1800's Graveyard Launched My Fascination for Cemeteries

Unlike many folks, I happen to be fond of a visit to a cemetery. It provides the backdrop for serenity and solitude. A cemetery is brimming with history. Each gravestone conveys a perpetual message and mini chronicle of the person it represents. This offbeat fascination for cemeteries has been life-long. It took shape when my brothers brought me to a little cemetery not far from my house. The graves were circa1800's. I was about six-years old.


Graveyard in the Middle of Nowhere


The trip to the long forgotten cemetery with my brothers was one of many. Over my lifetime, I have dropped by the neglected graveyard countless times. The first time I went there, I recall my oldest brother reading aloud each name and date on the slate markers.


The six headstones mark the grave of each member of the Sawyer family: the mother and father, and four children. Three of the kids died in their teens and twenties. The small stone is that of an infant.


A simple, but meticulously forged wrought-iron gate and square enclosure surround the cemetery. I suspect the iron work was added much later in time. The cemetery is truly in the middle of nowhere. It sits off a dirt road at the lower end of a multi-acre cornfield. A magnificent aged oak tree shades the cemetery in summer.


Did the Family Run a Tavern?


The land is now part of hundreds of acres owned by the state of Massachusetts. However, my mother claimed the area where our home is, and where I live today, was on a stagecoach route. She said at one time there was a tavern not far from the little cemetery.


I have not been able to substantiate that, but I have not given up either. I cannot help but imagine this family living in and running the tavern. Many times I sat on the soft straw in the graveyard envisioning them caring for weary, hungry travelers.


The cemetery sits high up on a hill. The wind whips across the land up there. It is unforgiving. If the family lived right there, winters must have been unbearable. My fantasy about this early family is probably folly, and as inaccurate as my mom's was. I rather like my vision, even so.


Teenage Foolishness in the Cemetery


Teenagers do ridiculous things. I was certainly normal in that sense. My friends talked me into going to the cemetery to experiment with levitation. I have no clue why we thought the cemetery was conducive to levitating. Armed with candles, stick matches, and someones father's cigarettes, we headed to the cemetery at dusk.



We were pretty serious about our mission. I told everyone they had to whisper in the cemetery. I made it clear they could not disturb the Sawyers. Smoking was OK, but no fires, please. After a few starts and stops and lots of laughing, we were totally focused.



We were about to (maybe) lift my friend off the ground. A small branch snapped off the huge oak. We all screamed. Six fourteen-year-olds ran shrieking down the hill in the dark. I apologized profusely to the Sawyers all the way to my house. It was a while before I had the courage to return to their resting place.


Overlooked '" Not Forgotten


The graveyard off the beaten path is neglected, but peaceful. To a passerby, it would appear insignificant. I do not know anything about the Sawyer's or what their existence around here entailed in the 1800's. I do hope they had a good life. It is also my hope that their little burial ground always remains undisturbed.