The Scattering

This blog post was guest written by my friend George Hofmann. George writes the newsletter "Practicing Mental Illness."

Down the hill just out of reach beyond a black, cast-iron fence still lays a cigarette, dusty, flicked without thought or respect into a pile of ashes, as if someone chain smoked pack after pack and tossed all thoughts of the past onto the heap. Although it has become the same color as the grey fanning over it and out across the hill it stands out, like nagging thoughts of things you should have done that you can’t push away. Guilt over someone else’s carelessness. That one thing you’ll never escape. All that remains among the remains. This is where ghosts come from.

The cemetery is such a well-ordered space that something out of place just glares at you as it breaks the peace, the silence, of the columns of dead. One after another, immobile, but drawing us back into a timeless past upon which we write the history and we choose what to inscribe on the granite that lasts longer than that history, till a time comes when no one cares anymore, and the earth takes it all back.

The scattering garden is different. It sits upon a hill that would overlook the graveyard, but a circle of trees conceals it. Evergreens, so the place is always shaded and always tucked away. There are two tables of granite off to the side, crowded with the names and dates of those scattered there. A third will be added soon, so many lives have ended and rested on that slope. Birds sing in the trees unseen, and the sound of traffic from somewhere off to the left is overtaken by the wind that makes the trees sway, but does not lift any ashes from the ground. Like the lives lived the ashes scattered here are not unform, at least not up close. But the black iron rail keeps you away, and it all looks the same, except for the time when the bag is held and the arms outstretch and empty all that is left onto the charnel on the hill.

Some would say this is just throwing the dead away. It’s not a remembered place like the ocean or a hiking trail or off the last row of the stadium of a favorite sports team. It’s contrived. It’s a built garden reserved for disposal, but with a bit more dignity and a place to come and visit and reflect. A beautiful place. The flowers and shrubs, the trees and the ribbon of sky that peaks through, and yes, the heaps of cremated remains that dive off deeply onto a patch of exposed earth where grass no longer grows.

Others would say here we don’t throw away the dead at all. Instead, we release them into consciousness where all are joined indistinguishable from one another, in the image of some unnamed god, sent back into the fabric from which we all came. This is a sharp contrast to the rest of the cemetery, with its insistent distinction of one plot from another, standing out alone with markers to prove it, and no doubt of who lies there. The scattering garden is a common grave for people secure with being common people. The ashes merge together with the souls risen and the memories swirl and while the culture may scream “me!” the dead know better. The dead are all one. It is the living that makes each stand out.

The living come in groups to the scattering garden. One is chosen, usually the groundskeeper, to open the urn and empty the bag inside. Overt religious services are rare here, but words are always spoken. Most people think they are more profound, more notable, than they truly are. But in these small groups they are notable indeed. Whereas, like the ash, we all kind of blend together into some secure irrelevance to the broader world, to these groups of loved ones, right up to the point of release, we are spectacular. Today, in the bitter cold, a widower stood with his collar raised and his eyes tearing as he leaned into the wind. His wife did routine work but in new, unusual, sometimes remarkable ways. He spoke of an early mentor who saw the way she did things and said, “you can’t do that. It’s not normal.” He said of his wife, “but she was not normal. She was better than that.” 

The groundskeeper held the bag just above the lip of the hill and poured out the remains gently, so that none would take to the air and cling to the widower’s long coat. Tonight, at home, his wife does cling to him. As does a flake or two of ash just beside the left lapel of his coat. By instinct he raises his arm to brush it away, and then realizes what he is doing and stops. He sits on the bed, falls over, and sleeps in the coat. In the morning he rises, first thought of his wife. On the way to make coffee, as he always did for her, he stops in front of the mirror in the hall. His coat is disheveled and the ash is gone.

As the sun rises the groundskeeper scales the fence and moves across the hill of the scattering garden with a rake. The little piles are evened out and a bit of dirt is mixed in to keep it all down. Midday there’ll be another family. The groundskeeper notices the cigarette and moves to rake it under, then stops. He picks it up and puts it in his pocket to take very far from here. We will be judged by the way we treat our dead and the places we leave them. What we learn from them, and how we bring them back.

