Shanna Riley March 25th, 2007
I would be remiss if I did not, on a blog about my graving excursions, talk about The Brandon Children.
They all lived, and died, in the mid-1800s and stumbling upon their beautiful resting place - a small, unmarked cemetery off the Natchez Trace - in May of 2006 was the start of an on-going project to find out just who "The Brandon Children" were...and what happened to them.
The cemetery itself is unmarked, and sits a ways off the Natchez Trace in Natchez, Mississippi. My mother, sister, and I saw what looked like a fenced-in graveyard from the Trace, and made the short walk up to it.
There was an ornate black, ironwork fence surrounding a small cemetery that was surrounded by a perfectly-planted circle of oak trees. The tomb and headstones inside were ornate and had beautiful verses inscribed into the stone; all by a mournful mother...who we soon realized had seven young children interred within. We couldn't begin to imagine the pain she must've gone through, losing so many of her precious children at such young ages.
Intrigued by this hallowed ground that held so many children of one ill-fated couple, I wrote down the names and dates of them all. When I returned home, I began my research into who these children, and their parents, had been and to try and learn what might have become of them.
The fruits of my research became The Brandon Children website; my labor of love. I plan to write more about each of them, and their family, as this blog grows.
Shanna Riley March 24th, 2007
The final resting place of Salvdor Genusa is marked by a crude hunk of concrete - his name and death date roughly carved into the broken slab by hand.
While Salvdor's grave marker certainly isn't pretty or even grand any way you cut it, it's still quite remarkable for all its hand-carved simplicity. Someone cared about this man enough to mark his final resting piece...perhaps in the only way they could afford. Someone did not want Salvdor Genusa to be forgotten or his grave to be lost.
This rough-hewn stone was placed with great love so that someone cherished would not be forgotten.
In many of my cemetery travels I see unmarked graves, broken wooden crosses, and chipped and tarnished stones that are no longer legible. Who is buried there is anyone's guess...and many old cemetery records are not completely accurate.
When someone takes the time to put something on a grave to mark its occupant, it is a beautiful tribute. Perhaps even more so when the marker is crude and rough, or obviously homemade. It shows that the person remembering a loved one or long-gone family member might not have been able to afford a "proper marker"; yet they put their own hands towards making something - anything - so that the deceased would be remembered. It's truly touching to see.
Salvdor Genusa may not have the fanciest marker in the cemetery, but he was loved just the same - or maybe even more - than those that do.
Shanna Riley March 23rd, 2007
When I told my good friend, J., about graving he was - to my delight and surprise - quite excited. He begged me to call him so that he could accompany me on my next trip out. I then found out there was a certain famous person buried in a nearby Baton Rouge cemetery, and the two of decided to see if we could find him.
I'm not usually one for hunting down "famous" graves; the grave of the common man and woman is of much more interest to me. The mystery of an unknown person's grave beckons to me every time - sometimes with a very powerful pull - to find out who and what the person whose name is etched on the stone was. Yet, it's still a delight to try and find anyone's grave, so we made an afternoon trip out of it.
I'm guessing J. hadn't had the opportunity to spend much "leisure" time in a cemetery. Truthfully, not many people - even those with an interest in cemeteries - think to go and just hang out in one! He was like a kid in a candy store, oohing and ahhing over interesting graves, snapping photos, and reveling in getting to do something he'd obviously wanted to do - but thought he was crazy to even consider.
"Everyone at work today thinks I'm crazy and morbid," he wrote me in an email the next morning, "but I don't care - I love it! Let's go back on Monday."
A new graver is born.
I can't truly explain the appeal of a graveyard to some people. I suppose it's a combination of the mystery and intrigue, the delightfully creepy and deliciously morbid. I think it also has something to do with the ability to accept death as normal rather than something to avoid and not think about. In a cemetery, you are surrounded by death - it's impossible not to think about - even if you're just there for research and picture-taking.
I'm fairly confident J. will become a regular graving-buddy.