Cemeteries as Roadside Attractions

South Jersey (especially along Route 9) is unparalleled for roadside attractions. Giant fiberglass cartoon figures, fanciful soft serve ice cream stands, diners, pyramids made of hubcaps, the list goes on. The list now, for me, includes small, pocket-sized cemeteries, like the one above, along Route 9 in Cape May Court House, New Jersey. 

In the summer of 2024, I was researching forgotten cemeteries for my book, “Abandoned Cemeteries of Philadelphia and its Environs” (expected publication in late 2025, on Fonthill). South Jersey, being in the general area of Philly, was on my radar. I happened to be in Cape May, so why not check out the local cemeteries? 

On my drive back north to Philly on Route 9, I noticed some small burial grounds pop up on my phone map. They were right along the highway. I stopped at two of them, plots of land about twenty feet wide, and fifteen feet deep, with maybe as many as ten old headstones standing at attention. The grounds were well taken care of.

Robert Morris in Holmes Family Cemetery

No doubt, these were family plots that had been on private property at one time. A few such burial grounds still exist in Philadelphia, e.g. the DeBenneville (est. 1758) and Vandegrift (est. 1775) cemeteries on North Broad Street and Bristol Pike, respectively, but New Jersey has many more. Why? Certainly south Jersey is more rural, but there must be other reasons why most private family cemeteries in Philadelphia were moved or built over. Chances are that heavy industrialization and rapid population growth in Philadelphia in the mid to late 1800s contributed to the eradication of small family cemeteries.

One of the topics I cover in my book is the disappearance of such small family burial grounds. Large farms and estates dwindled in size as parcels of land were sold off throughout the 1800s and early 1900s. These family burial grounds either disappeared, were built over, or the graves were moved. Some still exist, providing us with interesting slices of history. 

Holmes Family Cemetery along Route 9, Cape May Court House, NJ

A cemetery I stopped at on Route 9 in Cape May Court House (that’s the name of the actual town) was a place that my cellphone map app called the Holmes Family Cemetery. Most of the gravestones had a death date in the early 1800s. Someone had placed small American flags on the veterans’ stones, men who had fought in the Revolutionary War. But wait, there was no Battle of Cape May, right? According to the book, Cape May County Story (Avalon Publishing, 1975) by Boyer and Cunningham:

“New Jersey became the foremost state in resisting British tyranny in January of 1775 when the Assembly voted to present grievances to the King. Jonathan Hand and Eli Elrdidge represented Cape May County at that meeting. No colony was more deeply involved in the Revolution than New Jersey. It was a natural passageway between New York and Philadelphia and was always in a condition of siege. Benjamin Franklin likened it to a barrel, open at both ends. It had been called the “Corridor State” and the “Cockpit of the Revolution” by some, and others referred to this state as the “Pathway to Freedom.”

American men who fought in the famous New Jersey battles of Monmouth, Trenton, Red Bank, and Princeton, had to come from somewhere. Many came from south Jersey, some of whom are probably buried in the Holmes Family Burial Ground. Excluding Quakers (conscientious objectors) and Tories (loyal to the King), the above noted historians tell us that “49 percent of the male population in the state bore arms and New Jersey contributed one eighth of the total men from all the colonies that fought in the war.”

The Holmes Family Cemetery was distinctive in that every headstone had daddy-long-legs spiders on them! Odd. What was even odder was all the other types of spiders dangling from the pine trees on web strands above my head. 

About a mile up the road was a rather peculiar small cemetery in that it appeared to be in someone’s front yard. Curious, I parked across the busy street and walked up to the house, which had a pickup truck parked in the driveway. I knocked on the door. A man about 45 years old appeared. I told him I was researching a book on abandoned cemeteries and asked if he knew the story behind the gravestones in his front yard. My cellphone app called this the Hand Family Burial Ground. Perhaps the Jonathan Hand (1728 – 1789) mentioned in the passage above was a member of this family, and may be resting below one of the nameless, worn stones in this plot.          

The homeowner asked me to wait while he put his shoes on. He came outside carrying a paperback book. He told me that when he bought the house about twenty years ago, it was explained to him that he did not own that small portion of land in his front yard. It was owned by the state of New Jersey. When Route 9, a state-owned highway, was built, all the small burial grounds along it were purchased by the state. The state maintains them. 

Roadside view of Craig's property, Hand Family Cemetery in foreground

Craig's front yard looking toward Route 9, with Hand Family Cemetery near road

The owner, Craig, told me a rather comical story. He said that shortly after he bought the house, he woke up one morning to a lot of activity near the street. Cars were pulling up, people getting out and gathering in the cemetery. Suddenly, shots rang out and he hit the deck! He peeked through one of his windows and realized that a twenty-one gun salute had just occurred. It was Memorial Day and people were placing flags on the graves!

As I thanked him and was turning to leave, he held out the paperback as a gift. He said “My mother was a historian and co-authored this book. You can have it.” The book is called Cape May County Story, the very book I quoted above. And yes, it does mention cemeteries. 

Sarah Somers (1770 - 1796)

It is interesting to see familiar surnames on the stones in these old cemeteries. Sarah Somers (1770 - 1796) and Sarah Hand (1741 – 1826), both buried in the Hand plot, each have surnames that should be familiar to beachgoers who frequent the Jersey shore. Sarah Somers and her husband, Constant Somers, may be related in some way to nearby Somers Point, a south Jersey beach town. Sarah Hand along with her husband Jesse Hand, Esq., may have been related to the still current and popular shore business, Hand’s Department Store on Jersey's Long Beach Island.

