The value of visits to a country cemetery

When visitors to our area are given tours of the beautiful countryside where we are privileged to live, they make glowing comments on things that we take for granted. They marvel at the beauty of our hills and mountains, our small towns, our churches, and surprisingly, our local cemeteries. In fact, many of our visitors have come just to visit one or more of these family or community cemeteries, to walk among the stones in a visit with the past.

The customs of visiting local cemeteries on a regular basis have helped build the sense of our local historical belongings. Culturally the overbearing sadness of leaving generations of family members behind has led to the development of these comforting places where people could stay in touch with their roots. In our local cemeteries it is evident that the detailed and intimate accountings of people’s remembrances are memorialized there along with their loved ones.

In my family, when we were blessed with a sunny and warm Sunday, we’d make an afternoon visit to the local cemetery, especially if grandmothers and aunts were visiting for the day. The reason the women had for taking us children along was not altogether clear then, but later in life I would come to realize the value of the lessons learned.

The women walked in front, and all children were kept in tow by having them trail behind with instructions to avoid walking across the graves. That was the first lesson, and it was followed by many others, most of which had to do with the accumulative knowledge and understanding of life itself.

Memories were spoken in reverence. “Look here. This is the grave of a man who used to bring us kindling wood for the fireplace on cold winter days, and he never charged a single penny for any of it. He used to say ‘I’ve got plenty of wood on my place, and I’m happy to share it’.”

At the time, we had no idea that we were in an open museum, a place where an extraordinary history was written regarding the manifestations of the human spirit. It was all there. Everything about the past was written on the stones in an unlimited form of creativity. Many lifetimes of sacrifices, struggles, obligations, and duties were spread out before us.

I can remember wandering to a far corner to visit the grave of a soldier who was killed and buried in some foreign land. His aged and moss-covered stone contained his name, birthdate and date of passing, and a weather-worn etching that said When silent, he speaks. It was fascinating to me to know that the grave was empty but served to remind every visitor of his history. I used my imagination to place him peacefully in the empty grave that was in clear sight of the house where he grew up.

Our visits were never volunteered, but we were fortunate to have the privilege. As children, we were being taught a great lesson about our collective response to mortality, and not to have a feeling of the haunting and uncomprehending terror of death. We counted the many angels, and it was evident to us that they were peaceful emissaries between earth and heaven, and their duty was to help make the transition into the not too incomprehensible eternity and life thereafter.

Nearby, country roads lead back and forth, in and out, stretching themselves along farmhouses and groves of trees until they merge into bright, sunny spots that on any given day, even in winter, seem to warm the resting places of those who rest there.

I suspect that only a true Southerner would appreciate the concept of visiting their family cemetery. Not just to place seasonal flowers on the stones but to use these visits as an opportunity to educate other family members on the lives of those long-lost relatives. Over the years I have used my youth-gained knowledge to take my nieces and nephews to visit our family plots that are scattered throughout this region. I want to know that future generations will not lose touch with our family history, but also to experience the reality of visiting these peaceful pieces of our past.

During this time of personal distancing I would be hard-pressed to suggest a better location for personal reflection and a walk with and among those who passed before you. A visit to one of our classic American Heartland burial places on land surrounded by quiet rivers and distant hills and mountains.