Today’s guest post was written by Jim Casada.
Color me morbid, ghoulish, or simply strange, but I have always been fascinated by mountain cemeteries. That is especially true for smaller ones in backwoods settings or atop some lonely knoll in the back of beyond. For me the stones are mute but wonderfully meaningful reminders of those who came before us. These hardy folks who eked out hardscrabble livings on small farms in sheltered coves and upland flats were our forebears, and the markers denoting their final resting place have tales to tell.
Old walls lining long abandoned fields, stones piled carefully along creek banks, or lovingly structured rock chimneys standing as lonely sentinels heralding a world we have largely lost all catch my eye and tug at my heart. In terms of impact on one’s soul, however, these pale in comparison to isolated, sometimes abandoned, cemeteries. Anyone who has done much walking and wandering in mountain hills and hollows has come across such spots.
In time, much like practiced seekers after Indian artifacts know where such relics are likely to be found, you develop a “feel” for recognizing the sort of places a cemetery was likely to be located. Larger ones, those containing hundreds of graves, are almost always connected with a nearby church or maybe even a town, but smaller community or family gravesites invariably sit atop a rounded knoll. More often than not they overlook a nearby branch or creek, with the soothing sound of running water playing a perpetual symphony. Frequently they partner the musical treat with a visual one offering a scenic vista of a mountain valley or distant peaks. Whatever the setting, they beckon, with silent but strong insistence, telling us this is a place to pause and ponder, full of wonder.
Each place of permanent rest has its special appeal and distinctive identity, but recurrent themes remind us that our high country ancestors had a strong sense of family and clung close to traditions associated with death. The graves are invariably aligned east to west, to the rising and the setting of the sun and as a reminder of the rising sun’s ever-returning promise. Frequently you will find periwinkle (or vinca) growing at a cemetery. Old timers had another name for this lovely little plant. They called it graveyard ivy. Once established, the plant “takes holt” readily, with its runners expanding their range inch by inch, foot by foot, year after year. Each spring the understory is adorned with an eye-catching array of dainty blue blooms and the cemetery greets ever-returning spring in all its glory.
Another commonplace is use of elongated, flat fieldstones as head and foot markers; often they are partnered with rounded creek rocks to outline individual graves. There may be no inscription, a sad but clear indication that surviving loved ones would not afford a marble marker and engrave epitaph. Yet it is equally clear that love and care went into the selection and placement of the rocks.
Close observation, even of graves where the markers lack inscriptions, can be revealing. Smaller spacing between head and foot markers likely means you are viewing the grave of a child, while paired graves almost always denote the resting places of a wife and husband.
If unmarked graves intrigue through their muteness and mystery, the messages from engraved stones enchant and educate. One could ask no more telling lesson in the history of epidemics than that conveyed by the astounding number of those whose death date is late 1919 or early 1920—the time of a worldwide influenza epidemic. Stones indicating a baby was stillborn or failed to reach its first birthday are common in the 19th century and on into the early 20th century, a reminder of just how fragile and uncertain life was in the days before mountain folks had access to hospitals or, in many cases, even trained physicians. Realization likewise dawns that families tended to be large in that era. Often it is possible to decipher complex, extended family ties in cemeteries where there are only four or five last names to be found.
To me though, it is the wording of epitaphs which is most interesting of all. These can range from the eerie and eccentric to the whimsical and wise. Especially haunting category is an epitaph, with slight variations, you will find throughout the Smokies:
Remember stranger, as you pass me by
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you must be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
That epitaph will certainly give anyone with an iota of introspection cause to acknowledge his mortality and think a bit about it, but by the same token it is difficult to resist the humor connected with doggerel sometimes scratched on tombstones bearing such epitaphs:
To follow you I am not content,
Until I’m sure which way you went.
