Guest post by S. B. Julian
If you want a bit of life, go to the cemetery. You’ll never be alone there, and I’m not talking about “dem bones dem bones.” In addition to the buried folk (and the colorful stories, poems and snippets of history on their headstones), a great many living beings can be encountered as well. Sitting on a bench in the cemetery near me, in the shade of a venerable tree, I’m accompanied by an entourage of birds. On the ground, if I bring a snack, I’ll be joined by squirrels. Many urban deer make their homes here, for, as properties are subdivided and housing densified across the neighbourhoods, the cemetery might be a town’s largest remaining green space.
There, the earth stirs. Underground, the world hums. Fungi silently wind their tendrils into the roots of shrubbery, transporting soil minerals into plant bodies, metabolizing growth. It’s a busy place, a graveyard. If you did a “bio-blitz” there (a species count over a day), you’d find a plenitude of insects, hills of ants, nests of spiders, maybe even a den of garter snakes. In my town, tiny speedy lizards dart over sun-warmed gravestones, descendants of lizards that escaped from an erstwhile zoo.
Seeds scatter and acorns fall. Jays move them from place to place and forget where they put them, leaving them to germinate and perhaps extend an urban oak woodland. Wildflowers, given a chance, erupt in the grass between graves and attract bees and hummingbirds, which scatter pollen and keep life blooming in the midst of the grave-dwellers’ long sleep.
Downtown there’s noise and crowds of people robotically lurching across intersections, eyes fixed on smartphones while cars honk to get their attention. That may be a sort of urban “liveliness,” but it’s not life, like the life in a garden. The best cemeteries double as park space, and may have the best chance of surviving as such, since to graves we accord a certain … gravitas. Private household gardens may be wantonly built over, but civic cemetery or atmospheric church graveyard is a site of precious conservation.
Each season presents its own wares. Snowdrops often appear in spring in churchyards because during the Victorian Age in England they became popular for their early blooming and pure white color, apparently seen as symbols of hope, purity, innocence, and consolation. Lilac comes shortly after, with swoonworthy fragrance. In some cemeteries, a wise past gardener might have had the wit to plant a California lilac here, a hydrangea there, with the blue hues glowing softly in summer evening light after the setting sun lights up the red hot pokers. Robins trill their commentary. Unfortunately, in spring the predatory crows might steal the robins’ eggs from their nests. The cemetery’s full of life, but not always peacefully so. It’s full of real life in all its competitive biological variety.
Me, I watch the groundskeepers, and think they must have the sweetest gardening job in the world. They’re not the only ones doing it, either. There are adhoc “shadow gardeners” here and there, neighbours who tend the graves of relatives and gather a few seeds, snip a few cuttings, even pick blackberries where brambles are still allowed to surge over the fences. Why not? In December after a windstorm, I gather blown-down branches of cedar and fir, bringing seasonal scent into the house just as the pagans once did (in Latin, pagana, the “women of the countryside”).
The contrast of death and life adds to the theatricality of the setting. In growing cities with shrinking green space, we can only hope this show is allowed to go on, that here at least the big trees—the chestnuts, cedars, hemlocks, and firs—will keep their protections. Many a Victorian cemetery was planted as an arboretum, filling a double role as final resting place and generative growing place. As “habitat,” it was as much for the living as the dead, and with botanical habitat shrinking everywhere else, the cemetery may be the last place where plants can live in peace.
Growing up in a small town in Western Massachusetts, we kids often played in the local cemetery, much to the dismay of some who thought it was disrespectful and would order us to leave. (We never did.) I loved the huge, dramatic yew hedge that bordered three sides of it. One time, near sunset, we were visited by a huge black Newfoundland, and we ended up sitting on top of the mausoleum, waiting for him to lose interest and leave. Maybe because of that, I have had a great fondness for cemeteries. I recently learned that house values are lower if you live next door to a cemetery. I was surprised! I’d pay more for the privilege.
Picnicking in cemeteries was all the rage in the US at the end of the 19th century.
https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/picnic-in-cemeteries-america
I’m often met with polite silence when I admit to visiting cemeteries on my travels. Your comment, “in growing cities with shrinking green space, we can only hope this show is allowed to go on,” reminded me that I live three blocks from one cemetery that did not survive, here in Greenwich Village. Now a playing field, the Trinity Church Cemetery was acquired by the City of New York in 1895 after a 10 year legal battle. The remains of 10,000 New Yorkers were moved to a new cemetery in upper Manhattan and the site was converted to a park. Today, even that beaux arts park has been swept away, replaced with an astroturf playing field. One sole monument, to fallen firefighters, remains in a corner, unnoticed by most passersby.
I have often thought that a cemetery as a neighbor would be quiet and peaceful. I had never considered the life ttbere as a result of its purpose. What a wonderful way to view the final resting places of others.
I am a fan of cemeteries as well. Before the pandemic our daily walk was in our Oakland, CA neighborhood cemetery, a place of particular grace because it was designed by Olmstead after the Civil War. It closed to the public when the pandemic began. As we tip toe back to life, the cemetery inches toward normality by opening 2 days per week. We appreciate those weekly visits even more now that they are rationed.
We also visit cemeteries when we travel because they reveal clues about the culture we are visiting. We just returned from Iceland where we visited a cemetery that seemed more alive than dead. In mid-summer every gravesite was planted with flowering annuals that won’t survive the harsh Icelandic winter. Clearly this is a culture that respects their ancestors.
Thanks for this tribute to cemeteries…a tribute they deserve.
Maybe one day the house values will go the other way, when population growth gives rarity value to ANY. Cool childhood story — you kids must have thought the Hound of the Baskervilles had arrived …
Glad you’re getting access to your local cemetery back. Interesting about Iceland. History + Nature such a heady combination. Historic Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, full of famous folks, is also full of stray cats – Bill Richardson wrote a hilarious novel imagining them as reincarnations of the famous dead authors, actors, scholars, artists etc. buried there (such as Gertrude Stein) — https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/352381.Waiting_for_Gertrude
I visited the city of Augustine in Florida, purportedly the oldest city in the continental US. I went to the cemetery there and was captured by the age and grandness of the memorials. I have always enjoyed the peace and beauty of a well-cared for cemetery.
I’m the one who puts annuals every year on my Father’s side. Still using the hand grass clippers of my grandma’s. Lovely rural setting. I take a lunch and sit on one of the family stones. The township doesn’t encourage the planting. Maintenance cost. My daughter says she will continue the practice b
That’s so cool.
Your comment about your friend brings to mind the book The Rose Rustlers by Greg Grant and William C. Welch. https://www.amazon.com/Rustlers-AgriLife-Research-Extension-Service/dp/162349544X The book chronicles their travels as they search for old roses in danger of dying out, snooping around cemeteries, vacant lots, old farmhouses, etc. I’ve always fantasized about what a fantastic endeavor that must be for a gardener. Road trip!
I have a friend that visits old & overgrown rural cemeteries while traveling . Besides the peace & solitude he finds & collects cuttings from no longer available species plants in the weeds around the perimeter. He’ll also pull over on the roadside if something interesting interesting catches his eye.