"You seriously don't know?" or "What a way to go"

Many days when Ol' Br'er isn't out in the world scampering amongst the tombstones, he is ensconced back in the warren, in his shorts, and surfing the web researching dead folks. With more than 10,000 people on the family tree, there are plenty to research.

And all these cemetery visits just end up adding to the research list. Interesting people are found who just beg to be researched. Hell, they sometimes even get their own tree built to further the research effort and help to update Find A Grave memorials. 

Find a child who is not linked to its parents? Research and update the memorial.

Find a veteran without birth or death dates? Research and update the memorial.

Find someone with a surname in Br'er's tree? Research to see if they are related.

I think you get the idea. Rare is the time when Br'er doesn't have several Find A Grave updates queued up for approval. And all that doesn't include updates to cemeteries and graveyards themselves. Descriptions, directions, GPS coordinates - they all need to be checked and updated as well.

All this research has the natural result of reading a lot of death certificates as well as comparing data from multiple sources. More to the point, this reveals discrepancies between the various sources.

And these discrepancies drive me crazy with questions.

One of the most common is age or birth year. I have lost count of the number of times I see someone with conflicting birth years. 

Let's use fictional Mary as an example. Her Find A Grave memorial gives her birth year and 1881. And that is the year given on Social Security records. But! she appears on the 1880 US Census as being 2 years old. Skipping the lost 1890 Census for obvious reasons, we find here again on the 1900 US Census still in her parents' household, this time age 20.

Neat trick, that. No question that this is her on the Census. The location, parents, etc. are all correct.

The current movement of "Gender Fluidity" has nothing on prior generations. Hell, they had Age Fluidity and Spelling Fluidity in spades!

To be fair, specific age was less important in the 19th century. Exhibiting maturity and judgment were far more important and drove when one might be considered an adult in the eyes of the community.

The less said about spelling the better. Education was not as important as being able to work.

It is the errors and missing data on death certificates that befuddles me.

I am not talking about cases where a 'friend' or acquaintance provides the details on a death certificate because the deceased has no family around. No, I am talking about a spouse or child who apparently knows nothing about the deceased's parents, birth details, etc.

The initials "D.K." infuriate me. Don't Know. 

If I am generous I can forgive not knowing birth locations for parents of the deceased. But not even their names? 

Then again.....

I can't complain too much when there are so many examples in my own family. 

• My father did not know his grandmother's name.
• I had the first and middle names of one of my uncles reversed. This is what my father told me his brother's name was. We were both shocked when he died and saw the official paperwork and learned that we were wrong.
• My father reversed my first and middle names on some banking paperwork.
• My aunt (by marriage) did not, after decades of marriage, know my uncle (another of my father's brothers) was named for his grandfather.

I am beginning to sense a pattern here. My family knows next to nothing about each other.

Another habit of mine is reading people's causes of death. At least when I can READ it. Deciphering handwritten cause of death is second in difficulty only to reading written prescriptions. I mean, I have horribly poor handwriting but these people make me look like a medieval monk making illuminated manuscripts!

I thought about sharing the images of some of the more interesting cases I have encountered but decided against it. Yes, these are public documents. And yes, these are a century old, more or less. But on the ridiculously remote possibility that a member of the individual's family might come across this, I am opting to not share the images. I could spend a lot of time 'greeking' (a video production term meaning removal of all identifying data) the images, but frankly, that is too damned much work.

Some of the more typical causes I've seen:

• Stillborn (always tragic and heart-wrenching)
• Influenza (Gasp! These seem to be concentrated in the late 1910s!)
• Dysentery (I will forego the obvious jokes about what a way to go this is - that fruit is too low hanging)
• Various cancers and heart issues

Then there are the more unusual, though still tragic

• Suicide
• Bullet in the brainpan (that is literally what is listed as COD)
• Self-inflicted gunshot (sometimes noting to the head - yes, I have seen more than a couple of these)

And then there is my all-time favorite. I repeat that, for the families involved, all deaths are tragic - even those where the deceased is over 90 years old and passed away from natural causes. But this one, well I still laugh thinking about it. Before I came across it I would have bet any amount of money that it never happened.

"Sudden deceleration trauma". 

The individual died in a car wreck.

Thinking about it now, one could write an interesting book based on an analysis of death certificate data over time. Aside from the more colorful CODs like sudden deceleration trauma, breaking out the data by age, COD, date, etc. could be fascinating. 

Or maybe I am just a data nerd and no one else would give a damn.

Yeah. That is probably the case.

Flabbergasted

"I've never seen anything like it in my life!" - Albert Blossom

If you need another clue to place that reference, well, recall a two headed llama.

What? You don't know what a Pushmi-pullyu is?

Yesterday presented me with the cemetery equivalent of the Pushmi-pullyu. And I've never seen anything like it in my life.

But more on that later.

The whole day started with a sojourn out to Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta for one primary quest and one secondary.

