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.

And you thought you had a hard life

Being a detailed analytic person is both a blessing and a curse when tracing a family tree. I’ve mentioned before that of late I’m extending the family tree not just back to direct ancestors across and down at each generation as far as I can to uncover the various aunts uncles and cousins in each generation. Part of this research usually results in finding various details about lives that jump out until a story to me. Usually the stories are tragic. I recently hit one that just struck me as being exceedingly sad.

I was working on the descendents of one particular 5^th great uncle on the paternal side and hit upon a fourth cousin twice removed whose data nearly broke my heart. Every detail I uncovered made the story all the sadder.

The first thing that jumped out was that she died tragically young. Just twenty-five years old. That alone would tell sad tale. But there was more.

The second thing I noticed was that she left a son behind a mere 4 years old at her death. But the tragic details kept coming.

I then noticed that she lost a child who did not even live long enough to be named. Even the child's sex was not recorded. It was merely noted as "Infant". But still there was more.

She had died a scant eight days after giving birth to that second child, a child who would survive her only fourteen more days.

It is a fairly common practice for a mother and child who die in close proximity to each other to be buried together. Unfortunately given the two-week gap between their passings almost certainly meant that they were buried separately, though in the same family cemetery. This is one of the cemeteries I sought to locate and better document recently but was unsuccessful due to the difficulty in accessing it. So I do not know if there are even markers for the graves there. What little is recorded states that there is an iron fence surrounding the cemetery, but there are no photographs or notation of headstones.

On one side of the tragedy we have two most untimely deaths. On the other we have two survivors-the husband and the firstborn child. Even this side of the story doesn’t exactly end well.

At the time of the two passings the couple and their child were living with her parents (my third cousin three times removed and his wife). This was in 1906. The 1910 census shows the father and son still living with his in-laws. By the 1920 census the widower had remarried (around 1917) and fathered two more daughters. The entire family was now living with his parents. The daughters appeared in the census as nine months and two years ten months respectively.

But history was to repeat itself all too soon. He died in 1928 leaving the son technically orphaned (both biological parents having died) but mercifully an adult in his mid-20s. The two daughters were left with her mother both being under the age of ten.

The family was not even to be reunited in death. Aside from the mother and daughter being buried in the same family cemetery, the remaining family were interred in separate cemeteries.

In an odd coincidence the father was to be buried in a church cemetery a relative few miles from his distant cousins living near and buried in the Smith Family/Wolfskin cemetery I have mentioned in previous entries.

I still have work to do to complete the research on this family unit. But even this much of the story reinforces my desire to inspect, document, and photograph that family cemetery that eluded me in my first attempt. If I find that there are no markers then that will simply be the capstone on the list of tragedies in their story.