tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61616541371176200282024-03-12T21:36:42.721-07:00Blogging a Dead HorseAn occasional ramble through the cemeteries.<br>
A Member of the Association of Graveyard RabbitsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-20658574401346683442013-04-11T12:36:00.000-07:002013-04-11T12:36:09.985-07:00The CatchI’ve long been saying that, if you want information about the deceased, head to the new sections, that’s where the real data show up. Old stones and you’re lucky to get a homily or a studio portrait. Nowadays, you’re likely to get their favorite sport; their car; or, in this case, their catch. These are portraits with the bounty of their prowess, albeit sometimes the prowess is modest.<br /><br />I first took serious notice of photoceramics—which most of these are—at a small, hillside cemetery on Maui, Hawaii. The cemetery was strictly divided down the middle: Catholic Portuguese to the left and Protestants to the right. The Catholic side was peppered with ceramic cameos; the Protestant side severely devoid. Needless-to-say, the Catholic side was much more interesting.<br /><br />As with epitaphs, one doesn’t necessarily know who chose any particular photo, the deceased or a survivor. Is this how they wanted to be remembered or is this how they were remembered? Wanted or not, this is how they are remembered.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-50329019068528112692013-03-14T10:15:00.000-07:002013-03-14T10:15:16.995-07:00Papa Butch<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain Zion Cemetery</td></tr>
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Dear Papa Butch,<br /><br />My mommy told me you<br />died and that makes my<br />daddy sad. I brought you <br />some band-aids to make you<br />better. I hope it helps you <br />feel better.<br /> I love you papa Butch<br /><br />Love, NathanAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-57753817259763544602013-03-08T13:48:00.001-08:002013-03-08T13:48:48.231-08:00Gates of HeavenThere is something inherently appealing about cemetery gates. Needless-to-say, not all cemeteries have them. My SOP upon reaching a cemetery is take a shot of the cemetery sign; that way I know where the following shots come from. If there's no sign, I write the name of the cemetery on a piece of paper and shoot that. These photos have all been tweaked more or less and had borders added to them. It's entertaining but time consuming.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-45258345006282109902013-01-23T14:52:00.000-08:002013-01-23T14:52:58.376-08:00The Portland MetroThe Portland, OR urban area government coordinating body, Metro, runs thirteen pioneer cemeteries besides their flagship, Lone Fir. They were originally accumulated over time by Multnomah County, often through state mandate, and turned over to Metro when it was formed at the end of the millennium. Metro’s first reaction was to try and peddle them; but as one can imagine, fourteen disparate, small cemeteries (at thirty acres, Lone Fir is by far the largest) were an impossible sell. No one wanted them. <br /><br />To Metro’s credit, once it realized it was stuck with them, it turned around and took their care seriously. Lone Fir still gets all the publicity and attention, but the others are all in active use and form an important part of their communities. And truth be known, some people actually prefer some of the small cemeteries to Queen Fir. Multnomah Park is guarded over by a Friends group, and anyone who’s visited Mountain View Corbett knows its spectacular views and comfortable charms.<br /><br />All these cemeteries can be found on my Flickr site, most of them in the Portland Urban Collection. Mountain View Corbett, though, is in the Columbia River Collection, while Pleasant Home is in Clackamas and the Highlands.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lmrabEer5_w/UQBm_5x5bOI/AAAAAAAAB9E/4wVgkwbaVo8/s1600/Brainard.trike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lmrabEer5_w/UQBm_5x5bOI/AAAAAAAAB9E/4wVgkwbaVo8/s400/Brainard.trike.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brainard Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grand Army of the Republic Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brainard Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbia Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbia Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Douglass Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Douglass Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gresham/Escobar Cemeteries</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gHswE1eR-Jo/UQBnE75ahLI/AAAAAAAAB98/v88bO2RDcOA/s1600/douglass.dried.flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gHswE1eR-Jo/UQBnE75ahLI/AAAAAAAAB98/v88bO2RDcOA/s400/douglass.dried.flowers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Douglass Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ya_P7b9beL4/UQBnFnrUFTI/AAAAAAAAB-E/y9S0uHp9b9I/s1600/jones.landscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ya_P7b9beL4/UQBnFnrUFTI/AAAAAAAAB-E/y9S0uHp9b9I/s400/jones.landscape.