Sarah Hand (1741 – 1826)

The two small cemeteries I stopped at had been private family burial grounds at the edges of farms. As the farms were diced up and sold as small packets of land for development as residential properties, the burial grounds were kept intact. There is another small cemetery on the grounds of the Cape May Zoo, but I could not find that one. They may all have been forgotten by the public, as they are hidden in plain sight, but they have, thankfully, been saved from oblivion by the state of New Jersey. They may not be as eye-catching as a giant fiberglass cow, but they will outlast most of Jersey's other roadside attractions.

Cemeteries Are Not So Depressing

What is depressing is watching a Thanksgiving Day parade in the rain. Like the one that happened in Philadelphia this year, 2024, and in NYC, to the multi-million-dollar Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade – Jimmy Fallon’s big smile notwithstanding. I wasn’t even there, I was just watching on television. Depressing watching those people trying to have a good time. I’ve had more fun attending funerals in the rain. 

It's easy for me, a cemetery creeper, to say that, if you’re depressed, go visit a cemetery! Sometimes the world is too much world us, as Wordsworth wrote. Whether it’s during a busy day at work or I’m sitting in my car in the supermarket parking lot watching rats running under a dumpster, I sometimes long to get away – to a cemetery. Quiet and ratless solitude. 

I’ve long felt that there is beauty in the forgotten world of these memory gardens. The absence of distraction allows me to focus, sometimes on nothing in particular. I have fleeting memories of live people whom I’ve met over the years, but I can remember exactly where I made a particular cemetery photograph twenty years ago. I also know that most of my cemetery visits have been fun, and all have been therapeutic. They can be a cushion against the outside world. And those cemetery fences...? 

Originally meant to keep the thoughts of the dead away from those of the living, one can also interpret cemetery fences as demarcations, boundaries of a memory world in which hope and solace reside. Cemeteries can sometimes be more than a cushion for us to relax on, they can be a trampoline for our emotions, our creativity – maybe even our sanity. A private place that most people avoid - in our midst but a world away.

Victoria Wyeth, in her Halloween, 2024, lecture on her family’s artwork (virtual gallery talk sponsored by the Brandywine River Museum in Chaddsford, PA), said that after her grandfather Andrew Wyeth died, she was depressed for months. It was only after her Uncle Jamie flew her to Maine to picnic at her grandfather’s grave, did she experience the calm joy of being in a cemetery.

Victoria and her Uncle Andy (who died in 2009) had been very close, she being his only grandchild. A few months after his death, Jamie Wyeth flew her to Maine where he and Victoria’s Dad took her to the cemetery where Andy was buried. They had a picnic. She said they “turned the cemetery into something that’s not scary.”  Now, whenever she’s sad or something cool happens, she visits the cemetery and talks with her grandfather. She loves that her Dad and Uncle took a situation like that, brought her to a cemetery and made it normal. She went on to say that this interaction with cemeteries is really important, something people tend to avoid.

I used to think that visiting and volunteering to do work in cemeteries was all about respect – respect for the past, and ultimately, respect for ourselves. I now think that respect ties in deeply with memory. Cemeteries are full of memories - maybe not ours, but we can still appreciate them. I volunteer at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Philadelphia. I’ve witnessed people visiting from a thousand miles away, scooting in a motorized wheelchair up a sidewalk cleared by the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc., to visit a grandparent who had died forty years earlier. Witnessing other people’s experience with memory can create a profound impression, a not depressing memory.

When I wrote my new book, Abandoned Cemeteries of Philadelphia and its Environs (due out in 2025 on Fonthill Media), I mention a quote by my friend Ross Mitchell, who at the time I interviewed him in 2006, was the Executive Director of Laurel Hill Cemetery in Philadelphia. I was speaking with him about ways in which an historic cemetery can stay in business (because that’s what cemeteries are, businesses - when they’re full, and can have no new burials, there is no income). 

Laurel Hill, like many cemeteries, hosts events. Sometimes admission is charged, usually donations are requested. Laurel Hill has hosted rock concerts, movie nights, historic tours, running events, classic hearse shows - all to engage the community and create positive memories for the attendees. Such events raise money for the upkeep of the grounds. I asked Ross how he came to terms with people thinking that fund-raising events in a cemetery was disrespectful, an impingement on peoples’ memories. He said: 

“People really need to come here and see Laurel Hill for themselves. They need to overcome their inhibition of ‘why would I want to visit a cemetery’ and realize that not all cemeteries are very depressing places. In fact I think this one is really a celebration of life. And you talk about, well, isn’t it disrespectful? If you look at the monuments and the sculpture in Laurel Hill you know these people wanted these monuments to be seen.”

There are many reasons to visit a cemetery, you don’t need to be visiting someone who died. There is history, art, architecture - and everything in a cemetery changes with the seasons of the year; things look different whenever you visit. You will witness the embodiment of other peoples’ memories and will come away with your own. While its true that during a brief visit we only get a fleeting glimpse of other peoples’ lives, but this can be enough. 

My friend George Hofmann, in his article, Bipolar Disorder and Memory writes about his memory as he gets older (George actually works in a cemetery) - “Instead of some deep resonance I’m lost in wavering impressions. Impressions can be beautiful. Beauty comes more readily in a forgotten world.” 

In the same article, Hofmann mentions a line from the movie, Nomadland, in which the central character states, “What’s remembered lives.” I have all good memories of cemeteries, even the one where I attended the burial of a friend’s nine-year-old son. Although that day was traumatic, the memory was modified years later, when the Dad took over the care of this cemetery - the prior owner could no longer manage it. So this Thanksgiving season, there are things to be thankful for, like memories. And come to think of it, I’ll bet all those people standing in the rain at this year’s Thanksgiving Day parades came away with good memories.

The last question Victoria Wyeth asked her grandfather before he died, was about how to create the color black. He said that he didn’t start by squeezing inky paint from a tube. “You build in the excitement before adding black, you slowly build it up with blues and reds and greens.” So let’s all make sure that when our screens go black, our lives will remain a colorful memory for those we leave behind - full of blues and reds and greens. When they visit your grave, let them leave with a smile - even if they don't know who you are.

