Charleston: Cemeteries

In addition to several church graveyards located in the historic district of Charleston, there is a large group of cemeteries just to the northeast of downtown. Magnolia Cemetery was dedicated in 1850; St. Lawrence Cemetery was the third Catholic cemetery in Charleston, and was established in 1851; and Bethany Cemetery was established in 1856 by St. Matthew's Evangelical Lutheran Church when its first cemetery reached capacity during a yellow fever outbreak. There may be other smaller cemeteries as part of this group (sort of like the "cemetery belt" in Queens), but these are the three main ones I remember visiting.

We took Uber to the cemeteries because they were a bit far from our hotel, but they were very close to Martha Lou's Kitchen where we (over) ate our weight in fried chicken, collard greens, mac n' cheese and several other sides before our flight back to New York. It was the warmest day of our trip—in the 70s—and the perfect end to a flawless trip.

We came across a section of St. Lawrence Cemetery (I think) devoted to the those killed in the Civil War. I noticed immediately that they were Confederate soldiers and civilians, which of course makes sense in South Carolina (the first state to succeed), but it's not something I'm used to seeing in my New York / New England cemeteries explorations. Anything referencing the Confederacy is always jarring—especially the flag—but stones like the "unknown child of the Confederacy" are universally sad.

Speaking of children, it seemed like a lot of the stones that caught my eye were memorials that featured a child in some way. Two stones made note that they were the "only child," which makes the loss seem even more devastating, and several featured nearly life-sized babies peacefully asleep. The cradle-shaped stone was especially unique and had several toys—including a rubber duck—that looked as if they'd been left fairly recently, despite the grave dating to the 1880s.

While nothing could top the Unitarian Church graveyard, I'm glad we got to experience a different kind of Charleston cemetery. These large, sprawling cemeteries reminded me of Green-Wood or Bonaventure, though maybe not quite as picturesque. Francesca spotted the guy above from afar and she pointed out how much the lights and darks made him look like a skeleton, making him one of our favorite—and spookiest—finds to date.

Bideawee Pet Cemetery: Ceramics

I've posted about ceramic headstone portraits before, but the I never shared all of the ones we saw at Bideawee Pet Memorial Park. We began noticing the ceramics almost immediately, and for a strange reason—a majority of them had been damaged to the point where you could no longer make out the animal, and it looked intentional. Thankfully, some portraits managed to escape this seemingly random desecration, because they're truly wonderful.

I gave a brief history of human porcelain cemetery portraiture in this post, but it just makes sense that their popularity would spread to pet cemeteries as well. In fact, pet portraits almost seem more normal—even pre-Instagram, I would imagine that pet photography was widespread. The one thing that has been very clear in every pet cemetery that I've visited is just how much animals mean to their owners. Anyone that loves their pet enough to memorialize it with a burial and tombstone would likely have no shortage of photos of their beloved companion.

Some of the portraits feature pets in costumes—like my favorite, the dapper dachshund whose tombstone read "In Loving Memory, Mr. Nathan D. Friedman, My Son," Duchess in what appears to be a hand-knitted sweater (with a hood!) or Penny in her stylish plaid coat.

The portraits aren't reserved exclusively for dogs and cats or single pets—we saw at least a few bird photos as well as group shots. But portraits that really got to me were the ones that included their owners, most of which were from a pre-cellphone camera era. Again, if you loved your pet enough to buy them a granite tombstone, then a Sears portrait studio session probably didn't seem too extravagant either.

Old Sheldon Church Ruins

One of the main reasons I had for renting a car for a day on our recent trip to Charleston was to visit the Old Sheldon Church ruins in Beaufort County. After we visited Magnolia Plantation and the Angel Oak, we drove about an hour west to check out the ruins. I became aware of the ruins thanks to Kaylah of The Dainty Squid, who shares my love of all things creepy, and I couldn't pass up the chance to see Spanish moss-covered ruins surrounded by a graveyard.