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jones Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gTd2TnLpDpk/UQBnFb1ADJI/AAAAAAAAB-I/KTFMf96DjyI/s1600/mountain+view+corbett.barbara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gTd2TnLpDpk/UQBnFb1ADJI/AAAAAAAAB-I/KTFMf96DjyI/s400/mountain+view+corbett.barbara.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain View Corbett Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sV1I_G95QKk/UQBnHgP7JEI/AAAAAAAAB-Y/_9n90Bz8gGY/s1600/mountain+view+stark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sV1I_G95QKk/UQBnHgP7JEI/AAAAAAAAB-Y/_9n90Bz8gGY/s400/mountain+view+stark.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain View Stark Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NoT55uZXUR8/UQBnIFfvINI/AAAAAAAAB-c/883VgGaxal4/s1600/mountain+view.corbett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NoT55uZXUR8/UQBnIFfvINI/AAAAAAAAB-c/883VgGaxal4/s400/mountain+view.corbett.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain View Corbett Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L2jg_WLMwlY/UQBnH0Ib5HI/AAAAAAAAB-g/EpDsj1d3EJ8/s1600/mountain+view+corbett.bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L2jg_WLMwlY/UQBnH0Ib5HI/AAAAAAAAB-g/EpDsj1d3EJ8/s400/mountain+view+corbett.bench.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain View Corbett Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9x5TSDN2do/UQBnIvRLT4I/AAAAAAAAB-k/YPP9YmWvhaA/s1600/mult+park.cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9x5TSDN2do/UQBnIvRLT4I/AAAAAAAAB-k/YPP9YmWvhaA/s400/mult+park.cross.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Multnomah Park Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sknoqR9X0GM/UQBnJ1IsnlI/AAAAAAAAB-4/TmTa3maj7GI/s1600/mult+park.presley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sknoqR9X0GM/UQBnJ1IsnlI/AAAAAAAAB-4/TmTa3maj7GI/s400/mult+park.presley.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Multnomah Park Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GlK9FRDBglg/UQBnKDqwWrI/AAAAAAAAB-8/1WBFDnvIVgk/s1600/mult+park.girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GlK9FRDBglg/UQBnKDqwWrI/AAAAAAAAB-8/1WBFDnvIVgk/s400/mult+park.girl.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Multnomah Park Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8I_0V-ijRnk/UQBnLVvwlOI/AAAAAAAAB_M/yw9y-aDoFCc/s1600/pleasant+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8I_0V-ijRnk/UQBnLVvwlOI/AAAAAAAAB_M/yw9y-aDoFCc/s400/pleasant+home.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Pleasant Home Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OtrpFN4mnJU/UQBnNFVpWrI/AAAAAAAAB_Y/wO-EiOar-yk/s1600/white+birch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OtrpFN4mnJU/UQBnNFVpWrI/AAAAAAAAB_Y/wO-EiOar-yk/s400/white+birch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White Birch Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5s8DFydan70/UQBnOJFSa6I/AAAAAAAAB_g/woN0Gf6eqn0/s1600/powell+grove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5s8DFydan70/UQBnOJFSa6I/AAAAAAAAB_g/woN0Gf6eqn0/s400/powell+grove.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Powell Grove Cemetery</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-70615896551579236332013-01-18T11:27:00.001-08:002013-01-18T11:27:42.055-08:00The Siskiyous<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-amd_zpIHQro/UPmgGjaj1fI/AAAAAAAAB3w/cMU4Mda4hjQ/s1600/4003893860_7950e18c9d_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-amd_zpIHQro/UPmgGjaj1fI/AAAAAAAAB3w/cMU4Mda4hjQ/s400/4003893860_7950e18c9d_b.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
This is the first of a series of posts highlighting a few cemeteries in southwestern Oregon in Jackson and Josephine Counties. In my very brief introduction to the region I wrote: “[The Siskiyous are] a patchwork of agricultural valleys separated by densely forested, rough and tumble mountains and crashing rivers. The climate here is definitely unlike anywhere else in the state, and it's down here that one first smells California. The summer sun and bountiful irrigation have made the agricultural pockets, however small, extraordinarily productive and inviting. Large-scale fruit growers (think Harry & David) have recently been joined by vintners and sustainable farmers and ranchers. Throw in a vibrant regional arts scene and a massive hippie invasion in the 60s and 70s and you have what a lot of people call paradise. Who knows, they may be right.”<br /><br />The region is also host to some of the most interesting, historic, and entertaining cemeteries in the state, including, arguably, it’s most iconic: Jacksonville. I’d originally considered doing one post to cover the five cemeteries I was featuring, but immediately realized how long a post that would have been and decided to split it into separate entries.<br /><br />The main reason I decided to do that was, in going to the alphabetical top of my list, Antioch, I realized that it’s story was a post’s worth in itself; hence I’ve reprinted it here in its entirety. The cemetery at Antioch is, in some ways, the least interesting cemetery of the five, but it’s history pushes it onto the list. It doesn’t have the intricate appeal of, say, Jacksonville or Laurel Cemeteries, so I’ve chosen to illustrate this piece with some of the residents of Antioch. They’re ageless. Compare these modern photoceramics with the ones from a hundred years ago.<br /><br />If you want directions to the cemeteries, you’ll find them at my Flickr site.<br />