The first quest was to allow Mrs. Br'er to find an illicit cenotaph she had read about on Facebook. It seems that the family erected a cenotaph without the knowledge or permission of the cemetery. The cemetery cannot legally remove it, the family refuses to move it, and the monument company that was hired to place it will not remove it without the permission or direction of the family. So it is a three way standoff.

Personally I don't see the big deal. It is a stone placed by the family in the family plot. It is their space to do with as they choose.

Still, it is a funny story. When you add in that the man was a former slave as is considered a Confederate Veteran, well that just makes it all the better.

If you are so inclined you can read more from the two Find A Grave entries for the man at Oakland and Marietta.

The secondary quest was to see the rather large and relatively newly placed sarcophagus for country music star Kenny Rogers. If you click through the link to his Find A Grave memorial there are several photos. The design is clearly symbolic. And we were taken aback a little when we realized that only his name appears along with reference to the gospel song, "Will the circle be unbroken?" There is no reference to birth and death dates, family, nothing. Just the name and quote. Odd. Perhaps there is a bronze plaque on order. Perhaps not.

In planning that little outing, I checked the surrounding area to see if there were any interesting cemeteries we haven't yet visited. I located a smaller one (fewer than 1,000 burials, if that counts as "small"). Mrs. Br'er jokingly asks if there are any relatives in it. When you have several generations of family in an area it is almost a certainty that you will find them in various cemeteries. So checking for family surnames is a virtual habit.

Yup. Found one of the main surnames. Checked the family tree and wouldn't you know it? 1st cousin thrice removed and his wife. This gives us a specific goal when we get there beyond just traipsing around.

What we found, well, that was the shock. Not that it is an abandoned cemetery. No, that is expected. Even though this is a city area and one would hope it would be maintained by someone - a civic association if not the city or county itself - it is clearly not been maintained in some time. Though there has obviously been some recent work done in terms of grass cutting.

No it was the camper that threw me.

Seriously. A full size trailer camper. The kind you tow behind a truck or SUV. With a rather large portable generator providing electricity. And it has clearly been there for at least several days as there is a used campsite fire spot nearby.

And lest you think this was as abandoned, too, there were some three people living in it. We saw them as we pulled into the cemetery. A couple were in a back section and one was near the camper. 

Naturally we attracted their attention and one of the women (it was two women and one man) engaged with Mrs. Br'er (yes, I deliberately used her as a decoy while I sought to accomplish our mission to locate the distant relative ASAFP so we could get out of there) while I stayed focused on finding the graves.

I don't think anyone noticed, but I kept head on a swivel and my hand in my pocket at all times. Yes, I had a certain protection on me ready to deploy immediately if needed.

Good habits came to bear along with more than a little luck. There was already a photo of the headstone on-line so I knew what I was looking for. I have a better than average knack at pattern and shape recognition. So it is not uncommon for me to be able to spot a particular sought after marker at a distance just based on shape.

Such was my luck this time. I spotted the headstone less than a minute from exiting the car and mere seconds after the woman approached us. So I headed off to it while Mrs. Br'er chatted. A quick check to confirm the details are correct, everything is logged, and I am done. Well, almost. There is a small headstone immediately adjacent to these graves. I check and it is a child with the same last surname. Obviously a child. But the child's memorial in Find A Grave has no photograph or GPS, nor is it linked to anyone. I upload a quick photo, GPS tag it, and mark it for follow-up and head back to Mrs. Br'er and the car. All in all less than 90 seconds from spotting the headstone to being back at my starting spot.

Now ordinarily I am a chatty person in a cemetery. But all my alarms are going off so I do not want to be trapped into a conversation at the time. So I usher Mrs. Br'er into the car and we head back to the warren. On the way she shares with me that the woman told her they are there cleaning and documenting the cemetery. 

Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. I have never seen anyone doing any cleaning and research who sets up a literal camp in the cemetery before. And I am not wholly convinced that I have now. Yes, there has be some work done. But that could be a cover to try and keep from being run off. And I have encountered too many people who push for "donations" to "help with the upkeep". Mrs. Br'er tells me that the woman admitted to having done only some 6 or 7 Find A Grave updates. 

The whole thing is simply too sketchy for my comfort. So sketchy that I was not even comfortable enough getting a quick photo of the whole setup. Not even surreptitiously. My Bunny Brain was telling me to get the hell out of Dodge. So that is what we did.

So I am left with the mental image that "Cemetery Squatters" is a real thing. I have come across 'urban outdoorsmen' camping near or next to cemeteries and graveyards before. Just never IN the cemetery. I may have to return in a few days to see 1) If they are still there, and 2) If they have really done any additional cleaning. Maybe I will take a photo from a distance if I do go back, just as proof of the whole setup.

Back in the warren I set about looking into the child and my cousin's line. The only thing I could find on the child is the Find A Grave memorial. Not really surprising considering she lived no more than one day. If that long. Birth and Death are the same day. But considering she is buried next to the only two people with the same surname in the whole cemetery. I was comfortable and confident enough to link her to them as her parents. And to put her in the family tree as such. 