Built in the 1750s and originally known as Prince William's Parish Church, the church was burned by the British during the Revolutionary War. It was rebuilt, only to be burned again (or more likely just torn apart) during the Civil War as General Sherman cut a path of destruction from Savannah to South Carolina. There's enough left to get a general feel for the layout and size of the church—I can see why this is such a popular spot for weddings that they had to erect a sign stating that unauthorized events were prohibited on the property.

The churchyard also contains a handful of graves and tombstones, including that of Colonel William Bull, a prominent figure in the development and design of Savannah—he also funded the construction of the church and it was called "Sheldon," after his plantation. The tombstones vary widely in design and age and they're scattered kind of haphazardly around the property. There were several groups of people that visited the ruins while we were there so it doesn't exactly feel abandoned—but I'm glad that despite the many attempts at destruction, the Old Sheldon Church is still accepting visitors.  

Charleston: Unitarian Church Cemetery

We went on a ghost tour on our first night in Charleston, which is one of my favorite ways to be introduced to a city. I've been on enough ghost tours now to realize that they're definitely lying to you, but the places they show you and most of the history is very real. I had the Unitarian Church Cemetery on my list already, but it was a stop on the tour as well—or rather the gate was, since the cemetery is closed and locked at night. Our guide told us that several people had inexplicably passed out while standing outside the gates—which can't possibly be true, right?—but his spooky stories made me even more eager to actually see the inside of the cemetery. We went back the next day, and were thrilled with what we found.

We walked by several churchyard cemeteries on our trip, but if you only go to one, Unitarian is the one to see. The Unitarian Church of Charleston was founded in 1787 and it's one of the oldest of its kind in the country. The graveyard is small, but it's packed with interesting headstones and a huge variety of plants. Upon first glance it might appear as if the cemetery is abandoned, but I overheard a woman explaining that "it actually takes a lot of maintenance to look this overgrown."

There is pretty much no better cemetery dressing than Spanish moss, and even though some of the trees had lost their leaves they were still dripping with the always-spooky moss. The graveyard has a Secret Garden-vibe that is so lovely—the entrance gate puts you in an alleyway so the cemetery is hidden from the street on three sides. I remarked immediately after entering that this was one of my favorite cemeteries, a distinction I don't make arbitrarily.

Neighboring St. John's Lutheran Church also has a graveyard, albeit not as picturesque as Unitarian's. They were once separated by a fence but now sort of bleed into one another so I'm counting them as pieces of a whole. That incredible "Memento Mori" skull stone is actually part of St. John's and is one of the best skull-and-crossbones renderings I've seen. The graveyard also had "DANGER DO NOT ENTER" tape wrapped around a few stones forming a scene straight out of my Halloween parties.

The Unitarian Church Cemetery is supposedly haunted by the ghost of Annabel Lee— subject of the famous Edgar Allan Poe poem—although we couldn't find evidence of her grave despite having a (poorly-drawn) map from our ghost tour guide. I don't need a famous ghost story to get me into a cemetery, but it doesn't hurt either.

Green-Wood: Snow

As much as I've visited Green-Wood Cemetery, I only just took my second snowy walk around the grounds on Saturday. My first snowy visit (here and here) was back in 2015, and I didn't have many chances during last year's virtually snow-less winter. When I realized that last week's snowfall would stick around for a few days, I knew that Green-Wood was my top priority.

Snowy cemeteries are a combination of two of my very favorite things in life, although in the city it has sometimes been a challenge to get into them. I was denied entry to Woodlawn on not one, but two snowy days, and Green-Wood closes its gates during most storms. I did manage to explore Trinity Cemetery in northern Manhattan after one of my failed Woodlawn treks, and the photos I took that day are still some of my favorites.

I was very excited to see Green-Wood again in the snow, but I was concerned that after countless visits I wasn't going to see much that I hadn't already seen or photographed before. I'm fond of saying that I could explore places like Green-Wood forever and still manage to see something new, but I definitely think I'll eventually test the limits of that theory. Almost immediately, though, I veered into a part of the cemetery that I hadn't explored—and even if I hadn't, everything looks a little bit different in the snow.

