It’s Halloween! Tonight thousands of children will be knocking on doors, begging for candy. Jack o’ lanterns will glow on front porches. Grownups will cavort in crazy costumes at wild parties. Ghost stories will be told. Does anyone else remember the one about the Golden Arm?

Horror movies will dominate TV programming. My favorite? Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining tops the list. Watching Jack Nicholson slowly lose his mind while a chain-smoking Shelly Duvall tries to cope is riveting.

All of this leads me to a question that I get asked quite a bit:

“Do you talk to the spirits when you’re out at the cemetery? And do they talk to you?”

The short answer is no. As I’ve said before, my faith is in Christ. Not Ouija boards or seances or things like that. Psychics and the like don’t interest me. I believe in the Holy Spirit, not the spirit world some people talk about.

However, sometimes, things do happen that I can’t explain.

When I visit a cemetery, I sometimes (not always) get a “vibe” or a feeling about it. Most of the time, it’s a positive one. I like to think that those who are buried there are happy to have some company. To have someone read their names and the dates in which they lived.

To know that someone came to pay their respects to their memory.

Sometimes I do ask for help when I am trying to locate a grave. This happens most often at large cemeteries with big sections in which I have to go up and down the rows looking for a name. This can take quite a long time.

My method is really simple. I just ask, “Okay, (name of person), if you want to be found today, you’re going to have to tell me where you are. Can you help me out?”

Fortunately, nobody has ever audibly answered me!

My success rate is good, although some days my quest has been a bust. More times than not, I have felt almost led to where I needed to go. Especially at Westview Cemetery. Maybe because I’ve spent so much time there looking for graves.

Or maybe it’s the Holy Spirit guiding me. That’s the only kind of spirit I truly believe in.

Last week, I was at Westview looking for a woman named Effie. I had already “hopped” a few rows when I kept noticing a few short rows under a tree near the middle of the section. My logical mind told me to stick to the rows I was walking but as I was about to leave that area near the tree, I decided to go back to look.

Sure enough, that’s where Effie was. Nearly covered in acorns and dead leaves, but she was there.

Last year, I shared how I found the grave of children’s author Madge Bigham. This also happened at Westview. I really wanted to find it.

I had walked almost the entire section and was ready to call it quits. Only because I stepped on a subtle indentation in the ground and felt something solid did I know a marker was there. And I almost kept going. But I felt the need to stop, to crouch down and start digging. That never happens.

Under a thick layer of grass and dirt was the small flat marker for Madge’s sister, Eugenia. Next to her was Madge, another sister, and a brother. All of them were covered up. Had I given up as I had wanted to, I never would have found them.

There’s only one occasion where I clearly thought I needed to leave a cemetery. It stands out in my memory vividly.

I was in a part of the metro area I had rarely been before that has an iffy reputation. Normally, that doesn’t bother me because I am good at being aware of my surroundings. Westview is located in an area known for crime. But from the moment I got to this particular cemetery, something felt wrong.

Bethel Community Cemetery is located between a busy main road and a railroad track, so it isn’t isolated. But at the time, I felt like I was being watched.

I tried to ignore it as I “hopped” the rows quickly. I found the grave of a relative of the person I was looking for under a bush. A nearby marker that was unreadable and nearly eaten up by the same bush was likely my target. So I took a few pictures and stood up.

Whether it was God or my gut instinct, I don’t know. But something inside me said to get out of there. So I got in my car and left. And never went back.

While it may disappoint some of you, I don’t give much thought to spirits when I’m out at a cemetery. I think if I spent my time thinking about them, it would distract from the purpose I’m there for in the first place and that’s to find a grave. It’s hard enough to accomplish while trying to avoid stepping in ant hills while scanning stone after stone for names.

I think if I did dwell on it, I might send up scaring myself silly like I do when I’m watching The Shining.

Happy Halloween, y’all. 🙂

 

My latest visit to Savannah included a few firsts. I stayed in a new (to me) place this time. In the past, I’ve stayed in hotels out in the ‘burbs or Tybee Island because in-town accommodations are pricey. But thanks to VRBO and our very helpful real estate agent, Mary Anderson, we scored awesome (yet affordable) digs in the historic district.

My other “first” was visiting Laurel Grove South Cemetery (LGS). When I was in town back in February, I went to her sister cemetery next door, Laurel Grove North (which I will write about soon) but didn’t make it to LGS.

Laurel Grove Cemetery is split by what is now Highway 204, carved out of the Styles family’s Springfield Plantation. Cemeteries like Colonial Park in the heart of Savannah were nearing capacity so a new place for burials was needed. It opened in 1850.

In 1853, four acres were set aside at Laurel Grove for African-American burials. Several graves were moved from the earlier cemetery known as “Negro Ground” on an 1818 map. In 1857, an additional 11 acres were added and in 1859 it was expanded to 30 acres. A caretaker’s house was added as well.

Laurel Grove has always been two separate cemeteries. LGS was for African-Americans and LGN was for whites.

LGS is notable because it contains not only slave graves but several of freedmen who lived before the Civil War as well. It remains an active cemetery with many recent burials. LGN filled up near the end of the 1800s.