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The story of Antioch Cemetery is a window unto the psyche of Jackson County. What happened at Antioch and in the surrounding neighborhood (i.e. White City) put its stamp on the region forever.<br /><br />With 5500 people, White City is one of the largest urban concentrations in Oregon remaining unincorporated. It’s also been a center for poverty, domestic violence, drug abuse, and related social problems, all because of its curious history which has left it a community in limbo for decades.<br /><br />White City is a new city dating from 1941 when the Army commandeered 43,000 acres of the Medford Valley for a World War II training facility and built Camp White overnight. Besides training upwards of 100,000 soldiers, the town also housed a major hospital and, for a while, a German P.O.W. camp. Pretty much as soon as the war ended, the Army packed up and disappeared, leaving this sprawling, unincorporated town of thrown-together buildings ripe for people who couldn’t be or weren’t too choosy about aesthetics. White City was born.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zSfvNmHJKSs/UPmgF2MSCOI/AAAAAAAAB3c/CxLS3AYhnDw/s1600/4003887500_4d57b2fdf4_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zSfvNmHJKSs/UPmgF2MSCOI/AAAAAAAAB3c/CxLS3AYhnDw/s400/4003887500_4d57b2fdf4_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The Antioch Cemetery grounds were part of the lands commandeered by the Army—which in itself would be justification for telling the White City story—but what happened to the cemetery is pretty amazing. The cemetery was located smack-dab in the middle of the gunnery range and was constantly being bombarded by live shells; which, as you can imagine, is not good for tombstones. Or much else, for that matter. But, to the Army’s credit, they mitigated the damage by laying all the tombstones flat and burying them under six feet of sand, where they remained for the duration of the camp; and when they picked up and skeedadled, they took the sand with them and returned the uprights to their proper locations. What a sweet bunch of guys, no?<br /><br />The lingering effects of Camp White are not restricted to White City, though. Jackson Country remains a bulwark of patriotism to this day, not only because the residents are grateful that the Army once dispensed largess upon them—a form of modern American cargo cult—but, I suspect, because when the Army left, it left behind a certain number of personnel who thought the valley would make a good place to settle down; a thought that may equally have occurred to tens of thousands of other people passing through the camp; some of whom may have come back here to retire. There <i>are</i> great flocks of ex-military birds in the area.<br />
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I was told the story of the Army and the sand by a very pleasant grandmother of four who volunteers as a groundskeeper for the cemetery. She jested that she was “a little concerned that [she] might yet run across an unexploded shell.” She did grant, though, there would be economies of efficiency by being blown up in one’s own graveyard.<br /><br />Whatever it was that spurred the volunteers to recover this fairly sizable cemetery, it’s been working. It’s not immaculate, by any means, and no one’s watering the place, but the grasses are kept at bay and it’s dotted with oaks and laurels and rhodys, et al. It actively being used and is quite lively for a cemetery of its kind. A fair amount to read and a good excuse to while away some time.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-85106924180731005772013-01-13T12:17:00.000-08:002013-01-16T09:08:08.930-08:00From Here to Eternity[All photos from Washington State cemeteries.]<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IF7DuBrs_GE/UPMSMK6pjVI/AAAAAAAABzc/ftXmJX5uYvE/s1600/crown+hill-seattle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IF7DuBrs_GE/UPMSMK6pjVI/AAAAAAAABzc/ftXmJX5uYvE/s400/crown+hill-seattle.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crown Hill Cemetery - Seattle</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_1220899498"></span>I’ve never been a big fan of eternity; it takes too long. You know, a lot of: “Is this game never going to end?”<br />
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“No, Virginia, there’s no pause in the Claus; it goes on forever.”<br />
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Eternity is the universal solvent, it reduces everything to meaninglessness. Meaning is derived from choices, options, roads not taken. If everything is possible, then nothing is desirable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w5sQmqSjjok/UPMSJb3DA6I/AAAAAAAABzU/XsycjZXQWcs/s1600/mountain+view-walla+walla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w5sQmqSjjok/UPMSJb3DA6I/AAAAAAAABzU/XsycjZXQWcs/s400/mountain+view-walla+walla.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain View Cemetery - Walla Walla</td></tr>