Some Cemeteries of Trenton, New Jersey

Okay, so when you think of interesting cemeteries to explore, Trenton, New Jersey may not immediately (or ever) come to mind. However, your opinion may change. For our 2024 end-of-the-year meetup, the cemetery photography group I hang with decided on Trenton. It was a midway spot between Philadelphia and north Jersey (the general areas where most of us live), so about ten of us agreed to meet at Riverview Cemetery in Trenton, then continue on to the chain-link graveyard cluster in Hamilton, ending with the State Prison cemetery (whatever that is). All of a sudden, you’re interested, right?

It was a cold morning in December, with rain forecast the following day. Hopefully the rain gods would take pity on us and delay the downpours. I got to Trenton a bit early and was dismayed to find Riverview’s gates closed. I’d been here before – it is a wonderful, sprawling Victorian garden cemetery, full of unique statuary, grand monuments, interesting epitaphs, and the mausoleum of John Taylor, the creator and founder of Taylor Ham! 

You may not realize this, but from Trenton north in the Garden State, this breakfast meat is known as Taylor Ham. South of Trenton, it is merely pork roll. Mick Jagger famously told the audience at a Rolling Stones concert in August, 2019 at the MetLife Stadium that “he and his band mates grabbed Taylor ham sandwiches at the Tick Tock Diner on Route 3 in Clifton earlier that day.” Clifton, New Jersey is near the MetLife Stadium, in East Rutherford, where the Stones were playing. 

Word of Jagger's comments spread like wildfire and so fans would go to the Tick Tock and order “the Mick Jagger special” – Taylor ham, egg and cheese with disco fries.” I think if I ordered one at the diner for breakfast, I’d want the Stones’ song “Start Me Up” blasting from the sound system! However, this morning I had to content myself with a Wake-Up wrap at the Dunkin Donuts in Trenton, near Riverview, while I killed time waiting to see if the gates would be opened at ten. I sat in the parking lot munching away, watching the panhandler at the corner go from car to car. He was a largish guy, dressed all in white, looking like either Elvis or porn actor Ron Jeremy. 

I drove over to St. John's Cemetery down the road from Riverview, and shot the zinc Jesus, then thought there might be another entrance to Riverview. Found that and it was closed too. I texted my graver pals to apprise them of the gate situation and was promptly told about the third entrance, which was open. Three of my friends were already there. How I ever get into these places on my own is puzzling, lol.

This grave marker bears the inscription, "Nevermore."

The light snow on the ground lent a nice contrast to the landscape, and did not totally cover up the chicken eggs laying about. Offerings, of some sort. The group fragmented and visited some familiar spots, like the “Nevermore” door and the receiving vault. I wanted to shoot a short video in John Taylor’s plot, since the poison ivy around its low fence had been cut away. As I approached it, I realized I had forgotten my empty box from Taylor Ham! As I said this, my friend Phil, who was walking with me, said, “You can borrow mine,” as he pulled a neatly folded box from his coat pocket! Cemetery nerds, aren’t we hysterical?

You can see my video at this Instagram link on my @mourningarts page. And while you’re there, check out this awesome “Long Live John Taylor” page! 

Not the first time I've seen the word "cemetery" misspelled!

After about two hours at Riverview and our standard group photo shoot (that's us in the first photo of this piece, with me in the orange cap) we jumped into our respective vehicles and headed off to the Hamilton cluster, as one of our group members has dubbed it. I’d been there once before, but it did not seem all that interesting. Just shows to go you - hang out with other artists and you see things you normally might not. And that happened to me today - note one of the many cemetery signs in the cluster (above).

The cluster is near Hamilton, NJ, but might actually be in East Trenton. It’s not unusual to see a couple of cemeteries next to each other, separated by fencing. What is unusual about the Hamilton cluster is that there are so many separate cemeteries in this one area that it is difficult to even count them! Maybe ten? Fifteen? Not sure. Acres and acres of Christian and Jewish burial grounds, side by side. St. Mary’s, Our Lady of Lourdes, People of Truth Hebrew Cemetery, Congregation Brothers of Israel, Knights of Pythias (I think its cool that there’s a fraternal organization based on math – this group follows the philosophy of Pythagoras, he of the Pythagorean Theorem that you learned in high school. The Masons are based on math as well, come to think of it….) 

Anyway, you didn’t actually need to read the cemetery signs to know which ones were Christian and which were Jewish at this time of year. All the Christian cemeteries had Christmas decorations on many of the graves. The Jewish cemeteries did not. 