I made some questionable decisions veering off of cleared paths to investigate interesting things—the snow drifts were almost knee-deep in places—but it was definitely worth a little slipping and sliding. I walked to Green-Wood from my apartment (stopping for diner breakfast halfway) and to me there is no more perfect way to spend a Saturday.

Bideawee Pet Cemetery

Bideawee Pet Memorial Park is the third pet cemetery I've been to, and I went only a week after visiting my second, the small but historic Clara Glen Pet Cemetery in New Jersey. Bideawee is a more than 100-year-old pet welfare organization serving the New York City area and Long Island. They have pet memorial parks in Wantagh and Westhampton on Long Island. I became interested in finding other pet cemeteries after visiting my (and America's) first, but the Bideawee memorial park had somehow eluded me until a co-worker who lives in Wantagh brought it to my attention.

The Wantagh location is enormous—larger than most human cemeteries I've been to—and we were there for hours without seeing everything.  I've mentioned in my previous pet cemetery posts that they're the only cemeteries that make me tear up, and Bideawee was no exception. The epitaphs are so heart-wrenching, the portraits so endearing and the names reliably ridiculous.

The most famous resident of the memorial park is Checkers Nixon, "The Best-Known Presidential Dog to Never Have Lived in the White House." Checkers was Richard Nixon's cocker spaniel who became famous after Nixon (then a senator) mentioned him in a speech televised in 1952. Checkers was a campaign gift from a supporter in Texas, and he died at age 13, in 1964—four years before Nixon became President.

In addition to the large number of dogs and cats, Bideawee is the final resting place of a variety of other species including Speedbump, a tortoise who lived to 65; Buckaneer, the horse; an iguana named Godzilla; Mona the monkey; Pyewacket Quigley the duck; parakeets Sparky and Casey Hall; turtles Pretzel and Potato Chip; and pigeons Lindsey and Linde. They had an entire section for "smaller" animals like gerbils, birds and reptiles, proving that pets don't have to be cuddly or live long to make a big impact on their owner's lives.

While walking through a pet cemetery, it's impossible for me not to read most of the names aloud. They're all so wonderful—whimsical or complicated or traditional, most make me laugh through my misty eyes. We paid our respects to Admiral Alexander F. Mudge, Pinto Porkchops, Farnsworth, Jingles Smith, Lady Dodo, Tiny, Daisy Julian, Mustard, Woofie Von Hugel, Beethoven, Potato, Bagel and Pussy #1, among others.

Even if you're not a pet person, you can't deny the impact that these dumb creatures have on their owners and the people that love them. Human cemeteries feel stark and impersonal after you walk through a pet cemetery filled with epitaphs such as "our precious baby," "a piece of my heart lies here," "always remembered, always loved," "my best friend," or simply, "irreplaceable."

Old Burial Hill

On Halloween I posted about the proliferation of skull- (and crossbones) adorned stones at Old Burial Hill Cemetery in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Despite being small and having the largest concentration of skull imagery I've seen in any cemetery, Old Burial Hill was also full of a wide variety of wonderful non-bone-related tombstones.

The cemetery was established on the site of a meeting-house and is, very literally, on top of a hill. The views of the harbor are breathtaking and there is a gazebo on the top of a rock outcropping that I could just sit in for days. In fact, the entire town of Marblehead was painfully cute—we drove through it on our way in and out of the cemetery, but its winding streets definitely deserve a closer look.

Although, in my opinion, there is nothing better than a skull motif, Old Burial Hill contains some really lovely winged cherubs, suns, portraits and tombstone lettering. It's the first place that I can recall seeing the words "Memento Mori" on an actual headstone (several, actually) and the carvings are all so remarkably preserved despite being hundreds of years old.

Best of 2016: Cemeteries

I think we can all agree that 2016 seemed like it was quite the garbage fire of a year—even if historically there have been objectively worse times to be alive. 2016, for all of its faults, did have some bright spots, and in an effort to not end this year in a pit of despair, I thought I'd do some "best of" lists because who doesn't love lists! First up: cemeteries!

