Visiting Graveyards

My husband and I visit lots of graveyards.

For both of us, this started when we were young. We'd join in the traditional family pilgrimage on Memorial Day, filling the trunk of the car with plastic wreaths or pots of geraniums and traveling the country roads from one cemetery to the next. We’d stand in quiet respect at each grave, place the wreath, then load up the car for the next cemetery.

Visiting cemeteries was a pretty accepted practice, especially with the older generations that surrounded both of our childhoods. Even after we’d grown and moved away, if we happened to be home on the right weekend, we'd be drafted to join in the activity.

I visited the graveyards of Kent County, Michigan once as a child for another purpose.

At 13 all school kids had to write a biography. I enlisted my Great Uncle Grant to tell me more of my father's family history. He was the one who told me about the Weeks man who was killed in the Civil War and buried in a cemetery in the South.

Uncle Grant and I went wandering around Kent County one day, just the two of us, and looked up all the ancestors we could find. I jotted down names and dates, some of which I actually included in my report--which I still have.

The best part of that day was when Uncle Grant showed me an eight foot tall cast iron monument to his grandfather, my great great grandfather, John Parrish Weeks. His entire life was cast on the side of the monument, along with his wife and childrens' names and details. I remember being very impressed with the fact that this man has been gone for so long but his life’s history was still here for all to see. The idea of a secondary purpose for cemetery visits was born.

Years later, I went to Ashley Cemetery to see this monument again because I hadn't thought to take photos when I was thirteen. I had started doing genealogy for the family and wanted all those wonderful details.

I couldn't find it.

The cemetery where I thought it was didn't contain the monument I could see so clearly in my mind!

That was before cell phones, so I had to go back to my cousin's house where I was staying to call my father but he didn't remember where it was. “Isn't it in Ashley Cemetery?” he asked. I spent the rest of that afternoon calling around to various historical societies. I finally found the nicest woman who said, "You mean Mason Cemetery! That's just two miles south of Ashley Cemetery on the same road!”

Not only did I take a "million" photos this time because I had no idea when I'd ever get to Michigan from my Missouri home again, but I also took rubbings of the oak leaf/acorn clusters and the names and family history.

Years later, on a trip to South Dakota, my husband and I and Warren's brother, Bill visited every cemetery we could find. We took pictures of everything. Warren and Bill called their mother in Arizona on our cell phone and told her all about our visit. A couple of times she directed us to a particular grave site we were having trouble locating.

Warren thanked me for showing such an interest in his side of the family's cemeteries. He seemed to think it was a big deal that I had reverence and interest in the Krechs that have gone. I just shrugged. He'd done the same for me, I reminded him. We'd gone in search of my mother's family graves in Arkansas. He'd helped me place flowers at the graves of both my grandparents and great grandparents in Washington County, Arkansas. We'd taken rubbings and photos and notes.

To me, a visit to a cemetery is not macabre or maudlin. It is an acknowledgment of what their efforts for the family mean to us. I am thankful for their paving the way for us. We are what we are partly because of who they were, both sides of the family.

We visit graveyards whenever we visit home in both Michigan and South Dakota. For respect, for gathering information. Both are good reasons for a quiet visit to a country cemetery.