But all that led me further down the rabbit hole (pun intended) on this branch of the family and some interesting revelations.

See, the cousin we started out to locate was named for his father making them Sr. and Jr. Only there is some contention in the documentation on whether the father was Wallie or Walter who was called Wallie. Most of the files list Wallie. Most, but not all. Especially not the early census records.

Whatever the name actually started out as it settled on Willie. So we have Wallie, Sr. and Wallie, Jr. Then Wallie, Jr. has a son and names him Wallie III. (Yes, I am leaving out the details so you will not be able to locate any of the graves or the cemetery squatters). Care to take a guess what Willie III chooses to name his son? 

Yup. Wallie IV. Makes for the first person with a IV suffix I have in the tree. I think. That is not something easily searched for. It is the first I can remember at the moment. If I am wrong, sue me.

A side note: In the research I learned that Wallie, Jr. served overseas in the military in the 1950s. I have a record of the whole family - including Wallie III and siblings - sailing to Frankfurt. That had to be an adventure for the kids! This record also confirmed that Wallie, Jr. married late in life, and who the mother of the children was. There was some question as the records are sparse, and until the 1950 - yes, 1950 - Census is released in about 11 or 12 years this travel record is the only document I have linking them all.

Cases like this used to make me wonder if I would someday bump into someone and, after hearing their name, realize that we are distant relations. I say "used to" because it has kinda-sorta happened already. One of the nieces on the wife's side has a friend of many years. One day the two of them asked if I had a certain person in the tree. I did. Come to find out it was one of the friend's direct ancestors who was in turn a direct descendant of one of my ancestors making us distant cousins.

You never know where all this research will take you. Just look at the niece's friend. One day the world is wonderful. The next she learns she is blood kin to me. Talk about a nasty shock!

Cemetery Serendipity

Or maybe the beginning of all Redneck Fairy Tales; Now y’all ain’t gonna believe this shi______!

Not a long tale today, but a true one. Ok, all my stories are true. I may need to embellish a part or two, or fudge some of the details to protect the guilty from time to time, though.

This time neither is required making for a singular moment.

I related some time back about my adventures in locating a Cooper Cemetery wherein lies a distant relative (1st cousin 5x removed to be precise). Feel free to check that post to get up to speed for this one. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Literally. It isn’t as if these posts are done in real time.

Back already? My but that was fast. Anyhoo…

I had shared with Pappa Br’er about having found the cemetery since he was part of the original effort to locate it. He and I were back in the vicinity and since the weather was fecking GORGEOUS, I took him over to see it. He found it rather interesting and offered that we may come back and clean out the over growth. The markers are in good condition but, alas, saplings, vines, briars and the like are taking over. It really would not take a full day’s effort to cut them all back and make the site rather nice for a time.

Well, in the search process one story was related to me - told for true as it were - about how a local gentleman had been paid for years by a family descendant to keep the cemetery cleaned and in good order. And how, after that descendant passed away, the money dried up and cemetery maintenance ceased. Alas, the individual relating the tale could not remember any specific people involved. So it was just something he remembered being told but could not confirm.

Keep this in mind. I will return to it shortly.

After Br’er Pappa and I stomped around the (literal) briars for a bit we started making our way back out to the vehicle. Our noise and conversation attracted the attention of an older gentleman who was unloading materials out of his truck nearby. Obviously we were not local residents so we could understand his interest in who these two strangers coming out of the woods were and what they were up to. See the local residents are of a totally different ethnic background than we are. To say we ‘stood out’ is to grossly understate the situation.

So we diverted over to speak with him and allay any concerns he might have about our being up to something nefarious. Not that we are not more than capable of being up to something less than good; We can and often do get into and up to things we ought not.

But this time - for the moment - we were not.

We explained that we were searching for a dead man.

Ok. I said we are not above getting into some mischief. Making this stranger think we were searching for someone in the recently deceased category was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

After a moment or three to allow him to imagine all sorts of evil possibilities we went on to explain how one of the people in the cemetery a few yards away is a distant kin to us. We also made specific mention how we are only related to one of the 17 people recorded buried there. Ok, two people if you want to really stretch the concept of related to include our cousin’s father-in-law who is also buried there. 

I have tried desperately to link these two to the family whose cemetery this is. But despite all my efforts I can find no trace of the families having and relationship whatsoever! How they came to be laid to rest in this family’s cemetery will just have to remain on of those mysteries lost to history.

It was only a few minutes later that I had the rare experience of having a story confirmed. And by someone directly involved! You see, without our mentioning it or prompting him about the subject, this old gentleman launched into the following:

"There was an old man from that family who used to pay me to keep up that cemetery. But he died about 15 years or so back. And his widow made it clear that she had no intention at all to keep paying ‘too much’ money to keep it up. So the money stopped so I stopped."

