BY TED SHOCKLEY, Eastern Shore Pot
I try to set aside one day each year that is dedicated mostly to poking around a cemetery or two.
It has been a brisk and busy year and I realized I hadn’t completed a proper cemetery exploration.
So I took the day off from work last Friday, dug out my heavy coat, fueled up my minivan, and hit the road.
Some people have outdoor pursuits like birdwatching, playing golf, or strolling the beaches in search of shells and sea glass.
Throughout the year, whenever I get a chance, I take a quick walk through a cemetery, fitting in such a visit whenever time will allow.
For example, if I’m on the way to Chincoteague, I will sometimes make a lap around the John W. Taylor Cemetery in Temperanceville.
When I am near Cape Charles with a few minutes to spare, a walk in the Cape Charles Cemetery is usually in order.
But those are hasty visits because I’m usually headed somewhere else.
At least annually, I try to reserve most of a day for cemetery exploring, so I can take my time and look around at my leisure.
In a cemetery, we are all the same. People with different life experiences are grouped together.
In two different Eastern Shore cemeteries — one in each county — the grave of a convicted murderer, sentenced to death by a local court and executed by the state, is next to the graves of the truly good and God-fearing.
Life is temporary but cemeteries convey permanence. We etch in granite stones names, years, and tributes that last much longer than the lives they depict.
Within two or three generations, there is nobody around to remember the deceased. The gravestones remain, even after there is nobody left who personally met the people whose bodies are entombed there.
During a cemetery visit, I will usually embark in search of a name I remember — someone I knew when I was a child, for example.
Last Friday, I was looking for — and found — the gravesite of one childhood friend and the relatives of two other childhood friends.
Sometimes I have a general idea where in the cemetery I should look for their graves.
Sometimes I drive around until I feel a hunch of some sort, and then I stop the car to look around.
Then way leads on to way, and I find myself stumbling upon other people whose names I recognize.
I keep a notepad handy and scribble down the names of those with lifespans tragically short or impressively long.
When I get home, I noodle around the internet, find old obituaries, and read a bit about their lives.
That’s one of the many reasons obituaries in newspapers are important. Years later, they continue to give thumbnail biographies.
I am usually the only person in a cemetery when I visit. I can walk for an hour or two and see nobody else.
I don’t know why cemetery visitation seems so sparse. Perhaps people are too entangled in the minutiae of modern life to make time for cemetery exploring.
But what could be more important than paying remembrance to a forgotten but well-lived life?
Perhaps people think visiting and walking around a cemetery is macabre, even though death is among rare things everybody has in common.
We have a societal affinity for the “good old days,” but we don’t bother much with walking among those who lived during them.
Our world spends a lot of money on gravestones, cemetery adornments, and grounds upkeep. The headstones are often poignant and ornate.
On a cold, windswept, early December Friday, as the sun hid behind clouds before appearing and hiding again, I walked among those headstones. Next year, I will pick a warmer, prettier day to do it.
n The writer is editor of the Eastern Shore Post. Reach him at [email protected]