My personal favorite of all epitaphs is the one found on the simple tombstone marking the grave of legendary mountain hunter and fisherman, Mark Cathey, in the cemetery atop School House Hill in Bryson City. Uncle Mark, as he was widely known, was something of a “rounder” for most of his life, but in his final years he changed his ways and became close friends with a local Baptist minister, Reverend W. Herbert Brown. The inspiration for his epitaph came from Rev. Brown. It reads:
Mark Cathey,
Beloved hunter and fisherman
Was himself caught by the Gospel hook,
Just before the season closed for good.
If you wish to trek along trails to tombstones, finding burial grounds can be as simple as making a few local inquiries or as complex as checking old records and maybe even doing some dowsing. There are scores of cemeteries in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and the Nantahala National Forest, and no small number of the latter are all but forgotten. The larger of those lying within the Park do have regular annual “clean ups” in connection with Decoration Day, as Memorial Day is commonly known in the mountains. A book by Alan Jabbour, Decoration Day in the Mountains, takes an in-depth look at this tradition.
Yet for every large municipal cemetery or well-maintained one connected with a church or family, there is another one which is all but forgotten, often little more than an overgrown clearing where a fast-receding past moves inexorably closer to the true meaning of the ageless phrase of the graveside ceremony, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” To discover such a cemetery, or better still to make it known and perhaps see it accorded the proper reverence and respect it deserves, is to know inner peace.
That word—peace—is arguably the most apt of all descriptions for mountain cemeteries. They are preserves, no matter whether meticulously maintained or abandoned, specially set aside for quiet contemplation and chosen for the special appeal of their geographical setting. To visit such places is to appreciate the splendor of solitude and to find solace through meditation and savoring memories of those who have gone before us.
—Jim Casada
I hope you enjoyed Jim’s post as much as I do. I like to walk around graveyards, read tombstones, and wonder about the people who sleep beneath the ground.
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Thank you Jim for such an interesting post on cemeteries. My husband and I search out old cemeteries when we are on holiday. One of our favorite is the Eli Wallace Horse Cemetery in Littleton, New Hampshire. Three horses are buried there.
Maud & Molly in 1919 and Maggie in 1929. A nearby plaque notes that the horses were buried with all of their harnesses, bridles, blankets and feed boxes.
Beautifully written, Jim. I find there’s nothing more peaceful than an old mountain cemetery perched on a hill.
I spent my growing up summers with my granny and once the flowers got blooming, we’d take big bouquets of them to all the family cemeteries. I’ve always been fascinated by the tombstones and the ways you can see family connections. I suspect this early exposure, plus granny and her sisters pointing out who was who in each cemetery, are at the root of my lifelong interest in genealogy.
I love the chess bars. But sadly I can’t eat that stuff now. Maybe a bite. Lol Where I was raised there was this old and I mean old cemetery up on yhe mountain. They used stand up rocks for with the initials carved on them. Some had nothing. I was hunting with my dad and he thought I would be scared but I wasn’t. We look at them. It was part of his family from way back.
I like going to cemeteries. I went to one looking for my great grandmothers mother. I found her in a Catholic cemetery. Her husband was buried in another cemetery because he was a Mason. To be apart like that boggles the mind. I went to another cemetery where most of my ancestors were buried. I know of find a grave.
I enjoyed Jim’s post today. I find old cemeteries very interesting. I look at the dates and when there are babies and young children all buried together, you would know there was some sort of epidemic that took their little lives. I look at the headstones, if they were lucky enough to have had one put at their resting place, you might see a little lamb or something on the stone. I like to see the types of headstones used for others. Some places have rocks and stones surrounding their family members. I have seen when traveling to the coast, family members used seashells to cover graves. I often stand and think about the lives of the folks buried, young and old. I also was taught to respect graves and to never walk on them. I think cemeteries are one of the most peaceful places you can visit.
I love graveyards. The older the better. I wish we could still plant our dearly departed pretty much wherever we wish though. You know what bothers me about the way most places conduct burials nowadays is the need for a big vault. Even fancy sealed caskets….don’t care for them. Especially not a fan of embalming. When I go I want to be laid out at the house like they used to do with friends and family coming over to be together and share their memories of me and have a good time, then I’d like to just be wrapped in a quilt (or shroud as they call them) and throw me in about 3 ft deep, preferably by a creek or a little stream. Plant me a nice tree above and etch my name on a big ole pretty river rock. There’s actually a place in Arden NC that does this. Natural burials. I hope before my time comes around they’ll have places like that here in Haywood county. Sorry for going off into my final wishes lol. Hope everyone has a safe Halloween and the haints don’t get after yuns!