REFERENCES:

Why The Cemetery Is a Celebration of Life:

https://www.stoneangels.net/ross-mitchell-part-8-visiting-laurel-hill-why-the-cemetery-is-a-celebration-of-life/

Virtual Gallery Talk with Victoria Wyeth: Halloween Edition 2024:

https://www.brandywine.org/museum/events/virtual-gallery-talk-victoria-wyeth-halloween-edition-2024-0

America’s First Family of Art:

https://pinestrawmag.com/americas-first-family-of-art/

D.O.A. – Accepting Life and Death

The majority of this blog was written by my son, Chris Snyder – a musician and animal shelter worker. I’ll lead off with some introductory text from his Instagram posts. After that, you will read the transcript of my interview with him. (The graphic above was created by Chris, using the Midjourney, a generative artificial intelligence program.)

Back in May of 2023 I started working at ACCT, an animal shelter in Philadelphia. On my 3rd day, the person training me asked if I wanted to help lift something heavy. I said "Yes." We went to the office where the supervisor told us there was a D.O.A. on the loading dock. I didn't know what that meant at the time, but the general mood in the room gave me an idea. As it turned out, D.O.A. means "Dead on Arrival".

This song was inspired by the first time I ever had to handle a D.O.A. I literally went home after and wrote this song as therapy to process what just happened. The song is available at these links:

Sample the song free on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/C1Yeh48irou/

Spotify link for D.O.A. : https://open.spotify.com/track/5XR0JS55VXp9I3gVLysy7V

I wanna thank @rebeccarovnyviolin again for playing violin and @john_townsend_music for mixing/mastering. They both did an amazing job and I am beyond happy with the results. Go follow Rebecca for awesome, epic violin covers and John for hard rock/metal covers and originals. Both are awesome people as well.

I'm not entirely sure what kinds of posts require trigger warnings, but I guess I'll say that just in case. Last week I made a post where I gave a general rundown of the event that inspired "D.O.A.". Now that it's officially released, I'll go more in depth about exactly what happened.

"Dead on Arrival" 

… an animal showed up dead at the shelter. Me and the co-worker training me grabbed a cart and walked to the side of the building. We were told the body would be wrapped in a black bag (which was kind of a relief to me, knowing I at least wouldn't be seeing the animal itself. Maybe that'd make it easier).

When we got to the loading dock, we stood there for a bit trying to figure out if the black bag we were staring at was indeed the body. My co-worker said she thought she could make out the shape of a head. I looked closer and saw she was right. It was clearly a dog's head, specifically that of a pitbull's.

I tentatively walked up to it with the cart. 2 women were sitting there next to it, one of which said "We're too weak to lift it," in a way that sounded like she was trying to lighten the mood slightly. I very gingerly lifted the body down onto the cart (it was much heavier than I was expecting. Apparently, the term "dead weight" is actually a thing). I found myself supporting the body's weight while simultaneously cradling the head to prevent it from landing in an awkward position and possibly breaking the neck. I then wheeled the cart back inside and into the morgue, which smelled like rot, where I lifted the body again.

My coworker was talking to me for 5 minutes afterward, and I didn't hear a word she said. I went home and wrote "D.O.A." as therapy to process what happened.

My interview with Chris Snyder:

1.      Your song, “D.O.A.” is lengthy – 8:55. Why so long?

I listen to a lot of progressive rock and metal, like Dream Theater, which is known for having longer songs.  That definitely rubbed off on me in my song writing.  I've always loved long songs if they're written well, since it feels more like an adventure.  When the climax hits it's that much more emotional, and when it ends it's that much more satisfying since you took more time to get there.  In progressive music the song length can vary from like 2 minutes to 30 minutes.  That might sound crazy to some people but to me it actually feels more natural.  Kind of like how a lifespan doesn't have a fixed time limit.  It can be really short, really long, or somewhere in between.

2.      Your recounting of the experience was shocking to read. Have you gotten over that initial shock?  

Yeah definitely.  It's been about 9 months since it happened so I've had plenty of time to process it.  Since then I've had to handle many more D.O.A.'s and after a while you kinda get desensitized.  You never totally get over it, there's no escaping what you're doing and what you're seeing, but I guess you start to accept it as normal.  You start to see it more like a thing that happens in life and there's no getting around it.  So it's still sad sometimes but no longer shocking.

3.      What have you learned from that experience?  

On the surface I learned what a dead body feels like, how heavy it can be.  I learned that the term "dead weight" is an actual thing.  I could pick up a living dog the same size as the D.O.A. with ease, but somehow the D.O.A. felt incredibly heavy to lift.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it was so limp.  On a more subconscious/visceral level I probably learned about the reality of life and death.  It's one thing to hear about death or to see it, but it's a very different thing to feel it, to carry it.  It kinda forces you to accept it as reality.

4.  They say that when working with the sick, dead, and dying, one has to keep their emotions in check. Have you learned to do that?

I think after doing this kind of thing for a while you naturally start to compartmentalize it.  And it isn't even something I've consciously tried to do, it just kinda happened like that.  A few weeks ago I saw a dead mouse in my apartment and freaked out.  Interesting that a dead mouse in my apartment still affected me, meanwhile I'm handling dead animals at work while barely flinching.  The hardest part is when you have to be there for a euthanasia, sit in on it and watch it happen.  That's still sad for me.  Other people who have been there longer barely seem affected by it though.  Not sure if that was a conscious decision on their part or not, but I'm assuming people sometimes need to figure out ways to protect themselves emotionally so they don't lose their minds.  I do wonder if there should be a balance though.  Like, yeah you definitely need to look out for your emotional well being but you also don't wanna lose your humanity as a result.

