Graveyard Blues

On October 29^th, I visited my first cemetery in the Huntington area of Long Island, aptly named Old Burial Ground, because of its historical lineage as one of the first cemeteries implemented in Huntington which became a sight which staged a “heinous” scene during the American Revolution. (Old Burying Ground (17th Century) & Fort Golgotha). For me any cemetery represented the lands of ungodly evil. There were habits I committed to as a youth, that exemplified my terror of the groaning and greying world which crossed and lingered unspoken with our own. For instance, whenever my family and I drove past a cemetery, I would quickly suck in my breath close to my chest, back erect to retain it, as if my life was a secret which needed to be kept close to my heart and away from the dead and buried. Even if the stretch was long and the graveyard followed along like one giant stone snake, I found it hard to let go of my breath or I would be susceptible to possession. In that time of my life, I was educated wrongly about the truths of life and death. Death is seen as both sacred, yet its consequences wicked within my household. All souls live purely, and once they are dead, they become wicked. This is why I held my breath.

However, many things happened to me in the short expanse of my life from youth to young adult. I can assure you that I no longer hold my breath. Now when I see a cemetery, I stretch over the barrier between my car door and the tiny grey curtain walls of a kingdom that I would soon visit, tomorrow or maybe a million years from now. My eyes grow wide, and I now let out a breath in amazement at the beauty of a chipped mausoleum, or the simplicity of a grey flash in the corner of my eyes.  

So, when I stepped foot upon the sodden grassy lands of The Old Burial Ground with nothing but my phone, which only took photos with a fractured phantom of a line running down the middle, and my tote bag which holds some of my earnest treasures. I was on a mission. There were others who accompanied me on this little journey of mine up and down the hill, maybe for them I came across like the snow, silent and quick to slip between your fingers, as I left them to venture toward every crack and every raised root of a tree. Nevertheless, for me I was daring something utterly new. After years of practiced understanding that death and horror, the macabre and the morbid, were all little weeds planted by the Devil, simply walking into a cemetery was the same as climbing Mount Everest and I must admit, it was a glorious accomplishment when I found myself at the top of that steep hill, looking over at all the living while I stood amongst the dead like Pluto upon his throne. That down there were more people scared of the dead than I felt; I felt invincible and for once I was not scared. Amongst the dead, I felt livelier and there I realized underneath the swaying maiden that was a weeping tree that Autumn morning, I felt safe.  

After that one visit, I was enraptured, a new curiosity was spiked within my soul. I had found a key and was only searching for more to add to my silver ring.  

A rural cemetery is defined as “a pleasure garden instead of a place for graves” (The Rural Cemetery Movement), cited by Fanny Kemble in a piece by Wilson Center Dig Lab. The Old Burying Ground is a more simplistic example of a rural cemetery. However, a more handsome cemetery awaits in Brooklyn, New York named Greenwood Cemetery, founded in 1838 during rapid Industrialization, to solve the problem of overcrowding within churchyards. Arguably considered, “Brooklyn’s first public park by default long before Prospect Park was created.” (White & Willenksy). Around 600,000 graves make residences and 7,000 trees. (Glenn) 

From photos alone, it resides as a hidden treasure. To simply enter its magnificence, one must walk underneath an arching behemoth of angular, jaunty, and gracefully shaped gates which hint to the influence of Gothic architecture, designed by Richard Upjohn. To be buried in Greenwood Cemetery would be like retiring to the Ritz Carlton. Amongst death, life blooms relentlessly in the posse of vibrant grasses and trees which guard the daises. Even the residences of the dead are fabulous. One short walk along Camelia Path, might lead one from a tomb of the gothic to a monument of the Egyptian Revival. Greenwood Cemetery is the second home in New York City. It reflects, even in its aesthetics, the diversity of the city. It represents how cultures and contexts come together in the city, not to assimilate and repeat the same tomb, but instead clash and differ, but knit together to form an exciting landscape which would transform death from once a tragedy into a romantic necessity of a beautiful life.   

Microsoft Word - Old Burying Ground.doc 

The Rural Cemetery Movement · The Oconee Hill Cemetery Project · Death and Human History in Athens 

1.  White, Norval & Willensky, Elliot (2000). AIA Guide to New York City (4th ed.). New York: Three Rivers Press. ISBN 978-0-8129-3107-5. p. 687. 

2. Collins, Glenn (April 1, 2004). "Ground as Hallowed as Cooperstown; Green-Wood Cemetery, Home to 200 Baseball Pioneers". The New York Times. ISSN 0362-4331. Retrieved July 28, 2019.