Tipper–One thing I failed to make clear in my coverage, and I’m a bit shamed by it, is the fact that I personally have no truck with or trust in dowsing. Many do, but the day when someone demonstrates to me, scientifically and provably, the efficacy of this practice is one I think will never come. And when some dowsers say they can determine the sex of the person or even the race, I must say, even though I know some vehemently disagree, that’s pure hogwash.
Now I reckon I’ve opened a can of worms but I’ve always been good at that!
Satan is the great deceiver. He does things that mimic the works of God to try to draw away people unto himself. Could it be that diviners, dowsers, etc. are unable to determine real source of their gifts? Or refuse to accept it? Or even embrace it?
Wonderful post, beautifully written.
Thank you Tipper and Jim. I love to visit cemeteries. I used to drag my poor mother to everyone I could find as we traveled together. We’ve found all different kinds. Yellow fever victims represented with a skull and crossbones to ward away grave robbers, little lambs guarding small children and one poor lady whose epitaph read “I told you I was sick” (in a cemetery in Louisiana). The cemetery in Cataloochee is very interesting as well. Our history is buried in these hallowed grounds. grounds.
What a great writer Jim is!! I love his phrasing of words and am almost always captivated with what he is saying. We can’t always be captivating, ha ha. But he’s great. One of my daughters and I love going on “adventures” to small towns looking for an out of the way, not national restaurant to eat. One thing we do in small towns is walk through graveyards. We have been moved to tears when we come across small graves, a baby or very young child, only to find others with the same last name and date of death close to the smaller grave. Obviously some sickness in the family, or possibly across the whole country. I find graveyards comforting in some way. It brings out deeper feelings, quiet, reflective. Yep, I enjoyed Jim’s post today!
What a great read from Jim. Old cemeteries are so intersting. This made me think of the city cemetery we visited a few years ago in Key West, Florida. There were some very interesting and unusual epitaphs. Some were even comical such as the one that said, “I told you I was sick”.
I always appreciate Jim’s writings. Today’s piece is more of the same good stuff. I, too, love to walk through cemeteries and read inscriptions. I “proofread” as I go. It is in my DNA. I have seen “Walter Reed Hospital” and a friend’s surname misspelled in bronze on a military marker. I have seen “The” in place of Thee. (Maybe the engraver quit for lunch and didn’t finish “rest in Thee”.) A Simkins family cemetery in the piney woods on my former hunting grounds in Edgefield, SC, has several graves marked by so-called “Scottish tables.” These are horizontal marble slabs resting on short brick foundations. The “tables” bear long, flowery epitaphs that cover the entire 5-foot surface of each slab. (Nobody seems to have had faults in Revolutionary times, only virtues.) The two most surprising grave markers I have seen stand in the Simmon Ridge Church Cemetery on Center Spring Road, east of the Simkins Cemetery. They are tall, obelisklike markers that look for the world like marble from any distance, but they were actually skillfully carved from pine heartwood.
So love going to cemeteries and reading the gravestones……we have a family cemetery up on a beautiful knoll, it is such a beautiful, Peaceful place…….the tall mountains surrounding it, standing beside my Mother & Daddy gravestone, I can see our mountain home, such memories it brings to my mind.
Thank you, Jim for a wonderful post, I guess we are all a little strange, if we like to view gravestones,
I have been told that as well.
The comments remind of a song I have heard, it is “ Lonely Tombs”. It has been recorded by many different ones, but I like Hank Williams Sr recording. It has some lyrics that goes along with one member’s comment of making you think. I along with someone else mentioned children’s graves, one of the baby’s graves in our church cemetery is for my older sister, Donna Marie. I’m going to get up in the pulpit for a minute, I mentioned respect for cemeteries in my first comment, today is Halloween and it burns me up to see cemeteries used in a scary way for Halloween. To me, that is not respect. I’m done.