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Making afterlives problematical.<br />
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The existential question, why am I here?, is understandably self-centered; if one weren’t here in the first place, the question couldn’t be asked. It doesn’t take much reflection, though, to understand that the question is, why is anything here? Why is there anything versus nothing? If you’re wondering why you are here, specifically, you’re not understanding the situation. Why is the Universe here?<br />
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Frankly, we have no idea. Furthermore, at this level, it’s a meaningless question; it’s applying human values to the cosmos. Understandable, but faulty; it’s giving us way too much credit. It’s probably best to not ask it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gQCwmdboZQ8/UPMVIAzYYII/AAAAAAAAB0o/8vKnev7Zbr0/s1600/lyle-balch+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gQCwmdboZQ8/UPMVIAzYYII/AAAAAAAAB0o/8vKnev7Zbr0/s400/lyle-balch+bear.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lyle-Balch Cemetery - Lyle</td></tr>
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There are, apparently, some physical truths that trump the desire for eternal life, not the least of which being location; but arguably more important is the fact that everything has a shelf-life. Nothing lasts forever, not even the Universe. Because, if the Universe did last forever, it would always have been a vast uniform void. Shapes, corporal existences, are contrary to entropy. Things, stuff you can touch, our very beings are dependent on our going away, our disappearing. We wouldn’t be here if we couldn’t go away. Funny, that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8pefMVONOcA/UPMVx5IYILI/AAAAAAAAB04/GcsZ3D9t6no/s1600/greenwood-cathlamet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8pefMVONOcA/UPMVx5IYILI/AAAAAAAAB04/GcsZ3D9t6no/s400/greenwood-cathlamet.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greenwood Cemetry - Cathlamet</td></tr>
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The question I find more intriguing is, why is life so persistent? Why does it care to be alive so much? Why desire? Life, after all, is but the desire to remain alive, nothing more, nothing less. Why should it care? Do the stars care that they will one day implode or explode? Why should living things care?<br />
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That, too, at this primitive stage, is an unanswerable question, one best not posed. It is enough to know that we do care; from the very first bacteria to you and me, the only thing we’ve ever really cared about has been keeping going. That desire is built into our fiber. It is the only desire; everything else is subsumed to that. So far, so good.<br />
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That desire, in fact, is built so strongly into our <i>raison d’être</i>, that we are inclined to believe that our termination could not possibly be true, that, surely, there’s something beyond this. For us, at least, forget about the ants. Maybe them, too, who knows? But for us for sure there has to be something more. Doesn’t there?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ggkNwhFKtXU/UPMVbpJrXJI/AAAAAAAAB0w/xSr5nGB22nc/s1600/lyle-balch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ggkNwhFKtXU/UPMVbpJrXJI/AAAAAAAAB0w/xSr5nGB22nc/s400/lyle-balch.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lyle-Balch Cemetery - Lyle</td></tr>
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No. But it’s a good try. One can always pretend.<br />
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Which we’re pretty good at. Pretense is as good as reality any day if you’re scared of dying. “Not me! I’m going to live forever!”<br />
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Sure, sure. Whatever.<br />
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“Meaning” is what you bring to the table.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nZCXcAC_Lh0/UPMUdzWmVsI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/5zbeJv2Qr-M/s1600/oysterville.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nZCXcAC_Lh0/UPMUdzWmVsI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/5zbeJv2Qr-M/s400/oysterville.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oysterville Cemetery</td></tr>
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Meaning is why we have cemeteries. We don’t need to keep old, expired bodies. “Hang onto that dwarf star; you never know when we might need it.” As has been observed, if it’s getting rid of bodies you want, then volcanos are a good option. After all, one can’t actually talk to a dead person, so why struggle to keep them around? Why even have cemeteries?<br />
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Because the dead are our silent conscience. The dead are the people to whom we bare our souls. They are our strictest critics. They are us. We internalize the dead; we adopt their personas when we visit their graves; we speak on their behalf. We all know the dead are not actually with us anymore and we know that we’re crying in the wind; but by assuming the mantle of others we can say things to ourselves that might otherwise remain hidden. To be honest with ourselves, we sometimes have to place our words in the mouths of others. The dead are less likely to object and are, hence, free to say that which cannot be spoken.<br />
