It was basically a pile of dirt on top of a cement floor. About as much dirt as would fit in a child's sand-castle-building bucket. Big enough for a pet bird.
What's also funny about it is when I was looking for houses 18 months later I was sitting with my Realtor (the same one my brother used) looking at the listings of available homes. The house was still on the market. No, I didn't buy it.
Not quite house-hunting, but close.
DH and I were moving to a new community and looked into building a house.
So we were looking at acreage lots and other properties.
We found a really, really lovely lot, high on the river bank with a fantastic view. As we explored the land, we paid attention to the local geography with an eye to building sites.
A ravine ran through the property, surrounded by trees. As we explored this little copse, we were confronted by a *huge* wooden cross. As in probably about 6' tall.
It was ornately carved and had a person's name inscribed.
DH and I were both
I was absolutely sure it was a grave.
We asked the realtor, who was as surprised as we were.
Turned out that it was simply a memorial to the seller's daughter, who had died tragically some years before.
We didn't end up buying the property, and the realtor did ask the family to relocate the cross.