I enjoyed Jim’s writing today. I too use to enjoy reading tombstones while visiting graveyards of family members and sometimes just stopping at old graveyards alone the road. After moving to my present home I noticed a few miles down the road on our way to church there was a small graveyard set back from the road. I figured it must be a family but there were several graves from what I could see without stopping. When my daughter had started photography as a side job, she was hired to do photo shoots of a friend who was a model who needed photos for her portfolio. She didn’t have a lot of money to hire big name photographers but knew my daughter had one of her bridal photos published in the Carolina Bride magazine so she felt she was credible. Anyway, the young woman needed a photo different from all she had seen from the other models, so I suggested the old graveyard on the side of the road. I mainly suggested it because I wanted to read the tombstones, but didn’t want to go there by myself. My daughter was careful to not include the names on the tombstones to protect the privacy of the families. Much to our surprise a lot of the graves were Civil War veterans dated in the mid to late 1800. There were others dated in 1900 but had their military rank from the war and there were others that were not military but must have just been family members even though they all did not carry the same last names. We weren’t there long, just long enough to get a few quick photos. It’s been many years since then, but every time I drive by that graveyard I may not remember their names, but I remember they were honored by their families throughout generations, which that alone is what makes it special.
I so enjoyed Jim Casada’s article on cemeteries. He has a way with words that bring stories to life. While researching my own family roots, I learned my great-great grandfather, Robert Saxon (1815-1904) and four of his brothers served in the Civil War … only two returned. I found my gg-grandfather’s tombstone in a church cemetery. Etched on his tombstone are the following words from a song in an old hymnal titled Unity that served as the traditional commencement song of West Point graduates during the Civil War …
When shall we meet again,
Meet ne’er to sever
Soon will peace wreathe her chain
Round us forever.
His tombstone has a hand with a finger pointing upwards which depicted the family’s faith and belief that they would go to heaven. There’s so much history and information we can learn from old tombstones.
“Absent. Not dead.” What a great epitaph! Truly, for those who have trusted in Jesus as their Savior, to be absent from the body is to be present with Him (https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20Corinthians%205%3A8&version=NLT,KJV). Thanks for the reminder!
As one of my young adult sons said shortly before he died, “Going to live with God is better than staying to live anywhere else.” I miss my son. But my grief is tempered because I know where he is.
And I am looking forward to the time when I, too, am “Absent. Not dead.”
I really enjoyed Jim’s post. I love to walk around cemeteries (especially the old ones) & wonder how these people looked & how they lived their lives. I often walk around a large old cemetery in the next town over where my husband is buried. I stand there many times & think if all these people suddenly rose from their graves what a crowd there would be and what wonderful stories they could tell me.
Prayers for Granny & I hope Katie is feeling ok.
Jim, if visiting cemeteries makes one morbid or strange, I’m right there with you. The historical society has been cleaning up the graveyards where my grandparents are buried and the discovery of unmarked stones has been amazing. My paternal grandparents are buried in a large family cemetery on a hill with few marble markers but plenty of graves that are marked with rocks. Thanks for sharing information about the book you mentioned. That will be a gift my sister will surely enjoy.
Cemeteries are, or ought to be, “considering” places. And the lonesome, overgrown ones most of all. Jim has done a lot of considering. Plain to see he feels a kinship with folks below the ground as well as those above it. I like Mr. Wright’s epitaph. It says so much in just three words. Assuming he chose it himself, it is real insight to his personality and character. And it well illustrates why cemeteries are “considering” places. One day, not too far distant, I shall be absent but not dead as well.
