Is it possible to lose a cemetery? Is it possible for the graves of several dozen people to be covered by a forest and lost for a time? Yes, yes, those things are possible. It happened just a few miles from where I live.

In 2007, an abandoned cemetery a couple miles east of my fair city was found and restored. A man named Tim Lloyd found it while looking for the burial site of an ancestor of his, great great great grandfather Isaac Barrick, who was a veteran of the War of 1812. His stone was one of the last stones that was discovered as they did the cleanup and restoration of Old Prarieville Cemetery. When I read that story in the newspaper a few years ago, I knew I’d have to visit the cemetery someday. I contacted my two cemetery–loving friends, Lori and Teresa, and we recently set out to explore this old place of rest together.

Old Prairieville Cemetery was established in 1855. The first person buried there was Mrs. Warren who died in April 1855. The last burial was in 1909. In days of yore, if there was a cemetery, there was a church nearby. Traditionally old churches always had a graveyard associated with them and indeed, there used to be a congregational church in that location. The Congregationalist sold it to the Methodists in 1876 and the only thing remaining of that church now is the foundation and part of an old iron fence that surrounded it.

This is what the cemetery look like when it was rediscovered in 2007.

Which makes the recovery work all that much more amazing. That was a LOT of trees to remove!

You may ask why it’s so important. Why should anyone care if moldering gravestones stay buried and forgotten? The fact is that we are each of us eternal souls, each one of us made in the image of God, each one of us created and brought into this world for some purpose. The stones are just stones, but the names on those stones represent real people who lived real lives and left real legacies, whether for good or for bad. We may forget them, but the Lord knows them all by name and He knows all their stories.

Gone are the living, but the dead remain
And not neglected, for a hand unseen,
Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain,
Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
excerpt from “The Jewish Cemetery at Newport

Lori, Teresa and I went to this rediscovered old cemetery and did what we usually do – we walked around looking at names and epitaphs, worked out what some of the engravings said – not as easy as you’d think with old stones like these that had been reclaimed by the dirt from which they came. We noted how often in those days the length of someone’s life when they died was given in great detail: “54 years, 1 month and 15 days,” or “76 years, 11 months, 12 days.” Nowadays we just plunk a couple of years on the stone and let you do the math.

So let me share some of these with you, with the hopes that you’ll see beyond the names and wonder about the people they were. My observations and/or notes will be under the photos.

Francis F. Strunk was just 1 year, 6 months and 4 days old when he passed away on October 17, 1865. The inscription on the stone is a slightly altered verse from the hymn “They Are Not Lost, But Gone Before”:

Dear is the spot where children sleep
And sweet the strains their spirits pour
O, why should we in anguish weep
They are not lost but gone before.

Francis’s father, Jonas M. Strunk, had a stone in the cemetery as well. He died at age 57 in 1887, 27 years after burying his son:

Mrs. Eliza F. McRoss, died just a couple months after little Francis on December 6, 1865. Note the hand with a finger pointing upward at the top of her stone, and the words above it: “Gone home.” This is a fairly common symbol seen on gravestones of that era, reflecting the abiding faith that “our citizenship is in heaven.” (Philippians 3:20). This world is not truly our home.

Hattie E. DeForest died on October 22, 1865, just days after Francis Strunk. She was 8 years, 8 months and 13 days old. The DeForests lost another daughter, Clara, about a month later:

She was 10 years and 1 month old. It seems likely that some ill disease swept through the community, taking their children. Hattie and Clara both have roses on their stones, under the same words “Gone Home.” How empty the Deforest household must have seemed with the loss of Clara and Hattie! The parents are only listed as G.L. and S.N. You have to read the grief between the lines.

“Our little Montie.” No date, no age, but there’s a great deal of pathos in those three words. Montie’s stone contains the same words “Gone Home,” but underneath it is a dove, a symbol of purity and peace.

Edward F. Cosert, aged 19 years, 6 months and 10 days when he died in 18__. The stone is too cracked to see the year. The hand with the pointing finger points to the words “My home is above.” His epitaph reads:

To reach the Eternal City
I’ll brave Death’s sullen flood.
My Savior crossed before me,
I’ll triumph through His blood.