He was clearly angling to see if we would offer up the notion of our paying him to start cleaning it again. Little did he know what a cheap SOB (Son of Br’er if you need a safe for the pastor version of what that means) I am!

Don't Have a Cow, Man!

There is usually a difference between Persistence, Tenacity, and Idiocy. In my case they are virtually the same thing. If the three were plotted on a Venn Diagram you would need extreme magnification to be able to discern the different circles.

A year or so back Mrs. Br'er and I set out to find the family cemetery of a distant cousin of mine. When you are talking about someone born close to two centuries ago who lived in the frontier, you know you have a task in front of you.

This cemetery had been recorded years before by the county historical society and included in their published in their compilation book of cemeteries in the county. Cool. And all the graves - a staggering number of 10! - are recorded in Find A Grave. But there are no photos of the headstones and cemetery.

This vexes me. I want the photographs. Not only because of my anal-retentive nature, but because too many old cemeteries end up destroyed with nothing but the notes remaining. I want the photos recorded and the specific grave GPS recorded as well.

Well, when we first rolled up on the general location I immediately began questioning my life choices. 

I have been to a lot of homes that were closer visually to a junk yard than a house. And a few that looked abandoned. If you have read some of the earlier entries to this blog then you may recall the "opium den chic" trailer we encountered in Alabama. Well, this place was arguably worse than that based on sheer mass and total acreage. Additional buildings, junk, etc. festooned the property. Hell, I would not have been at all surprised had Walter White confronted me with a shotgun to protect his meth lab out back. 

GPS coordinates for the cemetery appeared to place it smack-dab in the back yard of this property. At least as best we could determine based on satellite maps and the GPS on our phones. As we had better prospects and more attractive places to be (i.e. anywhere else), we abandoned the effort.

Well months - and lots of research - later I decided to give it all a second shot. A good portion of the research entailed better expansion of how those interred there tie in to the family tree and to each other. Not all of this was evident based solely on the Find A Grave entries. 

The kicker was digging into the county property tax records. The county has the cemetery recorded as its own registered plot! AND! Those records show the property lines. Turns out the cemetery is not on the same property as Trailer Trash Central. It sits about 200 yards back off the road surrounded by a multi-acre plot the majority of which is some kind of pastureland. The area around the cemetery is wooded. But! The cemetery almost abuts the tree line running along the open pasture. Now in this area the majority of these open fields are used to grow hay or fodder. So it should be a fairly simple matter to stroll along the pasture edge, hop the fence, and access the cemetery.

Famous last words; "Should be easy."

We pull up to the gate entering the pasture and the first mental alarm goes off. Rather than a basic fence gate we see instead the wires for an electric fence. Now if you are not familiar with the difference then I should elaborate a bit.

Normally pasture access would have either a wooden gate (old school) or a welded tubular steel gate (more modern). Seldom do these have locks on them as locks are a pain to the farmer. Usually there will be a chain wrapping around the fence post and the gate with a hook of some kind through the chain. Think of this as an 'integrity lock'. It only keeps out honest people. These gates will hold up to most livestock. But if a larger animal such as a cow or bull decides to test it then the whole contraption will eventually fail.

An electric fence is, on the other hand - far less physically intimidating. These are just thin bare metal wire running along the fence line a few feet off the ground. In some cases, and this was one of those, it was a two wire fence. One wire about a foot and a half off the ground and another about three and a half or four feet off the ground. An electric fence gate is a much simpler device. There is no frame nor a hinge. Instead the wire ends in a plastic handle (necessary protection) with a metal hook. The hook connects to a hole in the opposite wire. Once in place it completes the electric circuit allowing current to flow through the entire fence. You simply unhook the wire to 'open' the gate.

Unless you are too lazy, old, or fat to duck under the wire you need to unhook the gate to pass the electric fence (barring other additional fencing the electric fence supports).

I have enough experience with these fences to know how they work. Specifically that one does not want to touch that damned wire. Anything unpleasant enough to keep horses and cattle at bay is not something you want to experience. It will not damage you unless you have a cardiac issue like a pacemaker. And perhaps not even then. But it hurts like a bitch nonetheless!

So I tell Mrs. Br'er to stay with the car while I push on. I opt to take gloves, and pruners with me. This will prove to be a wise choice. 

I follow the fence until I am about where the cemetery should be visible. Looking into the woods I notice there is a get to the electric fence leading from the pasture to the woods. Standing at that gate and looking out I can see an iron fence a few yards in that must certainly be the cemetery I am looking for. Unfortunately the gate is blocked by overgrown brush. Fortunately I brought pruners with me! A few snips and I can unhook the gate.

Yup. This is the place. And all things considered it is in stellar shape. Though I have to make further use of the pruners to clear away a few limbs and vines to access and photograph the headstones. Cell signals are not all that great at the location. Still, with some patience and effort I manage to get good photos of everything and GPS tag each individual grave in Find A Grave. With only 10 graves all this doesn't take too long.