Bayside

2016 is the year I became obsessed with seeking out non-traditional cemeteries, or places with a little extra something to make them special. Abandoned places will always be interesting to me, and although Bayside is currently in better condition than it's been in the past, it's still a little rough around the edges. I loved it so much I visited it twice—once in the summer and again the fall—and I can't wait to see it covered in snow.

Old Burial Hill

I planned a stop at Old Burial Hill on our way to Salem based solely on the fact that it was a filming location for the Halloween masterpiece, Hocus Pocus. The shear number of amazing skull-emblazoned tombstones may be what makes Old Burial Hill impressive, but the beautiful location, history and incredible condition of all the stones makes it unforgettable.

Lent-Riker Smith

I never really considered it an attainable goal to wish for a house that comes with its own backyard cemetery until we toured the Lent-Riker-Smith Homestead. The family cemetery is small—with 131 residents—but historic, beautiful and fascinating.

Eastern Cemetery

Eastern Cemetery was a highlight in a road trip full of highlights. Like Bayside, it was once abandoned and overgrown, but is now being tended to by a group of volunteers. Eastern also has one of the craziest backstories I've ever heard, and I'll be eternally grateful to the kind man who stopped us to share its sordid tale.

Most Holy Trinity

I'm still shocked a little bit embarrassed that it took me so long to explore Most Holy Trinity—especially when I discovered that it was just a few blocks from one of my best friend's new apartment. Fun fact: a body was dumped on the cemetery grounds and discovered only a few days after my visit (inspiring variations on this excellent headline: Body Found in Cemetery). I've only gone once this year, but like Bayside I suspect that Most Holy Trinity will be part of my regular cemetery visits in 2017.

St. Raymond's Cemetery + Typhoid Mary Grave

Back in October I decided to venture to St. Raymond's Cemetery in the Bronx to seek out the final resting place of Mary Mallon, aka Typhoid Mary. I researched the location of her grave and set out to find her—only to find myself wandering around St. Raymond's completely lost. Find A Grave notes the location as "St. Raymond's Cemetery (New)," but Mallon is actually buried in a newer section of the old cemetery. Sound confusing? Yes, it was. I was actually so frustrated that I nearly gave up the search, but after lunch decided to explore the old part of the cemetery so the day wasn't a complete loss (and then discovered that I didn't have a memory card in my camera so I had to buy one at Walgreens—I didn't have the best adventure luck that day).

St. Raymond's is a Roman Catholic cemetery and is one of the busiest cemeteries in the US with approximately 4,000 new burials each year. The old section was opened in the 1870s and the new section was developed in the 1950s. The old St. Raymond's was full of wonderful things, including a lot of headless statues (like St. Michael's) and ceramic portraits (deserving of their own post). In 1932, Charles Lindbergh met with his son's alleged kidnapper at St. Raymond's to deliver $50,000 in ransom money.

Mary Mallon was born in Ireland, and immigrated to the US, where she notoriously worked as a cook for affluent families in New York City. When the families that she cooked for began contracting typhoid, she was quarantined twice on North Brother Island. She refused to adhere to proper hygiene practices (ew) and profusely denied that she was a carrier of the disease. She was, of course, and was in fact the first person identified in the US as an asymptomatic carrier of typhoid.

While exploring the old section, I realized that the section numbers started to match the naming convention of the directions I had for Mallon's grave—Division 15, Row 19, Grave 55—and although I had to cross a street into yet another section of the cemetery (St. Raymond's is huge), I finally found Typhoid Mary. I had been so frustrated and confused for most of the day that finding her felt like hitting the jackpot. I was also so mad at the lack of proper information that I took a screenshot of her grave's location on Google Maps—it's not exact coordinates, but if you're looking to pay your respects to Typhoid Mary, you at least have a head start.

Mary Mallon died of pneumonia at age 69 in 1938, after living out her later years in quarantine at Riverside Hospital. At the time of her death, live typhoid was found in her gallbladder, and she was cremated and interred at St. Raymond's, beneath a headstone she paid for herself. No one is buried on either side of her—in a very crowded cemetery—which may be a coincidence, but still seems fitting.