Walking around, I saw a mixture of old and new markers, brick vaults and tall monuments. One of the first I noticed was for the Rev. William J. Campbell.

I learned later that Campbell went from being a slave to become the fourth pastor of the historic First African Baptist Church of Savannah. His life is a story worth sharing.

Born into slavery in 1812, William Campbell probably received his freedom in 1849 from his mistress, Mrs. Mary Maxwell. He was baptized in 1830 by the Rev. Andrew Marshall (also buried at LGS). In 1855, William was licensed to preach and after working as Marshall’s assistant at the First African Baptist Church, he succeeded Rev. Marshall (who had died in Virginia) as pastor in 1857.

In addition to his powerful voice, Rev. Campbell is known for overseeing and fulfilling Rev. Marshall’s dream of building a permanent place of worship for the congregation. Completed around 1860, you can still tour the church today.

Rev. Campbell also took part in an extraordinary meeting (along with 19 other African-American pastors/leaders from Savannah) in January 1865 with General William T. Sherman, who was encamped there after his infamous March to the Sea. It would later be known as the “Forty Acres and a Mule” meeting.

Sherman wanted to know what the now-freed slaves wanted as the Civil War drew to a close. Garrison Frazier said, “We want to be placed on land until we are able to buy it and make it our own.”

The result of that historic meeting was Special Field Order 15, which stated that each freed family “shall have a plot not more than forty acres of tillable land.” The Order confiscated as Federal property a strip of coastal land extending about 30 miles inland from the Atlantic and stretching from Charleston, S.C. about 245 miles south to Jacksonville, Fla.

It didn’t, however, mention mules. Those were distributed sometime later.

Several other pastors and deacons of the First African Baptist Church are buried at LGS. But some very old graves near the entrance represent the humbler souls buried there.

Toward the east side of the cemetery, a sign notes the pauper’s field for those who couldn’t afford a marker. It looks like an empty swath of grass.

At the same time, there are some eye-catching markers worth noting. Willemina Claghorn was probably the daughter of freed slaves due to her expensive-looking grave marker. The motif of an angel bearing a child Heavenward is one I’ve seen in many Southern cemeteries.

Dr. Thomas James Harris was born in Jamaica in the British West Indies in 1866 before he came to Savannah. He was likely a Freemason, as evidenced by the symbols on the side of his monument.

The all-seeing eye, also called the Eye of Providence or Eye of God, has origins dating back to the Eye of Horus in Egyptian mythology. It’s also part of the Great Seal of the United States, which shows the all-seeing eye floating on top of a pyramid. This can be seen on the back of the U.S. one dollar bill. I’d never seen one on a marker before.

The three-link chain below the eye is another Freemason (or Independent Order of Odd Fellows) symbol, representing faith, love and truth. Those are common in both white and black cemeteries.

Tucked away in a back corner is a gem similar to many monuments at LGN or Bonaventure. In fact, the sculptor who created the statue for it was John Walz. He is best known for his much-loved statue of Gracie Watkins at Bonaventure Cemetery. Walz owned a studio on Bull Street and created many stunning grave markers during his lifetime.

I was unable to find out much about John H. and Clara Davis. John was a butcher and died in 1916 of nephritis, a kidney disorder. Clara, his wife, died two years earlier.

My visit to LGS proves yet again that beauty is where you find it. The grandeur of Laurel Grove North and Bonaventure Cemeteries will always dazzle and amaze. But Laurel Grove South’s quiet charm and rich history are just as captivating.

I’ll be back.

Some of you may remember the blog posts I wrote about Old Greencastle Cemetery in Dayton, Ohio. The first one (“When a Cemetery Dies”) was about my visit there in 2012 to try to find the graves of my great-great-grandparents, Samuel and Margaret Grice. I never did find them and the place was in very bad shape, except for the area dedicated to veterans.

The second post was about a year ago when I learned that a lot had been happening at Old Greencastle to bring it back to its former glory. I was cautiously optimistic that the changes were of a permanent nature. Having seen old cemeteries get cleaned up only to slide back into ruin, I was afraid to get my hopes up.

This week, I received an exciting email from Fred Lynch, senior vice commander of the Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War, General William T. Sherman Camp #93. The gentlemen from this group have been sending me periodic updates about the cleanup efforts at Old Greencastle.

But this email contained pictures of the dramatic physical improvements made there. I wanted to share them here.

These men have been hard at work not just cleaning up and repairing the graves of veterans but those of civilians buried there as well. I was pleased as punch that they sent me a picture of some of the group, too!

One of the updates said:

Graves of 197 Civil War veterans have been identified and documented in a record available to the public. Unmarked graves of Civil War veterans were located and verified using ground penetrating radar. All Civil War veterans’ graves are marked with a GAR flag holder. Graves of veterans who served in the American Revolution, War of 1812, Indian Wars, World War I, World War II, Korean War, and Vietnam are also being marked by the SUVCW with proper flag holders.