As I am sweating and fighting the mosquitos Mrs. Br'er keeps me updated via text with the goings on back at the main gate. It seems there are cattle milling about. And a bull.

Lovely. 

As a general rule I have no problem with livestock, even large livestock. They generally don't want to be around people and make themselves scarce, or they are used to people so no worries. The exception to the rule are beef cattle. Especially Angus beef cattle. This will become important in a moment.

I make my way back through the back gate and into the pasture. Bear in mind at this point that there are, to the best of my knowledge, only two gates to the pasture. The main gate where I am headed and the back gate I just left. I make it about 50 yards before I spot the cattle. About a dozen or so bovines are milling around the front gate. And one of them is HUGE. I mean all cattle are large, but this one is larger than the rest. And it looks to be a Black Angus.

Crud!

I go a few yards closer to see if the cattle will move off. Usually pasture raised beef cattle will not hang around if someone approaches them. So maybe they will depart if I approach.

Nope. Damned cows are just eyeballing me. Not moving a foot. And I can now see at least three calves. The calves look to be only a week or so old. Lovely. Not only do I have to deal with cows, I have to deal with cows protecting their calves. 

Oh. Did I mention that I don't exactly have permission to be on this property? Honestly, this is seldom an issue. Most people are not at all concerned if someone crosses their land to visit a cemetery so long as they don't cause any damage. 

Messing with cattle would pretty much be the definition of  'damage'.

I start giving real consideration to firing a couple of rounds into the ground (better than the air or distance as there is no chance of accidentally hitting something you don't mean to). But wisdom kicks in and I abandon that thought. 

This gives me two alternatives. I can either retreat to the wood (back where the cemetery is) and make my way out through Meth Lab Central or I can try making my way out through the briars and brambles on the outside of the electric fence.

Well, as has been said before, Ol' Br'er was born and bred in the Briar Patch. So that is my new exit route. Besides, there is no way in hell I am approaching those sketchy trailers and buildings. That looks like a place where they would shoot first then ask who was there.

Obviously this is not going to be a fast exit. Between the necessity of careful steps to avoid tripping over a log, getting tangled up in briars, and avoiding the massive spider webs every few feet, forward progress is painfully slow.

Oh. Did I not mention the spiders? The massive (2-3 inch span) yellow and black spiders that have woven thick webs between virtually every tree and twig in the whole damned place? Yeah. Those. If you recall reading about the spiders Bilbo faced in Mirkwood then you can easily imagine these being the not too distant descendants of those spiders. I SO needed Sting this day.

Not being a complete fool, I take up a stick in one hand and the long handled pruners in the other. The stick serves well to beat back the spider webs. and the fiberglass handled pruners make a great tool to keep the electric fence at bay.

When I am a few yards from exiting the brush I pass very close to the cattle. Considering that the only thing keeping the cows from me is the electric fence. A couple of wires. And I have seen these fences fail. If these things decide to charge me I have nowhere to retreat to. Indeed, I cannot move anywhere quickly no matter how urgently I may need to do so.

Remember that big Black Angus that I saw? Yeah. Standing about 8 feet away from me and giving me the Evil Eye. Turns out that particular animal is a female, though she has the smallest, most underdeveloped udder I have ever seen on a cow. Come to think of it, this may be a heifer, not a cow. The difference being that a heifer is a female bovine that has never had a calf whereas a cow is a female that HAS calved.

Whether heifer or cow, this critter looks to weigh a good 1,600 pounds at least. And she is all muscle. I am not counting on the jolt of an electric fence to stop her if she decides to come at me. So I put my hand on my pistol, just in case. This meant moving the pruners aside.

Big mistake. Huge.

You know how cloth is not a good electrical conductor? Yeah. Well sweat soaked cloth is an EXCELLENT conductor.

Good thing I had not pulled my pistol and have excellent trigger discipline. Otherwise I have no doubt that I would have discharged the damned thing. The jolt an electric fence give you could easily cause you to twitch a finger and end up pulling the trigger whether you meant to or not.

I swear those damned cows were laughing.

Fortunately at this point they decided to stop staring at me and wander off a few yards. And it was at this point that the briars stopped and the Pole Salad (Milkweed for you city folk) started. That made my going much, much easier. A last push and I was back to the car. And that jug of ice water I had stored in the trunk.

But! Mission accomplished! All graves photographed and GPS tagged.

You will forgive me if I don't make a return visit any time soon.

"Oh, Fudge!" - Ralph "Ralphie" Parker

Anyone who has any memory of the film "A Christmas Story" will doubtless recall little Ralphie's lapse in judgement while 'helping' his father change a flat tire on the way home with the family's Christmas Tree. Remember the moment when the hubcap filled with lug nuts that Ralphie was holding for his father was bumped and the nuts went flying, silhouetted for the briefest of moments by the headlights of passing traffic.

"Oh, Fudge!"