Chris Snyder (photo by Collette Snyder)

5. The music is a departure in style for you, based on all your recorded original compositions. Can you comment on that?

At the time when I wrote it I wasn't able to record my guitar, so I was actually kinda stuck with my laptop.  I made use of the VSTs (virtual instruments) in my recording software and wrote most of it that way.  So it kinda happened on accident.  Then later on when I was able to record guitar again, I wrote the guitar parts to go alongside the violin.  I realized I wanted an actual violinist to play on it, so I hired a friend of mine, Rebecca Rovny, who's amazing.  It's definitely the most orchestral song I've ever written, so in that sense it's different compared to my other songs.  That being said, the first instrument I ever learned was keyboard, and I would mainly use the piano and string sounds (violin, cello, etc.) to make music that sounded pretty similar to "D.O.A.".  So I'd say this style has always been in me, but maybe it took this kind of event to bring it out again.

6.  How did you get Rebecca and John to collaborate with you on this? To lend their artistry to something only you were feeling?

I've known Rebecca for a few years now through a Facebook group called Musician of All Trades.  It's run by Youtube violinist Taylor Davis, who's known for her violin covers.  I took Taylor's course called Musician of All Trades, which gives you access to the private Facebook group.  I met John on Instagram through another fellow musician I met in the Musician of All Trades group.  John had mixed and mastered another song of mine called "For My Boy", which is about my last dog.  So I just asked both of them if they'd be interested in working together and they both said "yes" which I was really grateful for.

As far as I know, John and Rebecca never had to handle a D.O.A., so in that sense they may not have been able to fully understand what I was feeling at the time.  But at the same time I'd say the emotion in the song is pretty universal.  It's basically about grief.  Both John and Rebecca are animal lovers, and both have experienced loss.  John had at least one dog pass away, and he's posted in social media about the death of one or two of his family members.  Rebecca said the story behind "D.O.A." hit home for her since she's a dog lover.  She told me she was imagining the events I talked about in the story while recording her parts and was getting emotional while doing it.  So even though they might not have ever handled a D.O.A., they were still able to empathize and understand it enough to convey the right emotion.

7. You’ve adopted a shelter dog since experiencing the D.O.A. Can you tell us about that?

I haven't adopted a dog yet (although I would love to in the future), but me and my sister Collette are fostering one.  So basically we took a dog from ACCT (the shelter I work at), and are keeping her at our place and promoting her on social media so someone can adopt her.  We'd both love to adopt her but there's certain limitations we have that are preventing us from doing that right now.  Her name's Sophia, and she's apparently a pit/boxer mix.  Super sweet and cuddly.  Can be shy/fearful of new people so it might take a little bit for her to warm up to you, but once she does she'll just wanna be around you all the time and cuddle.  She's one of the nicest dogs I've ever lived with and she's very smart.  She's medium energy, not super energetic but not lazy.  She enjoys going for walks, but is also kind of a couch potato and would love to just sit and watch movies with you.

8.  Does Sophia like to hear you play?

At first Sophia was scared of my guitar.  When I took it out the first time she backed away, and when I started playing she ran into the other room with Collette.  But since then she's warmed up to it and every now and then will even look mildly intrigued.  Usually she barely seems to notice though.  Maybe I just haven't found her taste in music yet.

Other social media links: https://linktr.ee/chrissnyderguitar

Emotions Evoked by Grave Markers

In September of 2024 I had a show of some of my cemetery photography at Box Spring Gallery in Philadelphia. It was called, “Ghosts.” Nine of my cemetery snow photographs were exhibited. The image you see here was one of the framed photographs.

During the opening reception, there was a woman with her daughter, walking from photo to photo, looking at each piece. I overheard their conversation in front of this one. The mom asked the girl, who was maybe six years old, “What emotion do you feel when you look at this?” The girl said, “I feel cold.”

The mom then said something like, “I feel cold too, but when I look into her eyes, everything seems to get warmer and the snow begins to melt away.” What an amazing observation. Very personal.

Because this statue has human-like qualities, it becomes easier to assign human characteristics to it. And so maybe it becomes easier to react to it in some emotive way. Annette Stott points out in her paper “Personhood and Agency: A Theoretical Approach to Gravemarkers in Mainstream American Cemeteries,”1 that there are various kinds of cemetery monuments ranging from those that bear no resemblance to a human being, to those that recall the human shape. These gravemarkers guarantee the deceased’s continued visibility into a distant future and bring new life to the person’s emplaced and re-bodied identity. 

That last line is a mouthful, but what she means is that long after the buried body has disintegrated, the gravemarker becomes a physical substitute for that person. If said gravemarker has a human form, it is that much easier to relate to it as the actual deceased person. 

Observers seem to find meaning in the images I make, probably different from the meaning or feeling the statue was originally intended to invoke. I try not to define these photographs. I’m usually surprised by peoples’ observations. I dislike giving the photographs titles, because that can very easily define a piece. The one at top is called “Denizen.” Kind of vague, right? Almost meaningless. That’s my intent. I would much rather the viewer find personal meaning in the work, as the mom did above.

Many of the images in the show were cemetery statues and all of them were photographed in the snow. They were challenging to make, since it was cold, windy, and sometimes snowing as I plodded through various cemeteries. So there is a story behind each piece, but I’m not there to recreate that for all viewers. That’s why I need each individual piece to stand on its own. Artists are sometimes urged to write an “Artist’s Statement” for an exhibit, to help put the work in perspective for the viewer. Sometimes this helps, sometimes not. As I said, I don’t really want to define everything for the observer. After they purchase a piece and live with it a few months or years, perhaps it will take on new meanings.

Artist Statement: A Frozen Elegy

Through the lens of a camera, cemeteries in the snow reveal a frozen elegy, where silence and solitude merge to create a visual ode to the eternal cycle of existence. The unpredictability of nature challenges me to create images that capture the ephemeral beauty of the moment.

