Cemetery Adventure

I have lived in the same house for twelve years now. (We’re not going to count the four years I spent in East Lansing for school.) A ten minute walk away from my house is a cemetery. Technically, it’s two separate cemeteries, but you only know that because the iron gates are painted two different colors and there are two unique names next to opposite entrances/exits.

Over the years, I pass by this cemetery countless of times and hardly anyone ever visits. I point it out to whoever I’m driving with whenever I spy a car somewhere in its depths. The pathways are not paved inside these cemeteries. It’s just two parallel lines in the ground, created by car tires, that has been filled with gravel. The grass is somewhat long and patchy, the bushes overgrown. Majority of the flowers placed by the various headstones were artificial.

Earlier this summer, curiosity got the better of me. How have I lived this long in the area without once checking the place out? How old are the headstones in there? (From what I could tell, it looked pretty antique.)

So last Thursday, I finally walked over there. In the grand scheme of things, the two cemeteries aren’t that large of an area, but I was determined to check out each individual headstone. It took me four days (somewhere between an hour to an hour and a half for each visit), but I did it.

And let me tell you, the place was fascinating.

The oldest headstones are on the far right. As you go further in the back or more to the left (left = the other cemetery; the black-painted fence), the more modern the death dates become.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover there were a few people buried there who were born in the 1770s. Oldest person I stumbled upon was born in 1776 (and he lived to be 85 years old…you go, John).

I also figured out who the “power families” were in the early 1800s. Their surnames popped up quite often on the headstones. I imagined them becoming allies and enemies with each other, Game of Thrones-style. But, you know, as farmers instead of kingdoms.

I found three people who were born in New York in the 1800s, but then obviously died in the metro Detroit area of where I reside. Two more were born in Vermont. Their home state must have been very important to them, to have them engraved on their headstone. So why did they leave? Were they hoping for a better job? Land? Did they journey here with other families who were also buried?

I was also surprised to find two “Amanda’s”. Both were born in the early 1800s, so that shocked me. I thought it was a more contemporary name.

^This particular Amanda was born in 1832 and died in 1915. The main headstone that she shares with her husband is to the left of her individual one. Nice to see that I can still read her name quite distinctly, a century later.

Also, on a sadder note, there were more babies buried there than I expected. They were scattered all over the place. I saw two sisters (6 years old and 4 years old) who died within two weeks of each other in March 1878. I saw a couple of twins buried together. One of them was Brian and Bruce. Poor Brian didn’t make it through the night in September 1945 (stillborn, perhaps?). Bruce only lasted for sixteen days. There was a baby (I think he was two years old?) who died in the 1970s. At his headstone were little plastic baby shoes, faded in color but still fairly in good shape. A sibling (or some other relative) must have placed it there within the year because his mother was buried to the left of him; she died a decade ago.

I also encountered two babies who remained unnamed.

^I felt sorry for Julia. I imagine that she must have died in childbirth, buried with her nameless baby. Poor, too, because this is all that was etched on her headstone. Not even her surname.

I found his/her individual headstone on my first visit. Luckily, he/she was included on the giant family headstone, so I know Baby had born and died in March 1879. I also may have placed a small daylily flower on Baby’s specific headstone two days ago. How sad that Baby didn’t have an actual name. Of course, this was before I found Julia & Baby.

Roaming around the nearly abandoned cemetery by myself (the two men mowing the lawn on the other end of the cemetery doesn’t count), trying to visit every single person buried there, it made me think about what kind of life story each individual person had. Did they reside in the Detroit area all their lives? How did they meet their spouses? What did they do to earn a paycheck?

I was especially curious about what my town must have looked like in the early 1800s with these families. (One of the “power family” must have been the founder of my town – or at least, very important – because the cemetery was his surname + the “ville” suffix.)

I wish I had a flower to place on everyone’s headstone. That they have not been forgotten.

I hope they didn’t mind my presence there for the past few days.



P.S. Through the power of google, I found out that I was correct with my theory. The “power family” was indeed the founder of the local village (now lost in time). The land was purchased from the government in 1826 and they came from New York. Who knew? Yay for history!

P.P.S. Gah! I start my next semester of school in tomorrow. Can you believe it’s already my last semester before I earn my second degree? Crazy.



Note: I am aware that in some cemeteries, you might have to ask for permission to take photographs. And never post headstone photos online of people who are still living. I did a little research on my particular cemetery and it appears that my photos should be okay. (I hope.)