What I hear in old cemeteries- Photography
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.
These are people who knew firsthand the struggles of our expanding nation
Who might have been here with a pioneering spirit.
Who would be well acquainted with life during the Civil War. What makes history interesting, is the people.
Without them, there is no story.
I want to honor them by simply remembering they lived. Don’t we all want to live a life that mattered?
I leave with deeper gratitude for my own life. A stronger resolve to live with purpose. To make each moment count.
Psalm 39:4 Lord, make me to know my end and [to appreciate] the measure of my days—what it is; let me know and realize how frail I am
As always, if you enjoy my writing I’d love for you to share it…
Profound. I am at a loss for words. Thank you for the reminder.
Bryan
Love this!
I have written about my cemetery appreciation as well more than once. Here’s one. Always nice to find kindred spirits in this respect!
http://www.priscasvoice.com/2011/05/memento-mori.html
That is spectacular writing, seriously
Thank you. 🙂
I love the verse from Psalms you shared at the end. I am sure I have read it before but I loved reading it along with the cemetery concept. Perfect.
Yours is a deeply sensitive soul. You did honor them, so much, with this story.
There was a cemetery behind our old apartment complex (actually on the property). It was very old. There was something non-spooky about it. The only word that comes to mind is “hallowed.” I never understood why. Now I do.
Thanks Jeff!
My uncle had a cemetery next door to his house in the mountains of Arkansas. It was part of his property. The dates were really old: Late 1700s, early 1800s. I always wondered what the people were like, too, and how a cemetery became a part of property where someone built a house.
There is a lady, Andrea Cumbo, who is working on a book about the lives of the slaves who lived on the plantation she now owns. Her Web site is: http://www.andilit.com. You would find her research work interesting, I think.
Eva, that does sound like something I would be interested in reading. I’ll check it out…thanks!
Love this article and the photos. I too love to frequent an old cemetery in Alpine, CA where so many of my relatives, including my mother, are buried. I wander the grounds, reading the headstones and imagine who they were. I wonder about the people who miss them. But most importantly, I think about the one thing they all have in common: they have all stood before The Lord and have given an account for their lives here on earth. I will too one day. Being at this old cemetery reminds me of what’s important and what’s not. It helps me to gain perspective again.
Olivia, what a beautiful memory to share with me. Would you send me a picture sometime?