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To propitiate them for their silent service, we adorn their graves with tokens. We bring them offerings, trinkets, mementoes, and milagros. We strew their graves with coins or stack pebbles on them. We leave a teddy bear or a candle, a photo, a bottle of beer. Dolls or a toy truck. Oh yes, and maybe a stone, a block of granite with a name chiseled on its face. To keep them alive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K5t7D5ok9Yo/UPMU3sv66HI/AAAAAAAAB0g/83pdtCP5b2c/s1600/mount+pleasant-sled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K5t7D5ok9Yo/UPMU3sv66HI/AAAAAAAAB0g/83pdtCP5b2c/s400/mount+pleasant-sled.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mount Pleasant Cemetery - Seattle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There will come a time when the Earth will be swallowed up by the Sun. There will come a time when there is no one left to remember us. There will come a time.<br />
<br />
Here on Earth, though, we still remember the past; we still blink into the future. There is no eternity other than the present which goes on forever. We come and we go. It is a lovely show.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WTrf6BvTKP0/UPMTpG9LsrI/AAAAAAAAB0Q/3eQxgF4B4nw/s1600/greenwood+maiden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WTrf6BvTKP0/UPMTpG9LsrI/AAAAAAAAB0Q/3eQxgF4B4nw/s400/greenwood+maiden.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greenwood Cemetery - Cathlamet</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-50069415480159922322012-12-30T12:13:00.000-08:002012-12-30T12:13:46.904-08:00On the Warpath: Images of Indian Cemeteries<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LFwgkpVR1bw/UOCZkZZK1yI/AAAAAAAABwY/ac03-YINEPA/s1600/agency+mission.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LFwgkpVR1bw/UOCZkZZK1yI/AAAAAAAABwY/ac03-YINEPA/s400/agency+mission.1.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agency Mission Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
JFK was our first minority president. It’s hard to picture that wavy-haired youth, stylish First Lady, Camelot and all, being our first minority President, but he was: Catholic. It’s hard to picture Catholics as a minority. Isn’t the Pope Catholic? Don’t they have all of South America? How can they be a minority?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-whWC7-0fFG8/UOCel9EEWHI/AAAAAAAAByA/36aFMxvwyn8/s1600/chief.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-whWC7-0fFG8/UOCel9EEWHI/AAAAAAAAByA/36aFMxvwyn8/s400/chief.2.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Schonchin Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nonetheless, during his campaign it was a mighty issue and one that threatened to derail him, much as Obama’s milk chocolate skin. The 2012 elections showed how much the demographics of the country have changed in the ensuing half-century since Kennedy. Now, all those little minorities have morphed into one majority. Suddenly, a putative black man represents the face of America today. The WASP days are definitely on the wane. Adios and good riddance. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N4YbXd4_UPM/UOCcMe8Uk4I/AAAAAAAABxQ/Pyx0wjbGuHw/s1600/agency.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N4YbXd4_UPM/UOCcMe8Uk4I/AAAAAAAABxQ/Pyx0wjbGuHw/s400/agency.3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agency Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Catholic? Black? We almost had a Mormon, funny underwear and all. So when will there be a Jewish President, already? Heck, the way the country is going, we’ll soon have a gay Latina running the place. Let’s see her bomb Afghanistan. Asian? Why not?<br /><br />Anybody but an Indian. You can’t be President if you’re from another nation. Sorry, guys, it’s the way they wrote the laws; you wanna be President, you have to be a Native-American, not a Chippewa, or a Paiute, or a Mohican. You have to be a plain old anybody from Anywhere, USA.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zjXglfEygIE/UOCaGnc2wVI/AAAAAAAABwg/loIsuiLgjbw/s1600/husum.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zjXglfEygIE/UOCaGnc2wVI/AAAAAAAABwg/loIsuiLgjbw/s400/husum.1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indian Cemetery - Husum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not that one couldn’t be born on a reservation and become President of the United States, that’s perfectly legal (I think). What one can’t do is spend one’s life fighting for status as a sovereign nation and then want to be President of ours. I don’t think the rest of us minorities (hey, I’m a minority now) are going to want to vote for someone who’s perennially pissed off at us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofjKjfsHcmU/UOCeBN3XwAI/AAAAAAAABxw/LkuO-Kgu38M/s1600/agency.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofjKjfsHcmU/UOCeBN3XwAI/AAAAAAAABxw/LkuO-Kgu38M/s400/agency.2.