I started playing around with the FindAGrave app for iOS and noticed that there was a tiny burial ground (not even a cemetery) a short walk from my house. I also noticed that there was a photo request for one of the stones in that burial ground. Today I decided to go take a look to see if I could find both of these things.
When I did actually locate the burial ground (it is at the local CVS, in the very far back corner of the parking lot…where no one is ever parked), I was shocked at how well maintained the entrance to it was. As I walked up the path, I soon saw the bicycle and trailer of one of the local homeless guys. Then I saw him. He was sitting outside the entrance to the burial ground, muttering to himself and looking like he was in rough, rough shape. It was about 3 in the afternoon. It was hard to tell what he was fucked up on or fucked up off of, but it was not good in either case. He startled when he saw me as much as I startled when I saw him. I quickly realized he was no threat in this shape, so I broke the ice, as he tried to pull it together enough to stand, saying “I am not here to hassle you. I am just looking for a headstone.” He settled back down and took out his pouch of tobacco and tried to roll a cigarette. As I passed him and entered the burial ground, I noticed off to my left, at the back of the place, a tent and another bicycle/trailer setup. This was on the outside of the fence surrounding the hallowed ground. From that tent, I could hear some more muttering, this time from a man and a woman. This made me a bit uneasy. How many more people were back here? The man soon spoke up, yelling out “That one is going to be my headstone!” I replied that it wouldn’t be too far a move to get him there, to which he quickly said “It won’t be too long, either, living this way.” I nervously chuckled and moved on with trying to locate my headstone.
I never did find the stone. The guy underneath it was put there in 1730. It seemed that most of the stones used were blue slate, which erodes fairly quickly. Of the twelve recorded burials in this plot, I counted only nine stones. Or parts of stones still stuck in the ground. Amazingly, one stone that was still intact and legible was for a baby girl who died at 1 month and 13 days old in 1739.
As I left, I wondered what I should say in parting to the folks that I found there – the half-living ones. I decided that saying nothing was probably the best course of action. When I got home I hugged both Jenny and Calin.