Note the weeping willow tree on the gravestone of Julia Bice. The suggestion of sorrow and grief is obvious, but less obvious is that the willow tree also was associated with the gospel of Christ “because the tree will flourish and remain whole no matter how many branches are cut off.” (From Stories in Stone by Douglas Keister.)

Betsey E. Millard. “Sleep, Mother, in Jesus sleep, while we on earth are left to weep.” An open book is shown above, perhaps symbolic of the Bible.

Letitia Engle, daughter of G.S. and E.J. Engle, died July 20, 1870 aged 1 year, 6 months and 4 days. Although it’s hard to tell, I believe that you can see a resting lamb above the name. The inscription reads:

(He?) would not suffer this
Little lamb long to estray
So he gathered it young
into his fold.

Similarly, “Our little Hervy” has a lamb atop his stone. Little Hervy Cale died at 4 months old. The inscription below reads “Our little angel has gone to rest.” In our day and age, infant and child mortality is fairly low, but it was a common occurrence not too long ago.

And here’s the stone that started everything, the gravestone for Isaac Barrick and his wife: “Father and Mother.”

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When we were done wandering and taking photos, we sat down for a picnic lunch.

Before we left, we signed the mildewing old register that we’d found in the oddly placed Little Free Library. It was in the midst of several books that had been ravaged by time and moisture.

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Teresa came up with the perfect Bible verse to inscribe above our names. “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me to dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

Previous post in this series: Grave Musings 10: Denison Cemetery

Start at the beginning: Grave Musings 1 Maple Lawn I

I cannot suffer long this blog post to estray…it will be gathered with its brethren posts in the morning.

As I’ve been getting ready to publish another post in the “Grave Musings” series (my visits to cemeteries), I went back to the very first one that I published 4 years ago. I had high hopes and plans for my cemetery visits that summer. I made a list of about 20 local cemeteries and thought I could knock them all out in one summer. I ended up doing a total of 10 posts, mostly in 2020 and one in 2021 and then my Grave Musings fell silent. Here for your enjoyment is a repost (and link) of the first one with a link to the next one if you just can’t help yourself.

Friday, June 12, 2020. Grave Musings I Maple Lawn I
Yesterday was the Grand Inauguration of my Grave Musings Summer Program (heretofore abbreviated to Grave Musings). As you may recall, I’ve decided to visit all our local cemeteries this summer with each visit containing the following elements: picnic, camera, notebook, watercolor supplies, and a book. Also, maybe a playlist of nice music to accompany all of this. You are no doubt familiar with the phrase that starts out “The best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray…”

Here’s how it went. First of all, it was a really gusty day. I’ve tried picnicking on windy days and if you don’t mind chasing napkins around or keeping a tight grip on everything at all times, it’s not bad. But I was aiming for a pleasant experience, so I tossed the picnic out of the plan and ate lunch at home in the comfort of our gazebo, whist watching an episode of Stargate.

Next I assembled all of the essential ingredients for the rest of the plan and packed them in my sparkling new carry bag.

My husband had suggested bringing a little folding table we bought for camping, so that went in the car with the rest. I’m all set!

Upon arrival at the Maple Lawn cemetery, I took one crappy photo of the entrance sign and then drove in and around the perimeter to get a good feel for the layout.

I decided to establish my command center near the grave marker for Taopi, a Native American chieftain who converted to Christianity. More on him in another post.

I made my way back to Taopi’s marker and while parking the car, realized that I had forgotten the one item upon which all the other plans would rest: a chair. In addition, I had hoped for a cozy and private experience; the five-acre cemetery was empty except for one other person, also parked near Taopi’s grave, and enjoying a lunch inside her car. It shouldn’t have made a difference… it shouldn’t have, but it did.

Thwarted at every turn, I decided to drive on and pull over occasionally to get out and look at gravestones. I spoke aloud the names that I read; when I saw a particularly old marker I made a special effort to read the engravings that had become encrusted with lichen and were marred by age.

I keep an eye out for epitaphs: poems, Bible verses, etc. I saw one done in Braille and wondered what it said. Others were in German.

I took a few photos, but hadn’t been there long when nature began to call and I am, alas, at an age where that’s a call that can’t be ignored. Farewell, Maple Lawn!

Grave Musings shall return to this wonderful old cemetery…with a chair. And another post shall ensue.

Next: Grave Musings 2 Maple Lawn II

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.