A snow-covered landscape transforms cemeteries into a surreal and hauntingly beautiful realm. The soft white blanket conceals the intricate details of tombstones, creating a minimalist aesthetic that accentuates the stark contrasts between calm and suffering, between life and death.

There is something very intimate about being in a snow-covered cemetery by yourself. Leaving one’s footsteps in silence serves as a reminder of the shared human experience of mourning, remembrance, and the fact that life does, in fact, go on.

When I wrote the statement above, I was thinking more about the experience of making the photographs, and I hadn’t thought about the monuments, the statues, the tombstones themselves. The mom’s comments drew me back to the stones. 

At the time of the exhibit, I was finishing up a new book I’m writing called, “Abandoned Cemeteries of Philadelphia and its Environs,” and Stott’s comments kept coming back to me as I wrote about one abandoned cemetery after another. Her paper addresses the power that a gravemarker has over us. A stone is just a stone until a name and date are carved into it. Then it begins to take on an identity. When it is placed on a grave, it simply marks the spot where that person’s bones are buried. A century later, the bones are dust and the coffin probably disintegrated. At that point, when we look out over a cemetery filled with hundred-year-old gravestones, we see them as person substitutes. We don’t think of them all as simply marking the graves where the people are buried.

So to look back at a face in the snow and breathe life into it is not an unusual reaction. Many people have had some visceral response to a gravestone, a statue, a monument. Sometimes the encounter elicits an emotion that we have no name for. Stott does a wonderful job explaining why we react to gravemarkers the way we do.

“One way people demonstrate their humanity to themselves is through grave marking, an activity no other living being seems compelled to do.” – Annette Stott

The fact that the curator of the Box Spring Gallery, Gaby Heit, came up with the title “Ghosts,” for the exhibit was fortuitous. It made me think that the people buried beneath these stones are now nothing more than ghosts – the stone is all that is left. As there are probably no people still alive who even remember the deceased whose graves these stones mark, the stones may be the only tangible evidence left that these people even existed. They are truly, as Stott calls them, “person substitutes.” And because of that we react to them differently than we would to an unmarked stone found on a mountainside, for example.

Stott calls this “agency.” Art objects like grave markers have agency in that they are representative of the deceased, yes, but they can act as a surrogate, an “agent” for the deceased. The statue in the top photo, the denizen of some particular cemetery, is also bonded to that particular cemetery. All things equal, it will always be there, and only there. A sobering, if not chilling remark Stott makes is that:

“Gravestones designate a border between life and death, body and spirit, by marking the place on earth where the body is hidden from sight permanently.” – Annette Stott

So perhaps that is one reason we get a funny feeling when we look at a tombstone or monument in a cemetery - it brings to mind our own mortality. We see that border between life and death - our life, and eventually, our death. 

REFERENCES

1. Stott, A “Personhood and Agency: A Theoretical Approach to Gravemarkers in Mainstream American Cemeteries,” Association for Gravestone Studies, Markers Vol. XXXV, Sterling, 2019

The Cemeteries of Baltimore, Maryland

Chapel, Greenmount Cemetery

No one is ever going to rewrite Led Zeppelin’s, “Going to California” as “Going to Baltimore” (with an achin’ in my heart… ). However, I am quite passionate about Baltimore’s Cemeteries. In this post, I’m going to attempt to tell you why. I was just interviewed by American Cemetery & Cremation magazine for an article they published on “cemetery bloggers,” and the interviewer asked me if I had any favorite cemeteries. I had to say that most of them are in Baltimore, which surprised the author, Alexandra Kathryn Mosca. 

The interview is in the June 2024 issue, if you want to pop down to your local 7-Eleven and pick up a copy. There is a link at the end of this post to view the article electronically, compliments of the publisher, Kates-Boylston Publications. The article is called “Cemetery Bloggers – Blending History and Reverence.” 

American Cemetery & Cremation

Alexandra is from New York and is very passionate about New York City’s many wonderful cemeteries. New York has some glorious Victorian-era sculpture gardens, on the Mount Auburn garden cemetery plan - for example, Green-Wood in Brooklyn and Woodlawn in the Bronx. Mount Auburn, by the way, was the first rural garden cemetery in the U.S. (est. 1831), modeled after Paris’ Pere LeChaise Cemetery (est. 1804), the first garden cemetery. This was followed by Philadelphia’s Laurel Hill in 1836. Garden cemeteries sprang up all over the nation. Baltimore has a lovely “rural” cemetery – as these arboreal sculpture gardens were originally called – Greenmount Cemetery (est. 1838). They were called rural because they were originally built outside the city limits. With the rapid growth of American cities in the mid and late 1800s, these rural cemeteries quickly became inner-city cemeteries. It’s a testament to our culture and society that these wonderful places still exist. And speaking of culture and society, people need to lose any parti pris they may have about Baltimore. There is more to this city than the "Inner Harbor" and John Waters (with all respect to Mr. Waters).

Druid Ridge Cemetery (infrared E4 film image made in 2002)

There are vast burial grounds in Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx that rival Baltimore’s magnificent sculpture gardens; however, in my cemetery travels across the U.S., I’ve not seen Baltimore’s equal. My “favorite cemeteries” reply surprises a lot of people who have asked me that question over the twenty-five years I’ve been photographing cemeteries. If you like Victorian garden cemeteries, and you like them densely packed with marble monuments as far as the eye can see, then Baltimore is for you. Loudon Park Cemetery in Baltimore, at 500 acres, is actually larger than either Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn or Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx.