That information got me thinking about my great-great-grandfather, Samuel Grice. I had forgotten that he indeed was a Union soldier during the Civil War as a member of the 112th Ohio Infantry. He and his brother, Henry, both signed up. I have no idea if either saw combat since many such volunteers were never called upon to serve actively. But he is listed in official records, which also indicates that both he and Henry had served in the military previously.

I would love to eventually see a marker placed for Samuel since it appears that if he ever had one, it probably got swept away by the Dayton Flood of 1913. The only way the government will provide one is if the next of kin authorizes it or a person authorized by the decedent. So I will have to look into that a little further.

On Nov. 15, Sherman Camp #93 will be holding a Remembrance Day Commemoration and Grand Army of the Republic Veterans’ Section Rededication Ceremony at Old Greencastle Cemetery. These wonderful folks have invited me to join them on this special day. I would like to go very much but because the end of the year is my husband’s busy time at work, it’s unlikely I will be able to do so.

Regardless, I am so proud of this dedicated group of men who saw a cemetery that was on its last legs and did something about it. Too often, people sit idly by waiting for someone else to come along and take action. Along with some help from additional volunteer groups, they have worked hard to restore dignity to the dead and restore a place that might have disappeared forever.

On behalf of my family, I want to thank Sherman Camp #93 for not letting Old Greencastle Cemetery die. You are my heroes.

When I was a kid, a dog adopted us. He plopped himself down on our front doorstep and promptly fell asleep.

My Dad had no interest in acquiring a dog but when we moved later that year, Peanut Butter came with us. He was a genuine mutt, with a bit of wire hair terrier. He was a mellow soul but tough as nails. He survived a scorpion bite and a nasty run-in with some neighborhood dogs. Maybe a cat gave him a few of their nine lives because he recovered both times.

I was with Peanut Butter when we took him to the vet one last time. It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But when a friend as faithful as he was needed help to cross the Rainbow Bridge, you do it. I cried for days afterward.

At that time, there were no pet cemeteries. At least no formal ones. People tended to bury their pets in the backyard (although for goldfish, the toilet was the stairway to Heaven). Makeshift pet cemeteries did crop up here and there. There’s actually a cemetery for coon dogs in Alabama.

Things have changed since then.

According to the Atlanta-based International Association of Pet Cemeteries and Crematories, just a handful of pet aftercare facilities in the U.S. were in operation less than a decade ago. Today, there are about 700 nationwide, including funeral homes, crematories, and cemeteries. Why?

Some pet funeral directors point to baby boomers, who have increasingly turned to pets for companionship after their spouses die or their children leave home. But in recent years, pet funerals are arranged just as often by people in their 20s and 30s, many of whom chose not to become parents and treat their “fur kids” like their own children. A 2012 Bloomberg Businessweek article goes into more detail.

“You really can’t put your finger on it,” says Ed Martin Jr., director of Hartsdale Pet Cemetery and Crematory in Hartsdale, N.Y. “I used to think this was something for older women who never had children. Or very wealthy people. But we get everybody: men, women, rich, poor, young, old.”

Atlanta does have a pet cemetery (located a bit out of town in Bethlehem) called Oak Rest Pet Gardens. I had never been to a formal pet cemetery before so I decided to check it out.

Oak Rest sits on a large piece of land amid rural fields and new subdivisions. It’s very peaceful and nicely landscaped, but not overly so. Everything from dogs and cats to rabbits, pigs, birds and even horses are buried here. Some of the markers are large and include the pet’s name, birth/death dates and even a picture. Others are a simple brass plate with the pet’s name inscribed on it.

In the center of the cemetery is a special area dedicated to K9 police dogs as well as guide/service dogs. Many of the markers include the police unit the dog worked with. It’s thoughtfully laid out and pays respectful homage to these amazing animals.

Most of the markers were heartfelt memorials to beloved friends. Some were for multiple pets on one marker. But all of them conveyed an owner’s love for their beloved friend.

There’s also an area dedicated to burying or scattering the ashes of horses called Horseshoe Gardens.

On many stones, there are only names so you can’t tell for sure what type of animal they were. But in one case, I’m pretty sure it was a pet pig.

Toward the front, there’s a patch of grass with a number of small plates bearing pet names. They were for cats that had all belonged to the same person.

Oak Rest Pet Gardens was the dream of Doyle Shugart, who was a licensed funeral director. With his wife Maudann, he started Deceased Pet Care in 1972 in a small brick building.

The business now consists of four locations (which includes their offices, showrooms, crematorium, chapels and cemeteries). Their web site describes Shugart as “an advocate for pet parents across the nation and a pioneer in the pet aftercare profession.” He passed away in July 2012, but Maudann and their children continue to run the business.

Planning a pet funeral is much like planning one for a person. Oak Rest has showrooms with caskets, vaults, urns and memorial markers. There’s also a chapel available for those wanting to spend a few last moments with their pet. They even provide grief counseling services if needed.

Considering how much unconditional love and companionship our pets give us, providing them with a fitting farewell seems right. For many people, a pet can be the only friend they truly have.

I think Peanut Butter would have liked Oak Rest Pet Gardens.