22/52 Wade Mountain and Maple Hill

Met up with Andrea on Friday afternoon to have a hike.  She wanted a 'hill' so we opted to go to Wade Mountain.  We did nearly 5 miles there combining Devil's Racetrack, Shovelton and Rock Wall for a convoluted loop and adding on Piney Loop at the end.  The we had lunch and went to Maple Hill Cemetery to see the dogwoods.  I wanted to go on to the wildflower trail, but they were both done.  Matt walked back well ahead of us to wait in the car, he had not taken his allergy meds for several days.  I handed him his dose this morning myself!  

blue eyed grass

We started at the Dead Children's Playground
One of the swings was swinging when we got there.

stonecrop

Walking through the cemetery, I saw boy statues!

Random Pics

Front row at the drive-in

The moon Sunday night

The Webkinz I had for a couple of hours, until Ben saw him.
I think of him as 'Temp'.  *sigh*

 Below is a little cemetery that is falling apart, it's off Six-Mile Road, we stop in a couple times a year, yesterday we stopped because there's a new geocache outside the fence.

We miss thee from our home dear mother,
We miss thee from thy place,
A shadow o’er our life is cast,
We miss the sunshine of thy face. 

We miss thy kind and willing hand,
Thy fond earnest care,
Our home is dark without thee –
We miss thee every where. 

 

One by one earth’s ties are broken,
as we see our love decay;
and the hope so fondly cherished
brighten but to pass away.
One by one our hopes grow brighter
as we near the shining shore,
for we know across the river wait
the loved ones gone before.

With the recent logging, there's a view from the road down to the valley.
It's a pretty drive, but steep and winding. 

All That Remains

Old Stones

I have really been enjoying the photography project I have going with the genealogy site, taking photos of certain headstones around the area.  As of today, I uploaded my 80th photo!  It's perfect for us, heading off with only a name and some dates to search hundreds of stones for THE one.  We have always liked hunting down things-letterboxes, geocaches, campsites, lunch.  LOL 

I like that it is a community service project that really helps people, yet-I don't have to interact with them beyond the occasional e-mail.  Everyone has been so appreciative, one lady wrote just today and said it meant so much to see her family names again.  Another man wrote to tell me he was searching for all the airmen who served with his father in WW2, could I look for a certain stone for him.  Finding that little bronze plaque at the foot of the grave that confirmed he was the correct Smith was such a thrill.

Yesterday, we ran into a couple who had written a book about the older families in their area.  Loads of interesting things came out.  The mother with the eight dead babies had accidentally killed them all in infancy via her addiction to laudium.  This lady over here whacked her grown son with a broom during their interview with her.  That man never owned the land he farmed, he just took it from his ailing father in law and went on to make a tidy profit on it.  Another man was well hated, but bought himself a stone that proclaimed his wondrous presence on earth would be missed.

So many women, buried next to their husbands.  The husband's stone:
"First Middle Last born day month year died day month year
Died as he lived, a Christian"
His wife's stone:
"F.M. Last, wife of First Middle Last
Year-Year"

Not even her first name spelled out.  So many women are lost to history, first by the loss of their maiden name, once married, it was often impossible to keep track of them.  Then the husband may have called her Bess or Amy instead of Elizabeth or Amelia or even by her middle name if he did not like her first one.  Then she is buried with no decent identification on her stone...it's sad, really.  Women get folded into other lives, take on other identities.  Men are who they are from birth to death.

Of course, then, there's this:

Cemeteries

I love cemeteries.  Old ones are my favorites, the stories and lives contained in the few words chiseled into stone.  Some are funny, some will break your heart.  Seeing a line of four or five tiny stones with the same last name, or seeing a stone so covered in decorations that you know the person is still being mourned even now.  

Yesterday, we saw a fresh grave, for a lady named Lucille.  She was 80 and her foot stone was covered in music notes and said 'Miss Lucy'.  Two ladies arrived and started fussing over her gravesite, fiddling with the fresh Alabama red clay and trying to put out some Christmas ornamentation.  One had given up staying clean and was on her knees in the clay poking flowers in a vase.  She stood up and they both whacked at her stained knees and looked at the grave.  The other kicked at the clay, trying to cover the obvious knee-dents.  

They laughed and one said to the other, "Are you gonna come do all this for me?"  Her friend replied, "Only if you go first."

There is something about the matronly older woman, especially the church-going ones.  They are women in their 60's who were my age when I was born.  But, they are exactly like the women in the churches I attended as a child.  Large, wide women with fussy hair and lipstick that's the wrong shade.  They wear flower-printed dresses with big patterns.  Their breasts like the prow of a ship, capable of opening any door.  Their shoes are black and flat, their purses match.  They keep nic-nacs on a shelf, cookies in a jar and always have cake on hand.  Their bathrooms smell of potpourri, they have plastic runners down the hall.  The guest room has a white duvet. 

They clean and cook as acts of love, they go out in the world and do things-they bring food to the sick, they take their older relatives and friends to the doctor, they know the names and ages and every detail of at least 14 grandchildren-but only have 4 of their own.  They have friends who have been their friends since they were all just married, who bolstered one another through lay-offs, child rearing, empty nest syndrome and mid-life crises. Women who call each other with questions about a little one's runny nose, news of a sale at the local store, about their mothers, their gardens, how to get Jell-o out of carpet, a bag of clothes passed to them that have now been outgrown and are ready to pass along again.  Lives that flash in a whirl of holiday meals, first days of school, birthday parties, children who had scabbed knees suddenly dating, engaged, married, which scab-knees kids of their own. 

These women steer through life, folded rain bonnet in their purse, a Bible on the night stand and a pair of comfortable shoes to wear around the house.

I love cemeteries, they have so many stories, so many memories.

Stones

Gatlin 1750
I think this may be the original family to be buried in the cemetery

Just loved these names.

This was not a child's stone.

Lilias

One of the many Gatlin's

In heaven there is two angels more