At Home in a Cemetery
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, I went to 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.

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.

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?"

Yeah.  It was alright.  So was I, in case anyone was wondering...

Nope!  Don't ever use these!

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.

Set in Stone

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

You raise your oldest child to be your oldest child.  They are the ones you can usually count on to move into adulthood with you before the younger children, to look out for you and your spouse, to help make some decisions, to talk to about plans when you can't care for yourself anymore.

They are not supposed to be buried before you.

Peter William Lauritzen was our oldest child.  He was born when we were still growing up ourselves.  He's the one we made our parenting blunders on.

He was the oldest of our four children.  They were stairsteps, for the fourth one was born when Peter was only five years old.  He didn't like the other kids coming along, for he enjoyed being with just us.  But, they kept on coming.

He grew into a handsome young man, developing his piano talents along the way.  He truly had a musical gift, for when he played, people would stop in their tracks to listen to him play.

After serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he fell into a lifestyle completely foreign to us.  It took him further and further away from family and the values he had been raised with.  He became someone we didn't recognize anymore.

He delved deeper into drugs and alcohol and illicit moral activity.  His body became ravaged and diseased.  It was difficult to recognize him anymore.

One afternoon, after spending time with my son and his family, I came home to hear the phone ringing.  Though there were many things to do after being gone all day, I knew I had to answer it.  After a few questions from those on the other end, I knew what was coming.  Peter had died.

I quickly got in touch with my sons and my husband.  All of them rushed home.  Through the evening, these young men guided their parents into thinking straight.  I was scheduled for surgery the next day.  Peter's body and belongings were in Florida.  While the world was spinning around me, I felt strangely still.

Now, nearly three years later, Peter's stone is in place.  It took me awhile.  There were many times that Kerry and I drove to the monument company to look over stones and make a selection.  But, after driving there, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

But now, it's done.  His final resting place is marked.  There's nothing more I can do for him.

But, parents just are supposed to outlive their kids.  It's not supposed to work that way...but, sometimes it does.

Rest in peace, my beloved son...

Peter William Lauritzen, Washington Village Cemetery, Richland Co., Ohio.

Free Offline Genealogy Tools

Week 4 – Free Offline Genealogy Tools: For which free offline genealogy tool are you most grateful? How did you find this tool and how has it benefitted your genealogy? Describe to others how to access this tool and spread the genealogy love.

This particular challenge takes me back to the days when I was a young girl getting my start in genealogy by watching my parents.

They did it the old-fashioned way - they still remember relatives born in the 1800's, and had first-hand knowledge of their stories, their recollections, their pictures, etc.  I would sit and listen and try to imagine myself living in their lifetime.  It seemed so far away...

My parents and I spent hours in courthouses, cemeteries and libraries.  My spelling and my handwriting was better than theirs, for I had received more education than they ever had the opportunity to obtain.  I would emerge from the dungeons of the courthouses covered in grit - and I LOVED it!  Some of the grit was the same grit ancestors had touched!!  I would run my hand over documents where their signatures were still visible, and wonder what their hands may have looked like.

But, nothing beats a cemetery.  As I state in the opening pages of my blog, I was in cemeteries when my mother was still pregnant with me.  My favorite picture is one where she is standing sideways on a bridge after a July 4th picnic.  She is getting ready for some cemetery transcribing just four days before I was born!

There we both are - Ida Stevens Clemens and me, Peggy.  I was born just four days later.

Once, when I was about 13 years old, my parents, my girlfriend and an older gentleman were in a cemetery on a Sunday afternoon.  Alice and I stayed together copying information, dad and mom were off on their own, and so was Brother Steele.  While all of my other friends were at the beach of the movies, I was in a cemetery.

My mother wore a wig.  Remember that.

Mom was down on her knees pulling weeds and trying to discover what was written on a sunken tombstone when she came face to face with a snake!  She jumped up and started doing this war-hoop dance and yelping.  Dad saw what was happening and came running with his brush - the kind you NEVER, ever use on a tombstone now.

Dad began beating this snake like it was an anaconda, when in fact it was about as long as one's arm.  The thing is, on the first strike, the snake got stuck in the wire bristles of the brush.  When he saw what had happened, he flung the brush upwards.  My mother looked up to see a snake headed straight down toward her.

My mother ran out from under her wig. 



But on any given day, turn me loose in a library.  Nothing beats a rainy day all cozied up in the corner of a library.  This is one of the first places I head to when on a genealogy trip.  I have hunkered down and read stories of ancestors, their neighborhoods and their neighbors that have taken me back in time and all over the world.  I don't want a tour of the library - just let me discover it all on my own...

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.