The cluster is all on level ground, and each cemetery is bordered with four-foot-high chain link fence. It very much reminded me of the cluster of cemeteries in Old San Antonio, Texas, where there are 31 cemeteries across 103 contiguous acres! (read about that visit here). Very much the same layout. Efficient use of space, but not very picturesque. Zero landscaping, no arboretums, these are “lawn” cemeteries, as opposed to the more picturesque Victorian sculpture garden cemeteries. Beginning in the mid-1800s along with the American rural (Victorian) cemetery movement, there was also an effort to establish more modest cemeteries which were basic, more frugal places to bury loved ones. Hence, what came to be known as a "lawn" cemetery - almost uniform grave markers in neat rows, with little ornamentation. You can read more about lawn cemeteries here. 

The only things that make such a cemetery interesting, or would call attention to any specific grave, are the occasional unique monuments and other memories that punctuate the gravescape here and there. Note the bottle of booze (I hope that's booze) left with a few roses at a gravesite. 

The American Institute of Commemorative Art opines that:

“Sculpture should be used only when it is true art, such as we see in the famed cemeteries of Europe. The dignity of all too many American cemeteries is spoiled by the use of commercial statuary such as no trained memorialist would tolerate.”

A bit highfalutin, those words. Certainly, anyone who wants an angel statue on their grave would prefer a hand-sculpted marble piece, versus a factory-cut angel bought at a roadside memorial business. But not everyone has the money for that. So we tend to see a mix of statuary and monuments of varying quality and design, spanning generations - some new, some aged, produced by various carvers. One thing is certain - someone wanted to mark that grave and this is the best they could do. A bronze Jesus plaque set into a home-cast concrete stone may have more character that a weeping marble angel bought from a roadside stone vendor. 

The light snow on the grass gave the grounds a bit more character, but the chain link fencing was rather annoying. Most people are visiting a specific grave in a specific cemetery here, so they can just drive around the border of the cemetery, look for the gate, park and walk in. But if you’re there to visit many of the cemeteries, it is tiresome to have to walk a block to the entrance to the next cemetery to get in. The fence is only four feet high, but that’s still a bit much for most people to jump over. When I was in San Antonio, the fencing presented quite a hardship. Not only were there 31 (!) cemeteries all separated by chain-link fence, but that fence was even higher, and it was close to a hundred degrees the day I visited! So, the effort required to walk a block (or more) in the blazing sun just to get to the next gate was exhausting. (You can read more about that visit here.)

Of the cluster cemeteries, Our Lady of Lourdes Cemetery was the most replete with interesting statuary, if that draws you. This is the half of the cemetery north of East Brown Street. The southern half includes the numbered graves of either the New Jersey State Prison or State Hospital burials, not sure which. These are uniform concrete markers in a small plot within the cemetery. There is a bit more landscaping at Lourdes than in any of the other cluster cemeteries. More trees, a columbarium, an interesting angel-flanked family memorial. It is also the largest cemetery in this cluster. There is a sign at the entrance stating that it is “consecrated ground” (i.e., ground that is blessed and made sacred via some religious ceremony).

New Jersey State Prison graves, Our Lady of Lourdes Cemetery, Trenton

The angel-flanked memorial seen above is unusual. Down the road from here is a columbarium, a building to house cremains within individual niches. One of our group said it smelled funny in there. Can't imagine why.

Xmas tree and creche inside the columbarium

Concrete Jesus on a stainless steel cross

Our group fractioned off then rejoined several times, based on our varied interests. Eventually, we all went for a late lunch at a Thai restaurant, traded stories, then went our separate ways. I was done graving for the day, so I went home. With an hour of daylight left, others hit the local pet cemetery and the Presbyterian Church graveyard heading toward Princeton. Hanging with these people is always enjoyable, respectful, educational, and so much better than just appreciating their work on social media. All in all, a grand day out.

So, if you do venture to the Trenton area in search of interesting cemeteries, you will not be disappointed. As I learned, even basic lawn cemeteries offer interesting memories of lives spent, lives that are no more. The dog tags on the urn of cremains stopped me in my tracks.