Bayside Cemetery: Fall

Ever since I went to Bayside Cemetery earlier this year, I've been thinking about going back. Bayside has fallen into disrepair throughout the years, and around Halloween someone actually broke into one of the mausoleums and stole remains—I promise it wasn't me. I first went in May of this year, and it was overgrown with grass and weeds. I remarked that I would love to see it in the fall, so I went on Sunday to fulfill that need.

I didn't realize just how different the cemetery looked in the fall vs. in the spring, until I looked back at my photos from my first visit. Everything is covered in piles of yellow, orange and brown leaves—sometimes I found myself hopping from one fallen tombstone to another like they were paving stones. Bayside isn't totally abandoned (we saw grounds workers in May) and new security measures seem to be in place since the Halloween incident (new barbed wire along the fence and "No Trespassing" signs) but it's the closest I've seen to an "abandoned" cemetery within city limits.

Most cemeteries I visit have noticeable decay and even the most well-kept places can't avoid crumbling stones or the effects of weather, time and vandals. The most interesting thing about the condition of Bayside is the amount of stones that have been knocked clear off their bases. Most of these stones are enormous—I can't imagine the noise they must make when they take their final fall.

I was surprised to see at least two fresh burials from September of this year, so maybe Bayside is finally getting the attention it hasn't had in the recent past. As thrilled as I was to be traipsing through rows of tightly packed tombstones and piles of leaves, I couldn't help but already start to look forward to revisiting Bayside in the snow.

St. Michael's Cemetery

I really didn't think that I would still be thinking about St. Michaels Cemetery months after my visit. It's not a particularly old, historic or unique cemetery, and my only reason for visiting was because I'd passed it many times on my way to the airport. But in addition to the huge headless statue population and the large amount of ceramic portraiture, I found some really lovely (and creepy) things at St. Michael's.

Fall is obviously prime cemetery exploring weather, but when I went to St. Michael's in September it was 90+ degrees. I always have weather amnesia when a new season starts, and find it hard to even comprehend that I was sweating or freezing so recently. It was so hot, actually that I didn't even stay as long as I would have normally, so it's especially fortunate that I found so much so quickly.

There were a few ivy-covered tombstones and statues, which will forever be my favorite. I love the crumbling and decay present in cemeteries, and I can usually spot a few things even in the most well-cared for of places. I'm still perplexed about the headless epidemic, but I also saw a few boarded-up mausoleums and even a grave that was basically wide open (yes, I peeked inside but couldn't see anything).

I loved the "Our Dear Debby, Daddy Dear and Darling Mama" family, and knowing nothing else about them can be pretty certain that they were wonderful people—at least whoever bought the headstone thought so. I also love that no matter which cemetery I explore, I always find something to pique my interest, whether it's a sweet epitaph, eye-catching name, interesting stone shape or beautiful typography.

Green-Wood Cemetery: Fall

I've noticed since I moved to New York, that the fall foliage in the city is slower to turn than in other parts of the country. Even just a few miles upstate can make a huge difference in color, and while most the East Coast and Midwest is at peak or past peak, it feels as if the city leaves have just begun to change. I've recognized this in past years, and by now I've come to appreciate the delay.

October is always my busiest month, but come November my calendar is always empty. I feel like I still have plenty of time to enjoy fall in the city, which is good since there is really no better time to explore—especially when it comes to cemetery strolls. Which is why, when my dude asked on Sunday if I'd like to walk through Green-Wood Cemetery, I said "of course."

Some trees were at their peak already, but others were still mostly green (and one hardy rose bush was in full bloom!). The colorful backdrops make for some really excellent contrasts with the stark stones. I'll never tire of taking photos in cemeteries, and they're the perfect place to really practice your photography—they're usually empty and filled with beautiful and stationary (or so you hope) subjects.