I love to visit cemeteries. I’m Eastern (Greek) Orthodox, and like the Catholics we have a tradition of prayers for the dead, and one day 2 summers ago I was visiting my grandparents’ graves to say a short graveside prayer service and one of the prayers says “Into Thy hands, Lord, I commend the souls of Thy servants….” and then you name the person(s), and while I was saying this phrase I happened to raise my head and looked out over the rest of the cemetery and out of the blue added “…and all those who rest with them in this place.” I got to thinking when I got home about all the cemeteries in the county, especially the so-called “pioneer” cemeteries (about 28 of them) where lie people probably long forgotten but for the gravestones. So I got it into my head to visit every cemetery in the county and recite those prayers for everyone in each cemetery. I go on Saturdays and visit 4 or 5 each week. There’s a website called “find-a-grave” that has all or most of the cemeteries listed along with every recorded burial. Through coordination with the Mormon geneology website, I’ve discovered that I have distant cousins (of various degrees) in all but 3 of the cemeteries in my county. So, now, rather than look for names on gravestones, I have a list of my cousins that I choose from to pray for by name.
There are about a dozen of them that are quite a ways off the road; one is a mile off the road, though I can drive about halfway there as long as the ground is dry. Those are the ones I like the most. I save those for the last one each week and take a lawn chair and just sit for a while and listen to the birds and the wind.
I have always enjoyed cemeteries, especially for the peacefulness.
This is not morbid at all. Old cemeteries connect us with those who were here before us. They remind us of where we came from and where we are ultimately going. Old cemeteries bring comfort in the thought that we too, are a continuation of the strong Appalachian culture.
I also love old cemeteries. We go to our old family one each year and decorate and reminisce. We once went looking for one while on vacation in Southern Virginia. My grgrgrgranduncle was buried in it. In his obituary it was mentioned he had an apple orchard. After getting lost several times, we finally found the cemetery. The path leading to it was lined by Apple trees! We picked some and enjoyed them.
I love old cemeteries and always wanted a piece of land with one on it; an abandoned or neglected cemetery always makes me sad.
Thank you, Father, for our lives, the greatest of blessings, our families and ancestors. In Jesus name. Amen. Our cemeteries speak to from whence we came and where we are laid to rest with our clans. I, too, love cemeteries. I’ve wept, told family stories, laughed, and sat in the peaceful stillness of graveyards. They are sacred ground for many reasons, and you can feel it.
Jim Casada has a real talent for making any subject wonderful and worthy of deep thinking about. I used to like to visit graveyards, but not much anymore. Once I took a kid with me and he went back to the car. He said “Don’t you hear and see that old man fiddling over there?” Of course, I didn’t see anything, but I know that kid sees stuff I cannot. His grand pappy was a fiddling man buried right there. I also learned you can “pick up” spirits at a cemetery and so after the kid experience, I don’t go anymore. I say let all the graveyard ivy cover my grave to the point it’s hidden. God will know where I’m sleeping come the trumpets sound. It’s all a mystery and life is already history. We’re all goners, y’all, in quick time!
I too enjoy wandering through old cemeteries. Here in our national forest are several cemeteries and unmarked graves. There is a small cemetery near where I raised with 13 graves and none are marked. Some have only a foot and headstone while others have entire enclosures (sort of a false sepulcher) made from flat creek rocks. These, like others scattered across north Alabama are enclosed rectangular “structures” made of two long side rocks, two end rocks, and one large flat rock covering the entire grave. These usually are 1.5′-2′ high and how ever long and wide the grave may be. At times these coverings will be formed by leaning two flat rocks together to form what resembles a pup tent (not as tall). There is one semi-remote cemetery not far from where I live called Bennett Cemetery. It is full of these types of graves. One day I was turkey hunting in there years ago and as I was listening for a bird to gobble, I walked through reading the tombstones that were marked. As Mr. Casada wrote, many of these old cemeteries are loaded with infant/toddler graves. Scarlet fever and other sickness took their toll on young at the first part of the last centurdy. Often, malnourished children who lacked proper medical care did not stand a chance. The odds of children reaching the age of 5 was were about two out of five. In the southwest corner of this cemetery I found 22 baby graves belonging to the same two parents. All had a head and foot marker, but most had a small marker a little larger than a brick inscribed with the words, “infant son (or dau,) of Clint and Lula McCauley. It was thought provoking for me. It was a sad country song waiting to be written. Of course, this is conjecture, but I imagine the young couple had no idea that their blood was incompatible (more than likely she was RH-). The wife would conceive and carry the baby to term or thereabouts only to have the child born dead if at all. There is no telling how many Lula lost that wasn’t buried. I figure she became pregnant all through her child bearing years without success. A little off topic, but McCauley is not a common name in our county. I only know of one living here now and he isn’t native. One day I Googled Clint and Lula McCauley and hit paydirt. I even found a photo of her. It turns out she was the first postmaster of the Fall City office (Fall City is now under water after the damning of Sipsey River and other tributaries to form Lewis Smith Lake. In the photo (circa 1930ish), she can be seen standing on the front porch of the post office. If I’m back down that way, I’ll take some pictures and pass them along to Tipper.