For your reference and further reading:

https://patch.com/new-jersey/fairlawn-saddlebrook/mick-jagger-waffles-pork-roll-taylor-ham-debate-report

https://www.instagram.com/p/DEM0cBgRPp4/

https://www.instagram.com/longlivejohntaylor/

https://thecemeterytraveler.blogspot.com/2022/07/all-city-cemeteries-of-san-antonio-in.html

http://www.deathreference.com/Ke-Ma/Lawn-Garden-Cemeteries.html

https://www.monuments-aica.com/

Shootout at the Christmas Village

You would think that Christmas trees in cemeteries would be a depressing sight. Well, compared to other goings on about town this season, a decorated Christmas tree on a grave seems like a breath of fresh air. 

“Shootout at the Christmas Village” would sound funnier if it wasn’t true. Unfortunately, there really was a shooting in the crowded Christmas Village across from Philadelphia’s City Hall two weeks before Christmas this year. A fourteen-year-old boy is in critical condition, shot in the face. Two other boys, fifteen and fourteen, shot in the calf and leg. Two fourteen-year-old male suspects were taken into custody. Seems this was a fight that escalated to gunfire. Festive, right? So, if you plan on taking in some ice skating at the holiday rink at Dilworth Plaza this year, consider wearing a Kevlar jacket instead of that fashionable down vest.

Happy Christmas, everyone. That same weekend, two dozen people were shot and four died in a series of eleven shootings from Center City to Germantown to Northeast Philadelphia. The mayor went on the news saying this was a one-off, and despite it being a particularly violent weekend, Philadelphia really is safe.

Fast forward to the morning of December 17, when I picked up a package from my neighbor’s doorstep. Porch pirates steal packages in my neighborhood. Neighbors look out for each other and grab boxes and envelopes from each other’s front steps before thieves can get them. We text each other to let the recipient know their package is safe. After I texted my neighbors, they thanked me and said when they came home the previous night, they found someone’s Christmas gifts ripped open on their front steps. Children’s books and a game in a torn open box from an address several blocks away. Children’s books and games have little or no street value. 

So just when it all seemed too much to bear - no más, por favor, as the Spanish say - I heard on the radio (B101), a caller describing an “angel tree.” The radio station invited people to call in and describe their Christmas trees. In the mix of callers describing bright, gaudy, vintage, and all other type trees, one woman said her mother used to keep an “angel tree.” This was a smaller tree in the living room alongside the regular, full-sized decorated tree. The angel tree had an ornament for each family member who had died. 

What a way to honor and remember! I assume each angel ornament bore the name of the deceased. Any new angels were added for people who had died in the year just passed. A lovely way to honor and to CONTINUE to remember their loved ones! I’ve already put myself in a better mood and forgotten about the shootout at the Christmas Village.

Why do Christmas trees stir up memories? And why a tree, anyway?  Why not a hay bale or a life-sized Jesus cutout? I recently heard that chopping down a tree and setting it back up in your living room symbolizes Christ being raised from the dead. Real or artificial, the tree tends to bring back memories of Christmas past, and people past. This may be partly why people set up Christmas trees in cemeteries, and even have Christmas trees engraved on their headstones!

Buy on ETSY

In those cemeteries that allow Christmas trees at gravesites, I am always intrigued that people go to so much trouble to set them up. Some are six feet high and some even have solar-powered lights. Usually they have ornaments, typical shiny balls or maybe photos of the deceased with their family. Some are small and more manageable. John Waters, the film maker, famously sets up a decorated Christmas tree at the actor Divine’s grave every Christmas (Prospect Hill Cemetery, Towson, Maryland) - simply because his friend enjoyed Christmas so much when he was alive. If you want to join in that celebration, you can always top your tree with a Divine Christmas tree topper, as shown here. Unless you’re an atheist. Atheists have no holidays.

So while it is easy to be pessimistic about Christmas when there’s a shootout at the Christmas Village and thieves are ripping apart your Christmas presents, a Christmas tree in a cemetery can provide hope, or at least a distraction. Maybe setting up a small angel tree to memorialize the departed would make perfect sense at this time in your life.

And if you’re lucky enough to be near a cemetery that stays unlocked at night, drive toward that light in the distance – it may be an illuminated Christmas tree. Like violence, Christmas and cemeteries will always be with us. Maybe they balance each other out. As Emerson, Lake, and Palmer sang in their song, Karn Evil 9:

“Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends, we’re so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside.” 

References and Further Reading:

https://www.fox29.com/news/christmas-village-shooting-dilworth-plaza

https://www.cbsnews.com/philadelphia/news/philadelphia-gun-violence-mayor-cherelle-parker/

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