The weather recently has been fall at its finest, and it's already impossible for me to imagine that I was sweating though everything I own just a few weeks ago. I never thought I would have what I consider to be my "neighborhood" cemetery, but since moving to Brooklyn I've really come to cherish my time spent at Green-Wood. To be able to walk just a few blocks to a world-class cemetery is such a luxury, and I can't imagine every tiring of its beauty.

Old Burial Hill: Skulls

 It wasn't long after we had started exploring Old Burial Hill cemetery in Marblehead, Massachusetts, that I declared it to be my favorite cemetery. Of course this is a bit like choosing a favorite child—for those of you who are into the kid thing—but Old Burial Hill is that good. I initially put it on our itinerary due to its Hocus Pocus cred, and while it was fun to see for that reason, it definitely doesn't need a movie connection to be considered a destination.

Old Burial Hill was established in 1638—54 years before the Salem Witch Trials and 138 years before the US officially became a country—which makes it the one of the oldest (maybe the oldest?) cemeteries I've ever visited. Located about five miles southwest of Salem, Old Burial Hill contains an estimated 600 Revolutionary War soldiers and one victim of the Salem Witch Trials—although I'm not sure if the cemetery actually contains the remains of Wilmont Redd, or just a memorial marker.

The first thing I noticed (with glee) was the high concentration of skull-and-crossbones imagery, which is my very favorite thing to see on a tombstone. This memento mori motif was popular with the Puritans, and the newer the cemetery the less likely you are to see this type of stone. Old Burial Hill was positively lousy with them and I was completely overwhelmed by all of the variations.. Usually I'll find one or two in my cemetery adventures, but every one I saw was better than the last and wejust kept finding them. Like cemeteries, it's impossible to pick a favorite stone, but Mrs. Susana Jayne's stone is pretty much perfect, containing not only a skeleton, but an hourglass, bones, winged cherubs and bats.

The "hill" part of Old Burial Hill offers beautiful views of Marblehead Harbor and Salem Sound and I found myself wishing that I could visit the cemetery whenever I wanted a quiet moment. Despite being so near Salem on a beautifully sunny Sunday, the cemetery was nearly empty. I knew that the Salem cemeteries were going to be packed with funnel-cake eating and selfie-taking tourists (I was right, unfortunately), so having an hour to really explore such a beautiful and historic cemetery on our own felt like the ultimate luxury.

👻  🎃  Happy Halloween!!

Oak Grove Cemetery + Lizzie Borden Grave

On our recent roadtrip to Salem, our first stop was the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River, Massachusetts. After touring the house we headed over to Oak Grove Cemetery to pay our respects to the entire Borden family, including, Lizbeth Andrews aka Lizzie. After being acquitted of murdering her step-mother and father, Lizzie remained in Fall River for the rest of her life and was buried at Oak Grove in June of 1927—her sister Emma died just nine days later and was buried beside her.

Oak Grove cemetery was established in 1855, and is a beautiful cemetery with many wonderful (and wonderfully-preserved) tombstones. The weather was full-on fall on Saturday—chilly, windy and rainy, although the rain was nice enough to hold off long enough for us to explore a little. The foliage in Massachusetts is definitely ahead of ours here in New York, and it was the perfect setting for a late October cemetery stroll.

The Borden plot has a main monument surrounded by smaller stones for each person in the family. As we were walking into the cemetery, a couple was walking out. The guy saw us with our cameras and without hesitation gave us directions to the Lizzie's grave (she changed her name to Lizbeth later in life hoping to distance herself from her notorious past). It was helpful, but it's also sort of a shame that most people only visit Oak Grove for its most famous resident—of course that's why we were there, but we spent most of our time in other parts of the cemetery.

 So many of the headstones that we found were so beautifully preserved, with intricate gothic lettering and symbols. Bundles of wheat, leaves, flowers, fruit, hands and other cemetery symbolism was everywhere we looked, thrust into sharp relief by the contrast of the weathering stone. There are so many different kinds of headstones in the world, and they're all fascinating to me, but this type of Victorian decoration is one of my very favorites.