I was at this site today and actually broke tears for all those lost. This seemed to be almost all children. And 22 lost children to one couple is heartbreaking
“memorable day” vice “Memorial Day”.
I too enjoy visiting cemeteries as they are oft as Jim described – interesting but most times picturesque and peaceful resting places. My own early family settlers rest in a mountain top cemetery which is a bit unique in that many of the graves are covered with “grave houses”. Decoration Day was and is a Memorial Day in much of Eastern Kentucky. Surely enjoyed Jim’s recollection and homage to Appalachian life and death.
I really appreciate Jim’s story, being in a cemetery can be an interesting look into history. Where we live at you really don’t see too many epitaphs on grave stones. When we went to West Virginia in 2020, we were looking for my husbands family, his great great great grandfather to be exact, who are buried near Burnsville. There we found his family and there were some epitaphs on a few grave stones. But the thing I remember the most was the peacefulness and the view of the valley. It was so beautiful and the graveyard was still being taken care of.
Hello Denise, Your Husband and Me might be related. All of My Relatives are from between Flatwoods and Hacker Valley, thanx for sharing, God bless You and Families.
Praise God friends, the Lord has let us live another day!! Hallelujah!!
Having grown up observing Decoration Day at Flat Creek Baptist Church in Buncombe County, I’ve never feared cemeteries and as an adult who became interested in genealogy, spent a lot of time in cemeteries. My husband and I have visited many cemeteries in various states as we researched both our familial ancestors. I deplore the desecration that too often happens to tombstones and would like to see stiffer punishment for the culprits.
Best wishes to you and Granny and Katie.
My brother and myself would explore the hollers and mountains of my Grandpas farm in West Virginia. Old oil derricks, homes and cemeteries . Many with pre civil war dates. ESP. The Garnet cemetery , they built first cabins on the old farm. Maybe one or two no of this old cemetery. Blessed to be one. Another great writing!
Indeed, Jim does have a way with words. His appreciation for the surroundings of a grave are note worthy. They do still have decoration day here in upstate Florida where it is looked forward to. I had a friend, who is now deceased, who called a cemetery a ‘People Garden’ because that is where you ‘plant’ people. I once had an occasion to visit a really old cemetery in Boston…talk about OLD head markers???…it was very interesting and so hard to walk thru as the roots of trees causing the ground to be uneven, but worth the trek for what you read. Have a Blessed day and give Granny my thoughts and prayers.
There are many small “family” cemeteries near me. Most of them are around old home places that are no longer there. The cemeteries will be long forgotten about and have trees and other brush grown up in them. Many will have field rock walls around them. My brother-in-law has one on his property and says he wants to be buried in this cemetery. When I was 15 years old, I cut the grass for my church and the church cemetery that dates back to the early 18 hundreds. One of the things that caught my attention was the number of graves for young children that had died either at birth or a young age. I cannot stand seeing someone not being respectful at a cemetery., I am as respectful of a cemetery as I am in church. I do not understand being afraid of a cemetery, my Daddy would say “it’s not the ones in the grave I am fearful of, it the ones walking above ground”. One of my lifetime friends will be buried Thursday at this church cemetery I mentioned.