Tombstone Tuesday - Stones by a cabin

While going for a beautiful autumn drive a few days, I happened upon a cabin I've been meaning to stop by for several years.  It is known as Workman Cabin, and is situated in the southwest corner of central park of Loudonville, Ohio, not far from where I live.

It was built on the original homestead about 1840, which was located about three miles from the town.  People had covered it with a type of siding.  It was removed and restored.   Later, it was moved on the back of a flatbed truck when it was donated to the local historical society.

Leaning up against one side of it were two tombstones, that of Hezekiah Clemens, who died in 1812.  I'm unsure of his relationship to the family.

Beside him is the tombstone of Jerutia Workman, wife of Morgan Workman.

What a beautiful centerpiece for this little town!  I wonder how many drive by and never give it a second thought...

Tombstone Tuesday - Damaged Stones

We've all seen them.

Damaged stones.

And...it breaks my heart, as I'm certain that it breaks yours, too.

I've wandered hundreds of cemeteries in my lifetime.  I've seen stones that are tenderly cared for, those that haven't had a visitor in awhile, stones that are old, and stones that are broken.

Some of these broken stones are simply laid up against a tree, or a fence, waiting for someone to take care of them and place them back where they mark the final resting place for a loved one.

However, there are many times where that just won't happen.  Time, money, and wondering where they should even be placed prevent this from happening.

However, while visiting a pioneer cemetery in Richmond, Missouri a couple of years ago, I saw what is probably one of the best answers to this problem I have ever seen.

This pioneer cemetery was filled with early members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints - Mormons.  Much of the cemetery was extremely well-kept.  

But, there was a section that contained stones where they would never be able to find the original graves and repair the stones to be placed there.

So...this is what they did.  They laid them flat, encased in cement, with walkways between them.  They were preserved, and one could easily do a rubbing on them.

One of the best ideas I have ever seen.

Cemetery Adventures...

I have always felt at home in a cemetery.

I was in cemeteries before I was born. My parents took me to cemeteries when they were doing indexing for the Ohio Genealogical Society. While all of my friends were in movie theaters and on the beach on Sunday afternoon, I was in a cemetery with my parents.

I was born into an older family and everyone was dying when I was young, so I went to many funerals and cemeteries. I feel quite at home in a cemetery, thinking of the many times a family has paid their last respects to a loved one.

I've also had some interesting experiences in cemeteries. Two stand out.

I must have been about 12 or 13 years old. It was Sunday afternoon, and we were off to another cemetery. I had talked my best friend, Palm Tree (Alice) into going. One of mom and dad's friends, Brother Steele (who never spoke) also came along.

And...Mom wore a wig.

We were all in various corners, with Alice and I hanging together writing on our index cards. Mom was down on her knees pulling weeds from a tombstone that had sunken into the ground. The information she needed was below the level of the grass and the ground, so she had a job to do.

Then, she came face to face with a snake!

She jumped up and started doing this warhoop thing that mortified Alice and I. I was SO embarrassed. Dad saw what was going on and came running across the grass with a stiff wire brush. (Never, ever use those now!!) He saw the snake and started beating it like that Fat Broad in the comic strip B.C.

But, the ends of those bristles are extremely sharp, and during the first strike, the snake got stuck in the bristles. When he saw what had happened, he slung the snake straight up in the air. That's when my mother looked up and saw the snake coming straight down for her, head over tail.

Mom ran out from under her wig.

Alice and I just wagged our heads. Brother Steele was trying to hold his face together to keep from laughing. I wanted to tell him to just go ahead and bust out and laugh, but I didn't. Oh, well.

The second incident directly involves me.

I had a broken foot once again. I was heavy. I was unstable. I was in a cemetery.

Sisters Ferne and Betty and I were in a Kentucky cemetery, which could be anywhere - soggy bottomland, mountains, backwoods properties, high grass, old stones, etc. You name it - we've been there.

We were looking through a familiar cemetery once again to make sure we had all stones recorded. The three of us were scattered around, with me over closest to the top ridge of the burying ground. It was high up on a hill. (People were buried high up so the floods wouldn't get the graves saturated.)

I was copying the information from a tombstone that looked a little bit like the Washington Monument. It was on the crest of the hill, and there were names on all four sides. I kept wondering if these people were buried in a pinwheel.



I had a walking cast on that looked like a "moon boot". It was solid and didn't bend much. As I'm walking around all four sides of the tombstone, I hung on to it to keep my balance. Suddenly, it toppled. I grabbed on to it so it wouldn't break further, and cradled it in my arms. I also lost my footing, fell, and began rolling down the side of the hill - hollering the whole time. A true genealogist.

My sisters heard me, but couldn't see me. When they finally saw where I had landed, they stood on the hill above me, dumbfounded. The first thing out of Betty's mouth was, "Good night! Is the tombstone alright?"

Yes, girls. It's was alright. So was I, in case anyone was wondering...

A stiff wire brush.  Never, ever use this to clean a tombstone with.  They're great for killing snakes, though.