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Archiver > TNDICKSO > 1999-12 > 0944351248


From: "j" <>
Subject: [TNDICKSO] Sunday Afternoon Rockin'
Date: Sat, 4 Dec 1999 18:47:28 -0500


Afternoon yall,

Recently a thread of conversation came up on our "Afternoon Rocking" list
that set me to thinking and chewing on a thing that has often bothered me
(and most likely, all of you) many times throughout the years.

I have always felt quite comfortable and "at home" in a cemetery, even long
before I became engrossed in genealogy...and I have no explanation for that
feeling of peace that has been with me since childhood. I have never felt
fear or unease in a cemetery, and instead felt more like I was surrounded
with a serenity and peace that the rest of the world simply could not
match...and so I have visited more than a few (as I am sure, have many of
you), that really have no ties at all to my own ancestry.

Standing in a soft afternoon's light, with no sounds other than the birds
chirping in trees nearby, a soft scurry of some small creature through the
nearby brush, it is easy to imagine the folks that may rest there...easy to
realize that beneath each of these plots lie a person who once laughed, once
cried, once told a good story, once had worries and frustrations, once could
feel the same sort of soft breeze on her cheek that I feel now...once could
reach down and run fingers over the grass I am standing upon...

It is not hard to imagine that each of these folks, before they were laid to
rest, were washed and dressed, softly touched, kissed gently and a final
soft spoken whisper was spoken to each of them one long ago day. And it is
easy to imagine mourners gathered around each of these graves one long ago
day, hearts bleeding as surely as from any physical wound, wondering at the
emptiness of the days that lay ahead for each of them without this person in
their worlds any longer. It is easy to see them gathering at times to clean
the grounds in which they have laid to rest those they once hugged, once
nursed, once encouraged, once worried over...it is easy to see a lone figure
climbing a hill to stand silently at a grave, to lay a flower gently in
rememberance, to brush a tear from a cheek, sigh, look upward a moment, and
then slowly, head bent, trudge down the hill again...

And it is easy to sense the long chain of human feelings and human destiny
when one realizes that now even the mourners are gone...

And so now, we often see these cemeteries, or come upon them unexpectedly,
and it is easy to see that not only are the mourners gone, but so are the
memories.... Stones are missing and perhaps no one who could have placed one
there could have afforded one...and relied on their memories to visit...we
know the grave is there because it has sunken, and no one has bothered to
fill it in with fresh soil, make a planting of grass upon it... Stones are
fallen, broken, and obviously no one who remembers the mischief in a
person's eyes, who remembers a warm lap, who remembers a welcoming bear hug
or an infectuous belly laugh...has visited for a very long time... The
forest has encroached...and the weeds....and then I wonder...

What is a cemetery about? Those who have passed...or the living?

Not so long ago, I finally located the grave of my ggg grandfather. It was
not easy. There were none left living in our family to remember, or even to
know who he was...and so the bits and pieces of records finally came
together for me until I knew who he was...but it took much longer, and a
very distant cousin I happened to locate who seemed to remember a "lost
cemetery" of the family....when I finally did locate this cemetery it was a
part of the farm of a man who had no connection to us at all, and who was
not even sure where on his land that cemetery was, but remembered "seeing it
as a boy".... in the heat of August, braving the ticks and copperheads that
country is famous for, my husband and I forded a creek, trudged through a
cow pasture, climbed a fence and began searching a woods that this man had
pointed out as the general direction....it was a thousand wonders we found
that cemetery. Had I not happened to look down at a crucial time, I doubt
we would have...a half dozen deep sunken graves, a few bits and pieces of
stone...and then, broken, and lying on the ground, the very one that told me
I had found the spot where long ago a ggg grandfather responsible for the
very fact that I now drew breath, had been buried.... Still recognizeable
was the same inscription I have seen before on many of these
stones..."Remember all who passeth by, as you are now, so once was I. As I
am now, so you shall be." And I knew this ggg grandfather of mine, who died
more than a century ago, who was responsible for the fact that I too walked
the earth and loved and laughed, had indeed sent me a message...and I also
knew I had been given a task that my completion of would have a lot to say
about who I really am... taking the dates from that stone was the act of a
genealogist, but coming back to see that this place was as my ancestors who
mourned this man's loss and those others buried with him would wish it to
be, will be the responsibility of a heart...and respect.

A man I respected as much as I have ever respected any I have known was my
uncle, Milford Thomason of Stewart Co. TN. He spent his years of retirement
roaming the woods of LBL which he knew as surely as he knew the back of his
hand. He spent those years searching out neglected cemeteries, mowing them,
filling in graves, bringing out stones to cement back together and then
carefully place again, and he spent a good deal of time trying to learn who
was in those unmarked graves, and making markers for those he was able to
identify. To my knowledge he never asked for nor received a dime for his
efforts...and to my knowledge, he took it upon himself to be quietly
responsible for the care of far more cemeteries he had no connection to at
all than even those he did. I never saw him receive any accolades for that,
and I sincerely doubt that any other than we, his close family members, knew
what it was he was doing with all of his days. I have often wondered how
many genealogists, coming upon a tiny well-kept family cemetery actually
believed there was still family in the area caring for it...or how many
bothered to learn who it was that had freshly mown that tiny plot, who it
was who had recently filled in that grave. I have often wondered what has
become of those cemeteries since his own passing in 1996. And I have often
wondered if ANY ever visited the cemetery besides my uncle...but of course
to him, that was not the point. He was not doing it for the living...it was
respect for those who had passed on that mattered most to him.

My uncle left a legacy to those of us who saw him selflessly toiling over
the graves of those long gone...he never preached a sermon, he never
admonished any of us, and yet his actions spoke as surely as words to those
of us in the family, I hope my sharing of it has sent a message to those of
you who wish to know it...and if those of us young and able enough have
heart to hear...there is something very deep about character, very intrinsic
to respect...within that message. Uncle Milford was not a genealogist...and
he did not go about collecting dates to fill in a family tree. So far as I
know, that never crossed his mind. We do this every day, and yet I
wonder...is it fair to collect our information...but not take responsibility
for the same?

As I have often wondered....walking the cemeteries, seeing in some mind's
eye the smile of someone long gone, hearing the soft rumble of a voice long
silenced, imagining a mourner trudging slowly up a hill, a flower clasped in
a trembling hand...

Does a cemetery, even with its names and dates, say more about those who
rest within it....or does it say more about us, the living?
just a thought,
jan





Listowner:

A 1999 Stewart Co Santa (HO, HO, HO!!! and thanks!)
Listowner:

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