#52 Ancestors – Cemeteries Part I
It was Saturday and it was early, earlier than my 6 year old self had ever gotten up before. The night before it was agreed with my parents that I would spend the day with Grandma Betty. I should have been more aware of what was being said but honestly I did not care. Grandma and I usually went to Al’s Junk and Dirty Don’s. (True Story) If I had been paying attention, the buckets of water, rubber gloves, and various brushes would have clued me in that we were not going to Al’s or Don’s.
We got into her car and drove for what seemed like hours up the highway. It turned out to be 15 minutes. The sun was just starting to wake up as we turned through a large gate. She paused to wave to the man standing on the side of the road. His name was Big Jim and he was the caretaker.
The road was actually no more than a path. We were the only car driving through. I noticed stones sticking up out of the ground. Some seemed as tall as church steeples. Here and there were very ornate little buildings. This for sure was not Al’s Junk or Dirty Don’s.
Grandma always did things with few words. I just stood there as she grabbed what tools she could and started to walk away from the car. I looked after her she turned and tilted her head as if to say come on. I started off then raced back to the car to grab the bucket of water that was left for me.
As she knelled by the first stone she whispered something, I can only imagine what it was as it was so faint. There was a sense of reverence about her as she slowly and gently started to dust the stone with the soft brush she brought. Then with a little water she rinsed the stone.
Moving on to the next stone the whisper was repeated, the dust was removed and the stone glistened hinting at its fresh wash. This stone seemed older, more fragile compared to the first. I was intrigued with the words carved in the stone. Names that I felt I should know. I began to make a mental note of the names and dates.
The sun was shining high before I knew it. I just wanted to dump what was left of the bucket of water over my head as the Kansas heat began to settle over us.
(Keele with branches)
Big Jim stopped by and asked us if we were doing ok. It was only then that Grandma spoke out loud. She thanked him and accepted the bottles of water he offered. He said “he appreciated her coming by and expressed how he wished more people would by their respects. He looked at me and said take it all in missy, there is much to learn here” Paying their respects, take it all in, much to learn? My mind was busy pondering this while drinking my water. I would have to ask grandma what he meant by that but I would save that for the way home. Grandma’s crystal blue eyes said she was focused on the task at hand. After a few more stones we took all our tools minus the water back to the car. Inside she removed a small box, now where did that come from?
I followed along as we went back to the first stone; she let her hand graze the top as she placed a small wreath of Gladiolus. (The flower of Remembrance) She did this by each stone that we cleaned. A new sense of reverence washed over me as I tagged along behind her.
Not a lot was said that day, but I learned so much. Each stone was a marker for a member of Grandma Betty’s large family. Each spring, like clockwork she would spend a Saturday at the cemetery honoring those that had come and gone through her life.
One the ride back home I began talking to my Grandma Betty about her family, a conversation that continued until she herself past in 2012.
It was this introduction into cemeteries and my love of history that came together and developed an interest in me. I am most intrigued by the small family plots that speckle the countryside, but find a walk through the stones and trees of large grounds peaceful.
People often look surprised when I speak of my interest and fondness of Cemeteries. Especially of the young age for which this interest took hold. In middle school my father would drive me through the old cemetery near my school. I would miss the bus so we could go for a drive. History for me was alive among the dead. My interest was pure innocents nothing dark or evil. A pure fascination with people and the lives they lived.
Cemeteries were built as places leave behind the business of life. The cities were hot, smelly and dusty and the cemetery’s offered green space for strolls among sculptures and monuments. A place to picnic and spend a leisurely day with a small group or alone. They provided a peace and calm among the noise.
Today we have strayed away from the cemetery’s being an oasis. Many only visit when they have a loved one that has passed. So many names have been forgotten as family has moved away or their family lines of ended.
There is a history among those stones waiting to be discovered as I recently did on my husband’s side. My husband who’s family is in Kansas and Nebraska had ancestors that settled for a time in Northern Illinois. All the more curious is we found that his 4th great grandfather was buried just an hour away. So one fall day we took a drive and found the cemetery. Sadly the stone lay on its side. I have plans to inquire about righting it but so far have not heard back from the cemetery office.
Whether it is a large cemetery like Arlington or a small family cemeteries like Walkers Chapel Cemetery, there is a peace and a reverence that I feel, that same feeling that I experienced when I was so young following behind my Grandmother learning a most valuable lesson.
What is your first memory of a cemetery? Would you go and picnic and take a stroll through the park?
Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him…Colossians 2:7