New Cathedral Cemetery, Baltimore

If you want star power, sure, New York is the clear winner. Celebrities, business magnates, mobsters – NY’s got the lion’s share. You’d have to go to Chicago or California to find its equal. But if you want to stroll endlessly through grounds densely packed with wonderful Victorian-era marble sculptures, magnificent Gothic mausoleums, and winged bronze angels, Baltimore is the clear winner. Recently, I was so overwhelmed upon entering Baltimore’s New Cathedral Cemetery (photo below), that I just laughed at the sheer sweeping vista of statuary in my field of vision. The deep, broad landscape pans around you like an iMax movie. I was so stunned that I failed to capture the scene photographically – I just walked, wide-eyed and dazed through the labyrinth of monuments. 

New Cathedral Cemetery, Baltimore (Photo by Rachel Bailey)

Luckily, my friend Rachel (IG @photosofcemeteries) was better able to maintain a discerning and objective eye and in so doing, captured the sweeping landscape you see here in a way that I wished I had. Master photographer Robert Capa said, “If your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough.” Well, this obviously does not hold true in all cases! My photographs of the statuary and architecture in Baltimore cemeteries suffer from my being too close to my subject! I need to step back, literally. Live and learn. I think this is necessary to capture the full effect of the scene presented to you. One of my photographer heroes, Mary Ellen Mark, said, “It’s not when you press the shutter, but why you press the shutter.”

Calvary Cemetery in Queens, New York

To be fair, Calvary Cemetery (above) in Queens is massively impressive and jam-packed with Victorian monuments – and has an amazing view of Manhattan. It is similar in scope to Holy Redeemer and Loudon Park in Baltimore. One thing that Calvary lacks, however, that Baltimore cemeteries have in abundance, is access. For instance, New York’s cemeteries are so spread out, you could not visit Woodlawn and Calvary on the same day – unless you had a helicopter. In Baltimore, you can easily drive from Druid Ridge Cemetery to Prospect Hill Cemetery (where entertainer Divine is buried) in seventeen minutes (according to Google Maps). Baltimore’s cemeteries are so close, you can’t swing a cat without hitting one (to paraphrase Mark Twain).

Divine's grave, Prospect Hill Cemetery

The main advantage of Baltimore’s cemeteries compared to those of NYC, is that they are easily accessible by car. The Evergreens Cemetery in Brooklyn and Woodlawn in the Bronx are fabulous places, but the traffic and logistical planning one must contend with to access these destinations can be mind-boggling at times. Once, years ago, my brother and I made a trip to NYC to visit Woodlawn Cemetery. At Grand Central, we got on the wrong train and mistakenly headed out to Long Island! By the time we got back to Grand Central, it was too late in the day to get to Woodlawn. Mission aborted. In Baltimore, even the most immense and intense burial grounds are immediately accessible! Baltimore City Cemetery is five minutes from Baltimore Hebrew Cemetery which is five minutes from Holy Redeemer Cemetery – all on the same road! 

Gardens of Faith Memorial Gardens, Baltimore

Now, being from Philadelphia, I would be remiss were I not to mention the grand cemeteries like Laurel Hill, Mount Moriah, and The Woodlands. These are large Victorian-era rural cemeteries like Mount Auburn outside Boston, and like New York’s Green-Wood and Woodlawn cemeteries. All are amazing, serene, finely landscaped and picturesque sculpture gardens, patterned after Père Lachaise. A main difference between all these and Père Lachaise, I now realize, is that the monuments, mausoleums, and other grave markers in Père Lachaise seem to be more densely-packed than what you typically see in American garden cemeteries. It is more like what one finds in the cemeteries of Baltimore, e.g. in Greenmount and Baltimore City Cemetery. 

Holy Redeemer Cemetery, Baltimore (Photo by Rachel Bailey)

Here's another example above of a sweeping Baltimore landscape, Holy Redeemer Cemetery (again, photographed by @photosofcemeteries, not yours truly). Holy Redeemer, by the way, must have the largest abandoned cemetery chapel I’ve ever seen – the green-domed building in this photograph. (Psst …if you look through the keyhole in the red door, you can see inside! But take a real camera with a zoom. Thanks to Teresa @teresacast for pointing this out.)

Greenmount Cemetery

What prompts me to write about Baltimore’s cemeteries at this time, is my friends. I’d been extolling the virtues of these places for twenty years to anyone who asked, but it has only been since 2023 that many of my Philadelphia-area cemetery photography friends began making the hour-and-a-half trip to the Land of the Crab Cake. However, I don’t know that anyone ever went to Baltimore based on my suggestion. Small groups of these cemetery photographers, as well as individuals, have been exploring Baltimore cemeteries over the last year or so. 

Loudon Park Cemetery

One member of our group discovered Baltimore’s treasures years ago on her own. She photographs there on a regular basis. It was at her insistence that many of the others in our group followed suit. It really had nothing to do with my influence. This is really a joy for me to experience, actually – I’m watching others discover their passion for these cemeteries as I had done in the early 2000s. And as I am a part of this group of photographers, this has rekindled my interest and love of these destinations.

I say we ‘discovered” Baltimore’s cemetery gems as if no one knew they were there. While its true that most people may be unaware of their existence, most of these properties – large and small – are well-maintained. It is not the case that any of them are neglected or abandoned. The general public is simply unaware of their existence, or just does not care, and I can appreciate that. I fall into the small category of people who do care. And I appreciate the fact that the city, synagogues, churches, and other organizations maintain these sacred spaces, preserving the dignity of those who are buried within their grounds.

Greif family angel, Baltimore Hebrew Congregation Cemetery

Some of Baltimore’s cemeteries, like Baltimore Hebrew Congregation Cemetery, are walled in, gated and locked – only accessible by checking in at the gatehouse. This keeps the contents, as well as its visitors, safe. By the way, it’s unusual to find an angel in a Jewish cemetery. But this relatively small place has numerous life-sized bronze angels and other effigy sculptures that are simply amazing. Here’s a 2004 photo of me with one. She’s still there if you’d like to stop by for a dance.