Only he didn't say 'Fudge'. And neither did I.

Ok, so some explanation is warranted. 

But first, some exposition to set up the explanation!

Anyone who has stomped and tromped around a cemetery or fifty starts learning patterns. Not so much in burials, but in the cemeteries and graveyards themselves. Locations, styles of markers, etc. become more and more apparent over time and with more experience.

Now those patterns are highly dependent on what area of the country one is in. In the South and more rural locations in the heartland the pattern is for more family cemeteries and church graveyards and less city or community cemeteries until more into the mid to late 20th century. This means a plethora of little cemeteries all over the place, often in places that today seem bizarre. Like say industrial parks.

Family farms get sold off and the family dies off or moves away. The church moves or folds. Either way the graves are all but abandoned. I daresay this is hardly a great revelation to anyone reading this silliness.

Enough with the exposition and on with the explanation.

Not too far from Br'er's warren, in the midst of an industrial development, hidden beneath a canopy of trees and well shielded by bushes rests a cemetery. Or graveyard. There remains some debate on that point. It was definitely used for church burials at some point, but it also seems to have graves predating the church. So was it a family cemetery that became a church graveyard? The world may never know!

Br'er and Mrs Br'er had visited this cemetery before. You can follow that link for all those details. No need to rehash them here. 

The reason we were back is to scratch a mental itch I had been experiencing for some time. You see, there are several broken headstones there. Some retain a little of the inscriptions, others have only a base that once held a marker. Often these fragments and markers are simply laying flat and have become covered with the detritus and duff (Yes, those are real words and properly used in context here - I love when I can flex my vocabulary!). Ever since Br'er Poppa gifted me with a ground probe I have looked for opportunities to use it.

This is a perfect opportunity. 

So it was that we had stopped by this location recently after having done some headstone cleaning for Mrs. Br'er's ancestors and relatives elsewhere. I wanted to make a quick check to see if the probe could detect anything in the area immediately around the broken and missing stones.

There are two small bases side by side that are both missing the headstone itself. These are almost certainly children's graves given the size. And there is nothing about their names or dates recorded anywhere associated with the headstones. If I could find the buried bits and fix names to the graves, it would be a big-ish thing.

When you use a probe like this you are going to get a few different results.

Firstly, either you hit solid ground (the probe will only sink a couple of inches or so) or it will relatively easily sink deep into the ground. The later indicates earth that has been disturbed several feet down meaning a probable grave. (More on this later!)

Secondly, if the probe sinks any depth at all, either you hit something or you don't. If you make some kind of contact it is critical that you pay very close attention to what you hear and feel through the probe. A dull 'thud' is most likely a root or buried piece of wood, and is of little or no interest. Those feel soft in comparison to other contacts. Stone or metal, on the other hand, make a high pitched 'tink' and are far more dense. These are of much interest.

On out little stop in to test with the probe I hit clear and obvious stone about two inches down and immediately in front of the headstone base! Woot! I removed some dirt. Just enough to confirm stone. 

Well this afternoon we returned again. This time with all the necessary tools to correctly (i.e. without damage) excavate whatever was buried there. Could it be the missing headstone? Might I have found names and dates that everyone had missed in all the previous years?

Mosquitos be damned! This is important and inquiring minds want to know!

If you haven't gotten there yet based on the title, it was just a fecking rock. Granted it was of a size and shape that could well have been a fieldstone marker for a neighboring grave. But there was not the slightest hint of any carving on it.

Fudge!

Or as Charlie Brown might say, "I got a rock."

I returned the rock to its original spot and orientation. The only change left was the disturbed dirt and roots. The rocks on the marker base came from the excavation. I set them aside and examined them closely in case they were broken fragments that could be pieced back together. Alas! They were but rocks. No evidence whatsoever of having been worked by human hands.

I spoke earlier about the ground probe. It is about 48 inches (four feet) long in total. Here it is in a sunken area in front of a field stone marker - a probable grave. It is only in an inch or so. Just enough to keep it standing by itself while I take the photo.

Here is the probe inserted with minimal effort meeting virtually no resistance.

Yeah. I feel pretty safe saying this is a grave. Had the ground not been disturbed so deeply then the probe would have been virtually impossible to sink that deep. You do need to check the surrounding area - preferably using a fixed grid - to determine the full extent of the disturbed ground. This will help you confirm that what you have hit is not, say a rotted tree stump, and is the size and shape of a grave (adult or child).

Not my mental itch is scratched if not satisfied. There are no missing fragments waiting to be unearthed.

Dammit!

One is the loneliest number

"One is the loneliest number that can ever be.

Two can be as bad as one. It's the loneliest number since the number one." - Three Dog Night

Poppa Br'er has gotten the bug. Well, at least it is flaring up if it is a pre-existing condition. Much of the territory that I roam finding and visiting old cemeteries is his old stomping ground. So he has been taking more than a little delight roving hither and yon spotting cemeteries and reminiscing about his younger and wilder days.

