Granite Cities

As I sit here watching the DVD “A Cemetery Special,” it brings back memories of my childhood and my love of cemeteries. Because I want to simply be cremated and thrown out into the wind, I think my fascination with cemeteries is with the granite stones rather than any thoughts of death.

It started when I was very young in a small New England town. We had three cemeteries, two still in use in the 1950s, and a third dating back to the Indian wars.

The Protestant cemetery was on the far side of town, and I only went there each year in the Memorial Day parade with the rest of the town’s people. The parades consisted of men from the local VFW followed by Scouts along with little girls from the Brownie troop. There was also a small band from grammar school playing their music badly but very loudly to make up for this. I started out as a wee girl in the Brownie troop, later became a Girl Scout, and finally had the honor one year of carrying the large flag at the front of our group. To be honest, it was an honor I wanted only once as the flag was heavy and tended to swoop down toward the road if I wasn’t vigilant at all times. However, I digress.

The second cemetery in town was the Old Indian Cemetery. It was located on the hill leading down to Lake Wickaboag. A moss-covered stone wall just made for walking barefoot on it bordered the cemetery all the way down the country road. Inside the cemetery were ancient gravestones going back to over two centuries, to the time of the French and Indian War. Most are worn down with age so that the inscriptions were hard to read, but it was fun as a child to try to decipher the ages of the dead. It seemed so many died young.

The Catholic cemetery, though, was the winter playground of the town’s children. On entering on a wide access road, there was a steep hill located immediately to the right. On the other side of the road was a swampy area normally frozen. The hill was the only part of the cemetery with no gravestones and perfect for sledding. We either pulled our sleds up the long hill behind us or walked up on a high stone wall, leaning down to drag our sleds along the snow.

Once at the top, a belly flop landed us onto a wooden sled, and off we’d go like the wind. Down we’d race, twisting madly on the sled's front bar to avoid everyone else, and trying to cross the road that was getting ever closer. As the day progressed and the constant sledding turned the snow to packed ice, we’d fly down the hill, up the slight embankment, over the plowed road, and down the other side into the swamp. If we were lucky, the area was still frozen, but later in the day, the sun might turn it into slush. It would be cold and messy, but we were children and didn’t care.

Further into the cemetery were hills suited for tobogganing or even skiing. I remember the one and only time I tried skiing. I pushed my boots through the leather bindings of Dad’s old wooden skis, stuck the poles into the soft snow to push off, and immediately crashed into a tombstone. I didn’t do much better on a toboggan ride with a couple other friends. We tried to steer, but those trees scattered on our downward route kept getting into our way.

After the snow melted, next would come spring and then summer. This was my favorite time because I usually was alone in the Catholic cemetery except for the occasional person visiting a departed family member. With only a book and a brown bag containing my lunch, I’d spend hours in the peace and quiet. Usually the only sound would be a bee buzzing around flowers left on a grave nearby.

Often, before I was a teenager, I’d sneak out of my home in the early morning hours to end up at this dark and deserted place. I’d wander among the stones with only the stars and moon to light my way, feeling like the last person on earth and enjoying the freedom.

Why are people afraid of cemeteries, especially at night? Does a person turn evil or a monster once they die? When I was a child, the departed were just friends whom I couldn’t see, and a cemetery was simply a place that gave me a feeling of safety and comfort.

* * * I hope you enjoyed my walk down memory lane. * * *