What I hear in old cemeteries- Photography

I love old cemeteries.

I “hear” the people long gone.

Not in some supernatural way where I commune with spirits stuck in some sort of purgatory. More in a personal way.

A shared bond of humanity.

I stop to read the names and the epitaphs. To ponder the dates of life and compare it to my own.

Some think this is an odd notion. Morbid.

I have a deeper reason for coming to these places.

Honor.

I wonder who these people were, what the story of their life was. And I remember that they once lived. Perhaps rich full lives, or ones of sorrow.

Either way, they deserve to be remembered.

In my own way I strive to do that

I take note of their names, photograph their final resting place and imagine who they might have been. People deserve to be remembered, don’t they?

I feel sorrow for the places where the weather has uprooted their last memorials and scattered the stones haphazardly.

Last year we came across a cemetery after taking a wrong turn during a field trip with friends. On our way to Parke County, we were surprised by this seemingly deserted road in the country.

It was long abandoned and fascinated me immediately.

We could see no town, no houses.

Yet there were so many stones. Who were these people? Why were they here? What caused so many women and children to die?

My heart aches to see the rows of children, and I leave with deep gratitude for my own healthy daughters and the privilege to live in a country of modern medicine.

I reflect on the history of our country, and stand in awe at the symbol of lives.

People like you and me, that had struggles and joys.

Stumbling upon history, forgotten there in the woods of Indiana.