He and Mamma Br'er were recounting having passed a few small cemeteries recently. He gave me kinda-sorta directions to the locations. I use Find A Grave's map function to scan the locations and see if they are already recorded. Then I make a plan to either go find them myself or have him show them to me on one of the outings (he makes regular trips for family reasons and rather enjoys being chauffeured around these days. It allows him to look around without being in danger of crashing the car.

I fired up my search engines and started looking for these places.

One shows on the map that I don't think I will ever be able to access. At least not without violating a number of laws. And looking at the location, I don't think I want to take on another hike into the woods.

One can only imagine the story that lies untold there.

A single headstone shared by two brothers who each died as infants. Neither reached a year old and they were not alive at the same time.

Bennie Bray lived a scant seven months: 12 Nov 1888 to 14 Jun 1889.

Ira Bray survived a little longer making the eight month mark: 14 Jun 1890 to 4 Mar 1891

These are the only two burials recorded at the site. The description states there may be a third, unmarked grave. If there is, it is almost certainly another member of the same family.

Their parents rest some 15 miles away in a church graveyard having outlived these two sons (there are at least nine more children) by some 30 to 40 years.

I would have to research land records to confirm my theory, but what I envision is that the land where these two boys are buried was the family farm at the time. At some point in the ensuing 10-15 years the family relocated further north, closer to the church where the parents and other family would ultimately be buried. And, I note that the boys' grandmother was already buried in as she passed away when Bennie was a mere three days old. (Side note: The grandfather appears to have died at some point between 1880 and 1900 as he appears on the 1880 census and not on the 1900 when he would have been about 85 years old. I can speculate that he is in the same cemetery as his wife, but is not marked or not recorded there in Find A Grave)

Since the boys share a headstone and Ira was not yet born when Bennie died, it is clear that Bennie probably lay in an unmarked grave for almost two years. That it was only after Ira died that there was a marker placed. 

Was this a matter of finances? Were there insufficient funds for two stones? Was it that there didn't seem to be a good enough reason to mark a single grave and it was only when the second child died did the parents see sufficient cause to place a marker?

And you have to wonder when the family last visited the graves. 

So. Two totally switch genres from Rock Music lyrics to J.R.R. Tolkien parody;

In two graves in the wood lay to infants. Not ornate, maintained, visited graves, but lonely, forgotten, untended graves. And that is sad.

You Got To Know When To Fold'em

 I have a love/hate relationship with mysteries. I love them when I first encounter them. Doubly so when I solve them. But hand me one that I cannot solve and I absolutely loathe it.

I have one I hate right now.

I encountered a child's grave on one of our excursions cleaning headstones. We were in a waiting period while the D/2 was working on the stones we were cleaning and I was drawn to an obvious child's grave nearby, obvious by the small (now headless) lamb atop the marker.

The marker itself was so black and grimy that it absolutely looked as though it were made from anthracite coal. Nothing of the engraving could be made out except by side-lighting. Moss and lichens combined with algae to make an already sad item absolutely wretched.

I was compelled to see what I could do to improve its condition.

First came re-centering it on its base. Most people are unaware that many, if not most, monuments rely on sheer mass and proper placement to keep everything in place. In this case the upper part had been shifted slightly off center. That was easily remedied.

Next up was the scraping. The lichen and moss, for the most part, gave way with minor scraping with a plastic putty knife. The flat and easily accessed nooks popped right off. Those in the deeper recesses were another matter. And the algae held fast like limpets on tidal rocks.

We gave it a good soaking with the D/2 and waited the obligatory period before attacking it with the scrub brush.

Few things are as satisfying as watching dirt, grime, and mildew die an horrible death. A few minutes of scrubbing (and more than a little sweating in the humidity) and bits of white started peaking through the nasty stuff. Damned if it doesn't look like this monument is actually white marble! A through rinse and a second scrub and rinse left things greatly improved but with a long way to go before success could be declared. Time to leave the D/2 to do its magic.

I have it on the list to revisit around Christmas to check.

But my weakness is and remains the stories behind the graves. Naturally this meant research. First, pulling up the memorial in Find A Grave to see it there is family linked. There is not. But there is a transcription of the death notice. That gives me a father's (Mr. and Mrs.) and a sister's name to work from. And it appears that this little girl fell victim to something I have heard about my entire life, but never before encountered anyone who experienced it. Let alone died of it: Ptomaine. Basically food poisoning. Having had food poisoning myself, I can imagine - to an extent - how horrible that had to be for her.

I can only hear Alan Sherman's voice singing "Hello, Mudda. Hello, Fadda. Here I am at, Camp Granada."

Off to Ancestry!

And therein lies the mystery. As the little girl was born in 1902 and died in 1914, she only appears on one Census. Thankfully it isn't the notoriously missing 1890 version!

