheners were related.

Jim recalls:

I didn't walk quickly. I stopped what seemed like every few feet and observed wildflowers, insects and birds, including pheasants outfitted in beautiful plumage. Even in the dead of winter there were marvelous things to see!

In the upper woods was a disused cottage called Applesauce. I got the idea to put a salt-lick on a fence post, both of which I brought over from Misty Hills Farm, my pockets filled with barley, wheat and corn. Then I sat on the porch of the cottage, my legs dangling over the edge, and waited for the deer to come. I didn't have to wait very long!

On Sundays the compartment for rosin in my violin case would contain a packet of grain for the deer. The deer, as time went on, learned my pattern, and soon had Great Expectations on Sundays, their eyes, which seemed to float in pairs between every leaf and branch in the forest, following my movements toward the salt-lick, where I spread the grain on the ground.

I never had a brother. The wildflowers and insects and birds and deer became what I called the Darwin brothers. They took me in as easily as I did them -- it was a mutual adoption society, of course. As a result, biology came naturally to me by the time I started junior high school.

I can relate to this. When I walked along School Lane taking photos for Jim, I could see deer peacefully grazing in the fields seemingly oblivious to my presence. Occasionally I would also spot a fox or a rabbit milling about. The wildflowers still sway in the breeze as they probably did when he walked this road as a teenager with violin case in hand.

The Solebury Township War Memorial. The one-room schoolhouse where Mrs. Fitting taught is in the background.

The building dates back to 1755 and was used as a hospital during the American Revolution.

At the present time the building looks as if it is used for storage.

Close-up photo of the old one-room schoolhouse.