 It did eventually start pouring (we briefly took refuge in the doorway of a mausoleum), otherwise I could have spent so much more time exploring Oak Grove. The cemetery is FULL of other Bordens—it must have been a popular name in Fall River—and we even found a few other Lizzies, who I'm sure have confused less-informed tourists throughout the years. I'm not against cemetery tourism for a specific grave, obviously, since that's usually how I pick specific cemeteries, but the real joy comes in discovering the things beyond the star stone.

Clara Glen Pet Cemetery

Ever since my trip to America's first pet cemetery in Hartsdale, I've been eager to track down more pet burial grounds. I've explored more human cemeteries than I can count, but Hartsdale is the only cemetery that had me tearing up multiple times. It's not that I'm cold and heartless when it comes to human death, but pets and animals are more relatable and helpless. The epitaphs for beloved pets were so much more heartfelt and personal than ones you usually see for humans. It's also easy to put myself into other pet-owner's shoes, thinking about my own cat and her eventual demise (when I'm not mad at her for screaming in my face, that is).

Clara Glen Pet Cemetery was founded in 1918 by Clara and Glen White, an animal-loving couple who had multiple dogs, cats and rabbits. They started the cemetery in their backyard in Linwood, NJ, and now Clara Glen is one of the oldest pet cemeteries in the country (Hartsdale was founded in 1896). Celebrities from nearby Atlantic City, like Irving Berlin and Billie Burke, have pets buried in the cemetery, alongside 3,800 other animals. Rex the Wonder Dog water-skied in Atlantic City's Steel Pier water show in the 1930s and 40s, and a diving horse (we saw at the last diving horse left in the country at the Magic Forest) is rumored to be buried here as well.

Pet cemeteries are disorienting because they're so serious on the one hand—losing a pet is devastating—and ridiculous on the other, with stones etched with names like Buttons Gifford, Fifi, Puddles Sawyer, Fluffruff, Mr. Bum, Rover and Pokey Palermo. While Clara Glen is tiny compared to Hartsdale, which contains more than 80,000 animals, I'm actually shocked that so many people opt to incur the expense of burying their pets in a public cemetery, instead of having them cremated or buried in their own backyards.

Clara Glen had fallen into disrepair over the years, and many stones have been broken or vandalized. It's now maintained by the Linwood Historical Society, and remains a bit overgrown but in fair shape. It's still basically located in someone's backyard, in a nice residential neighborhood near a cul-de-sac. We felt a little bit as if we were trespassing, but it's easy enough to slip in and out of for a quick visit.

I wish more of the stones hinted at what kind of animal lies beneath—in addition to mostly dogs and cats, we saw one confirmed bird named Polly Donnelly. Poodle statues were common, along with St. Francis, the patron saint of animals. I didn't tear up at Clara Glen as much as I did in Hartsdale—the epitaphs were sweet, but short—and it was a great little detour on our way back from Atlantic City.

I mentioned recently that owning a house with a backyard cemetery is my new life goal, and after visiting Clara Glen I'm thinking I should revise that to include pet cemeteries as well.

St. Michael's Cemetery: Portraits

I've seen ceramic portraits on headstones before, but—in addition to its plethora of headless statues—St. Michael's Cemetery in Queens has some really wonderful ones. In 1854, two French photographers figured out a way to transfer a photograph onto porcelain or enamel and the process quickly caught on to include memorial portraiture affixed on tombstones. By the beginning of 1900, these portraits were becoming so popular that you could even buy them from the Montgomery Wards & Company Monuments catalog.

Ceramic portraits pop up in most of the cemeteries I've visited, and it's still a popular tradition on modern-day headstones. They seemed especially popular in Hartsdale, America's first pet cemetery, which makes sense and proves that long before Instagram, people were obsessed with photos of their pets. Of course it's the old, black-and-white ones that I love, and almost all of the ones I found had beautiful gold-painted detailing or a frame of some sort—the copper wreath and bow is one of my favorites.