She appears in the household of an aunt  as a niece along with the sister mentioned in the funeral notice. There is no father, but there is a woman of the right age listed immediately before her and her sister who is noted as a sister to woman - the aunt - that is listed as the head of the household. 

Interestingly, both women are listed as widows. 

So I have what appears to be the mother's first name. No maiden name, though.

I start building the tree including the sister and mother. It certainly isn't much to work from!

With so little detail on the mother and father, I focus for a moment on the sister. Lots of good detail on her. Most interesting is her death certificate as it gives their father and mother. And the mother's maiden name! 

Unsurprisingly the father's middle initial is not the same on the death certificate and in the funeral notice. No real shock there. 

But having the mother's maiden name makes the search a tad bit more productive. Right off the bat I find the parent's marriage license. Naturally this, too, contradicts with the Census. In 1910 the mother shows being in her current marriage 6 years (and having born 2 children with both living). Married six years but the older child, the one who started me on this inane quest, is age 7. Grrr. Moreover the license dates from 1896 meaning that in 1910 the marriage would have been 14, not 6 years.

I cannot find the mother in the 1900 Census at all, under either her maiden or married name. She remarried before 1920 and that second marriage really confuses the search engine.

She does have a memorial in Find A Grave, and it is in the same cemetery as the child. Great. Now I have to go and try finding it. I have to know if it is near the child or not.

Arrghhh!!! Why do I do this to myself?

I can find precious little on the father. I think I have him in the 1880 census as a 10 year old living in the same county as the marriage occurred, so it is plausible that this is the right person. The 1890 census is, alas, missing. And I cannot place him on the 1900 census with any degreee of confidence.

I do see him and the mother listed in the city directory in 1906, so can narrow down his death to be 1906 or later. 

No death, no burial for him.

So. Neither parent is listed in the 1900 Census. And their marriage year is in doubt. And the father cannot be found after 1906. Just fecking great.

Taking a side track for a moment. I also traced the aunt (sister to the mother) based on the now infamous 1910 Census entry. It states she is a widow. BUT! She married in 1887 and her husband did not die until 1926!

Somebody telling some lies!

I find the aunt and her husband in the 1900 Census. And in the 1920 Census. But I also find the aunt as a widow in the 1920 Census.

Obviously I have the wrong husband! SO! I get to delete all that work and rethink things........ This is the only candidate I could find. And he is wrong.

That's it. I am, as veterans might put it, popping smoke on this one. I  found the mother and submitted a change to link her to the child. That is the best I can do with the dearth of data. 

These mysteries broke me.

Touchstone Cemetery

Ol' Br'er has visited many a grave in out of the way places. Many's the time he has pushed through the briars to find a long abandoned and nearly forgotten cemetery. So you would think he has seen just about everything.

You would be mistaken were you to think so.

Touchstone Cemetery was a new experience. Not totally new, mind you, but definitely different.

Now, Br'er was introduced to bizarre graves back in his baby bunny years. Mamma Rabbit used to shop at a now defunct mall. In the mall parking lot stood (and still stands) a large stone edifice that looks much like a pyramid with the top third neatly sliced off. Naturally he had to investigate. Slipping under the gate and up the stairs he found several graves. Apparently the surrounding land was once a family farm and this was the burial site for the family. Whether the structure was build by the family at the time, or whether it was later build to enclose and protect the graves when the mall was built is not clear. If the later, then the surrounding ground was excavated a good 12 feet or more leaving the graves elevated at the original ground level.

I will leave it to Atlas Obscura to give photos and descriptions for this site, the Crowley Mausoleum. But I have to be pedantic and note that this is clearly NOT a mausoleum as the photos will attest.

The point being that graves in a parking lot is not a new thing to Ol' Br'er.

But a cemetery in a gas station/convenience store parking lot, across from the pumps and next to the dumpster? Yeah. That is a new one.

Like the Crowley graves, the surrounding area has clearly been lowered, though only by about three feet. Getting into the cemetery is not easy. At least not old we old, fat folk.

The cemetery is the green trapezoid on the upper left of the image. And access is via the 'green' swath running from the lower left corner of the cemetery along the parking spaces to the road. This path starts at current ground level and gradually raises to the level of the cemetery. Assuming you can avoid the trash strewn about.

I was stunned to find that the grave of Lola Cantrell and Infant Son had never been added to Find A Grave.

I was even more stunned to find a marker dating from 1998! A full century plus three years since the last burial. Try as I might, I have not been able to connect this last burial with the Touchstone family at all. Indeed, I can find little on the individual at all. Though I am willing to speculate that it was a cremains burial rather than a full body interment. I have encountered this before where there is a century or more between burials in a cemetery. Those were all cremains. Frankly, given the cemetery locations involved, getting a casket to the site would have proven quite an ordeal. Just getting the headstone in place had to be no small undertaking.

So. Was Michael Battle a relative? A descendant? Or was this someone taking advantage of the circumstances of an open spot in a cemetery no one pays any attention to?

Care to write a story of a crime being hidden in plain site?