Author in Baltimore Hebrew Cemetery, 2004.

I suppose Baltimore’s cemeteries have a deeper meaning for me. I explored these burial grounds back in the early to mid-2000s, when my life was going through an upheaval and I needed alone time with my camera. “All art, like all love, is rooted in heartache,” photographer Alfred Stiegletz said. Walking these many arboreal sculpture gardens alone was therapeutic for me. I saw, touched, and walked amidst exquisite art that I never knew existed. Artwork that most people do not know exists. Sometimes you just have to create your own happiness. 

Greenmount Cemetery

I was happy – actually thrilled – when I happened upon this marble statue (at left) in Greenmount Cemetery, probably around 2004. It confused me, and after photographing it, I spent years researching its meaning. Hercules now graces my business card. From what I’ve determined, this is him as a child, wearing the lion’s skin that he wore as an adult (after killing the monstrous Nemean lion). I surrounded myself with such quiet beauty while the world threw so much ugliness at me. It was a coping mechanism. Maybe some of my current friends can relate to that. Maybe Baltimore’s cemeteries were protection, of sorts, for me, like Hercules’ lion skin that was impervious to attack.

Legend has it that Hercules killed the lion by strangling it with his bare hands, as he could not damage it with arrows or clubs. He then skinned the lion and used it for a protective cloak - ref.)

The group meetups are a relatively new thing for me, which we began as an Instagram meetup of like-minded cemetery photographers during COVID. As of mid-2024, the idea has stood the test of time, with new people joining regularly. Truly lovely people. When I see them become excited about the cemetery adventures we plan, it can be a rather joyous feeling. They inspire me.

Our IG Meetup at Westminster Hall, Baltimore, July 2024

Back when I discovered Baltimore’s cemeteries around Y2K, you had to use paper maps for guidance. Now with GPS camera phones and Google Maps, locating cemeteries has become easier. Locating graves within a cemetery has become easier! One of my friends taught me how to use Google image search, see locations using metadata, and download the Find-A-Grave ap. I’m no Luddite, but technology improves so quickly that its hard to keep up. Its great to have friends who do keep up, and are willing to share! One of my friends seems to be on a personal mission to find all of Baltimore’s cemeteries, and she has found more than I knew existed. This is like a treasure hunt if you are a cemetery photographer. One such gem is Western Cemetery (photo below), which, until the spring of 2024, I was totally unaware of!

Western Cemetery, Baltimore

While Philadelphia, my home town, has a plethora of wonderful cemeteries, it has nothing to compare with the huge burial grounds of New York and Baltimore. But wait, Baltimore itself isn’t that big, right? Smaller than Philly, much smaller than New York. So why does it have so many enormous cemeteries? You know what? I don’t know. Maybe there’s a clue in what Baltimore film maker John Waters said, “So many great people are dead, and so many assholes I know are still alive. Karma's bullshit.”

Sculpture in Baltimore's Greenmount Cemetery

What I do know is that I’ve got more cemetery gems to explore down south with my friends. We’ll revisit my old haunts, plus find new ones thanks to inquisitive minds and Google Maps. Some Baltimore cemeteries, like the music of Pink Floyd, can be scary. Witness the Gothic Revival-style Westminster Hall and Burying Ground with its catacombs and Edgar Allen Poe tomb, and the somewhat overgrown Western Cemetery with its junkyard in the back. Be wary and wise because Baltimore never ceases to amaze ... shine on you crazy diamond.

💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎

Further Reading ....

Alexandra Mosca shared this link on Facebook related to her article on cemetery bloggers. She graciously interviewed me for her article. Link below:

Kates-Boylston Publications is generously offering non-subscribers complimentary digital access to June’s American Cemetery & Cremation magazine. This issue is filled with interesting articles such as ‘Picnic Time Again,’ which delves into the modern revival of 19th-century cemetery outings, a unique blend of grave visits and picnics. The issue also features my article on cemetery bloggers (of which I am one) and the reasons we chronicle the sometimes arcane stories of those who have gone before us. Here’s the link.

https://www.acm-digital.com/acm/library/item/june_2024_/4197300/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR0-ROlGbnG1doZFUPR709o3u3JGxtXEECdnUNDkEjUHoFURbkWbwKog0g0_aem_ZmFrZWR1bW15MTZieXRlcw

Solar Eclipse in the Cemetery - 2017

Dimming of the light during the eclipse

As promised in my previous blog post (“The Day the Sky Went Dark (sort of),” which was about the less-than-stellar partial eclipse on April 8, 2024 in the Philadelphia area, I am finally publishing an account of the much more dramatic partial eclipse on August 21, 2017. Both partial eclipse events were 80% sun coverage, but the event was ruined by cloud cover in 2024. The 2017 event occurred during a mostly clear, blue-sky day. The main reason I went to all the trouble to photograph the 2024 event in Philadelphia’s Laurel Hill Cemetery was because of the grand experience my friend Bob and I had in 2017, at Laurel Hill’s sister cemetery, West Laurel Hill Cemetery in Bala Cynwyd, PA. 

Bob Reinhardt in Westminster Cemetery, prior to eclipse

The sun being covered by the moon itself wasn’t so much the reason I was out to observe the 2024 event – you KNOW what’s going to happen, right? Everyone has a prescient knowledge of the event due to photos of past eclipses and you’ll see photos of this one after the fact. What I REALLY looked forward to was the light show on the ground, on terra firma. 

When Bob and I experienced the partial solar eclipse in 2017, it was my first rodeo. I had no idea what to expect, it was like visiting a new cemetery, you know? All wide-eyed and wonderment. We’d both been to West Laurel many times, but today, everything looked … different. We were just walking around when the eclipse happened. We had spent a bit of time before the eclipse at Westminster Cemetery, which is next to West Laurel Hill. We had our safety glasses, as did the picknickers on the grass at West Laurel, seated on their red-and-white checkered tablecloth. They were staring into the sky through protective shades, surrounded by bottles of wine and sandwiches. 