Unfortunately a lot of the early ceramic portraits that you come across are damaged—chipped, broken or faded away completely. Today's portraits are made utilizing a more fade-resistant process, and it's sad that so many of them are already lost. Sure the portraits are a bit creepy—eyes staring at you from beyond the grave for all of eternity—but I happen to think that they're also sweet. They're infinitely preferable to the modern day scourge that is laser-etched-portraiture, and they humanize what are often cold and impersonal stones. They're proof that these people once existed and lived lives as we all do, for better or worse—albeit in much fancier clothes.

Lent-Riker-Smith Cemetery

 On Monday I wrote about our recent visit to the Lent-Riker-Smith house in Queens, and I mentioned that the property came with its very own cemetery. Marion Duckworth Smith told us that she was on her second date with her future husband when he asked her if she'd "like to see his cemetery." While everyone else on the tour chuckled, I thought to myself "how romantic."

The cemetery contains 131 original residents (one of which died at Valley Forge), plus Marion's mother, brother, husband and eventually Marion herself. The oldest interments date back to 1744, and include Rikers, Lents and their descendants and spouses. Marion gave us a packet containing a 1919 survey of the plots, including most of the inscriptions that were visible at the time. Currently, there aren't many readable inscriptions, but a few of my favorites (thanks to the survey) are:

Weep not my friends all dear,
I am not dead but sleeping here;
The debt is paid, the grave you see,
Prepare for death and follow me.

- and -

An affectionate father and husband and faithful friend, beloved, honoured, and venerated! He closed an eventful and useful life in piety and peace. 

- and -

This perishable marble cannot record his virtues—they are engraved in the hearts of all who knew him.

It is unfortunate that a lot of the oldest inscriptions have worn away, but that's pretty common is a cemetery this old. Marble was very expensive, granite was too hard to cut and the brownstone and limestone wears quickly and easily. It's lucky that someone had the foresight to survey the cemetery while names were still visible. Otherwise, it's remarkable that a small, family cemetery could have survived at all in New York City, and I'm grateful that it's in such loving hands.

St. Michael's Cemetery: Headless

I have passed St. Michael's cemetery many times on the way to LaGuardia airport (and eaten at a diner across the street), but I finally made it inside of the grounds recently. It was established in 1852, is open to all faiths and is one of the oldest religious, nonprofit cemeteries in the city. The cemetery is boxed in by the Grand Central Parkway and the Brookln-Queens expressway, in an area of Queens that seems pretty car-centric. Walking there via Astoria Blvd was not the most relaxing of walks, but once you're inside, the grounds are surprisingly peaceful.

It's not the oldest, or largest, or smallest or most interesting cemetery that I've visited and at first glance I was underwhelmed. It's large, but the majority of the graves are fairly new and I saw several people tending to graves and at least one funeral-in-progress. No offense to the recently deceased, but new graves and headstones just don't interest me much. In fact, I try to avoid them because I cherish my alone time when I'm exploring cemeteries, and running into grieving families is just not my scene.

I'm always wary of appearing disrepectful—especially as I snap a million photos—so the older the gravesite, the better. Cemeteries interest me for their history, typography, tombstone design and symbolism, all of which I find to be lackluster with newer (1960s-now) burials. 

Somewhere in between being underwhelmed and trying not to get heatstroke, I started to realize that St. Michael's has a lot of statues—more than I usually see—and I got even more interested when I noticed that a large portion of them had lost their heads. I love anything out of the ordinary and macabre, and a headless statue will always pique my interest. St. Michael's appeared to be in very good condition and well-tended otherwise, so I'm not sure what's to blame for the headless epidemic, but I kept finding new ones wherever I looked.

Some statues also had their wings or hands broken and some were laying on the ground, whole or in pieces. What was even more surprising to me was that multiple headless statues still had their heads—resting on top of the stone or on the ground, presumably undisturbed since they first left their bodies. I"m not proud to admit that I was overcome with the urge to pocket a cemetery souvenir, but ultimately decided that stealing from anyone's eternal resting place was too horrible to justify—no matter how at home one of those heads would be in my new curiosity cabinet.