What was most stirring in the minutes of sun coverage was the quality of light on the ground. The way everything looked was virtually indescribable. But I will try. The photos you see here don’t really do it justice because as you may or may not know, under eclipse conditions there’s more going on that meets the eye.

Grand Canyon, by Rich Jolly

Capturing the light during a solar eclipse is as difficult as photographing the Grand Canyon. Okay, bad analogy – my friend Rich Jolly did a pretty decent job of photographing the Grand Canyon. I, however, had a difficult time capturing the ambient light at ground level during the eclipse. Why did everything look so odd? Science News says, “During a total solar eclipse, the moon blocks the sun, so most of the light hitting and reflecting off objects on the ground is indirect light.” Indirect light casts no shadows! 

Selfie with "Solar Viewer" - don't want to burn out those retinas!

That was easily one of the strangest things. Before and after the eclipse, cemetery statues cast shadows due to their side illumination by the sun. But for the few minutes of maximum sun coverage by the moon – no shadows. However, other things happen …

The crowning moment of the solar eclipse

During a solar eclipse, colors change – the colors of things around us. Grass, cemetery angels, peoples’ clothing. The brain has difficulty accepting this because it happens so fast. Ever hear the phrase, “once in a blue moon?” Well, that’s just a red herring I threw in there to keep you on your toes. Let’s explore some more.

According to Scientific American:

“[Observers experience] what is called the Purkinje effect, or a natural shift in color perception caused by fluctuating light levels. In bright light, colors such as red and orange are rich and vibrant to the human eye, compared with blue and green. But in dim light, red and orange become dark and muted, while purple, blue and green brighten. Sunlight’s rapid, dramatic dimming during a total solar eclipse can heighten this phenomenon, making such events all the more surreal."

Science News tells us:

“For a few minutes, as the moon blocks the sun’s rays, colors fade to silvery gray in the false twilight. Usually vibrant reds may appear dark or even black, while blues and greens will pop.”

Colors appear to fade at twilight, yes, but our brains handle this differently under those daily circumstances. Sunset is a gradual thing, as is sunrise, and our eyes (and brains) adjust so gradually to this color shift that we barely notice – unless its too dark to even discern colors. So you know, of course, that at night your eyes are less capable of discerning colors, right? Its all about our rods and cones. 

According to Science News:

Dimming of the light ...

“In bright light, light-gathering cells in the retina called cones provide color vision. The majority of cones are tuned to detect red or green, with a small percentage devoted to blue. The three together produce red-green-blue color vision. With fully active cones, reds usually appear brighter than blues during daylight. In the dark, very sensitive light-gathering rod cells responsible for night vision take over. But there’s only one type of rod, so people don’t see colors in dark or very low-light conditions.”

So our eyes adjust from bright to dim light before and during a solar eclipse, then from dim back to bright after the eclipse, but this occurs unusually quickly causing our brains to wonder what’s going on.

Eclipse through the "Solar Viewer," August 21, 2017

When the moon began its slow coverage of the sun (about 1:30 pm) that day in 2017 at West Laurel Hill Cemetery, the ambient light on the ground became soft, more diffuse. Even though maximum sun coverage during that eclipse occurred around 3 pm, there was no shadow detail on my part of the earth. The sun ceased, temporarily, to be a point source of light. As mentioned above, objects cast shadows when illuminated by a point source of light. No point source, no shadows. Its just a very weird experience for everything to be bright and sunlit, then almost immediately and for a short period of time, less bright with a color shift, and no shadows. 

This continued until about 4 p.m. when the moon ceased to block the sun. Shadows reappeared and colors shifted back to normal. The world brightened up. It was like experiencing philosopher Immanuel Kant’s phenomenal world while catching a glimpse of his noumenal world (a world we can never directly know, independent of our senses and cognitive faculties)(ref.). 

What puzzled me was that my photos that day did not accurately record what I saw. Maybe because I don’t have a “Purkinje” exposure mode on my camera? 

Science News also tells us that “More of that indirect light is easily scattered blue waves, so objects reflect more blue light. That causes an apparent shift in the color spectrum toward blue, Takeshi Yoshimatsu says [Yoshimatsu is a color vision researcher at Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis]. Something similar happens in other dim-light conditions, like sunset.”

Chalk it up to the Purkinje Effect - our eyes’ sensitivity to luminance to shift from red to blue in low light. In Space and Astronomy News, Rafal Mantiuk, a computer and vision scientist at the University of Cambridge, says:  

“This color effect won’t be visible in pictures... It’s a matter of perception, not just optics, so it has to be experienced in person. For those who want to see the Purkinje effect in action but aren’t in the path of totality, Mantiuk offers an experiment. Take a square of red cloth and one of blue and look at them in the light. Then dim the lights, maybe put on a pair of sunglasses and look again. The brightness of the squares should be reversed.”

So if you are alive for the next solar eclipse, I recommend spending it with the dead. The surroundings offer a staid setting, so you can experience the light show with limited distraction. Although it occurs to me now that a solar eclipse in a cemetery might be a prime setting to stage a theatrical production of Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology. You know, with ghosts of the dead townspeople popping up from behind headstones, lamenting their earthly trials. If timed properly, the eclipse can provide the light show.

References:

https://philly.curbed.com/2017/8/4/16091074/solar-eclipse-2017-philadelphia-view

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-colors-change-during-a-solar-eclipse/

https://www.quora.com/How-can-we-exist-in-both-a-phenomenal-and-noumenal-world-according-to-Kant

https://www.sciencenews.org/article/why-colors-different-total-eclipse

During a total solar eclipse, some colors really pop. Here’s why - (spaceandastronomynews.org)