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agency Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jesus, how did that happen? How come one minority is shut out of the game? Oh sure, it’s PC to idolize the Indians, these days; but when it comes to having them do anything for us besides building casinos and being a tourist attraction, they are—I’m going to say this—low on the totem pole. And for sure, it’s not their fault. In fact, it’s no one’s fault; it’s just the way history rolled out: sometimes you’re the victor, sometimes you’re the loser. Happens to us all.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NQGEKJZeNFo/UOCakCaHFRI/AAAAAAAABwo/F-PrzkAbDlY/s1600/paiute.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NQGEKJZeNFo/UOCakCaHFRI/AAAAAAAABwo/F-PrzkAbDlY/s400/paiute.1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paiute II Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What doesn’t always happen is that the losers don’t always get shunted away onto reservations which are mythical sovereign nations. They are, of course, nothing like nations (built on unemployment, casinos, and alcohol) much less sovereign, but it’s a comfortable fiction for both sides. Unfortunately, rather than giving the Indians independence, respectability, and a place among the nations of the world, we gave them a ghetto thousands of acres broad. It couldn’t be helped. It was a product of the times. A couple hundred years earlier and the Indians would have simply melted into the rest of the population. Setting them aside on barren tracks of land and giving them the illusion of independence has kept them from successfully joining the mainstream. Of course, the Indians don’t want to join the mainstream, but that’s pride talking, not wisdom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVw3bu-TCas/UOCeVqmoX-I/AAAAAAAABx4/7tcrQeFmLt4/s1600/chief.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVw3bu-TCas/UOCeVqmoX-I/AAAAAAAABx4/7tcrQeFmLt4/s400/chief.1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Schonchin Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The result is they’re stuck on reservations set aside from the rest of the country, and because of those reservations, will never be able to fully join the body Americana. The curse of an inappropriate gift. They are welded to the memory of a dream-time long since vanished under the wagon wheels of settlers. It is, alas, one more legacy of farming. Farmers grow many people and big armies and they always need more land. No tribal society can withstand the march of the plow. It’s a story 10,000 years in the making.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qP3iQ3A5Nl0/UOCa9H_zxDI/AAAAAAAABww/Etq1auKdcxY/s1600/paul+Wash.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qP3iQ3A5Nl0/UOCa9H_zxDI/AAAAAAAABww/Etq1auKdcxY/s400/paul+Wash.1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Washington Cemetery </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It makes for an uncomfortable truce. Reservations have quasi autonomy, and the lack of true autonomy creates a never ending undercurrent of tension between people from the rez and those from beyond. Us. There is, as far as I can tell, no solution. The pattern is set; the lines are clearly drawn; there’s no going back. No one’s about to give up their reservation and government support. It’s all they have left. Except, of course, for their pride. (If I were them, I’d concentrate on building community colleges instead of casinos, but what do I know?) Likewise, you can be sure the farmers aren’t going to give up their land. Or their government support.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sPvYg2fRrGo/UOCe7DU2UDI/AAAAAAAAByI/7ION8Rmygv8/s1600/paul+wash.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sPvYg2fRrGo/UOCe7DU2UDI/AAAAAAAAByI/7ION8Rmygv8/s400/paul+wash.3.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Washington Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Indian graveyards don’t have to be on reservation land to have an unworldly feel to them. Given, each graveyard is different from any other graveyard just as any human is different from any other human, but upon entering an Indian graveyard one immediately knows they’re in a place apart from the common. In those carefully crafted windows onto a community’s soul, an alien gestalt wraps around the mounds covering the dead. This is not your farmer’s graveyard.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gS4HdIgDqnY/UOCbbzKUFsI/AAAAAAAABw4/PPbnQouibHs/s1600/st+andrews.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gS4HdIgDqnY/UOCbbzKUFsI/AAAAAAAABw4/PPbnQouibHs/s400/st+andrews.1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Andrews Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The emotions surrounding an Indian cemetery are complex and strong. How they feel about them and how they feel about outsiders visiting them is writ in the “no trespassing” signs one sees at many of them. There are other gated and locked cemeteries out there, but they’re rare. By far, most cemeteries are open to whomever happens by; nice for visitors and vandals alike. Part of the problem with visitors to Indian cemeteries is that the cemeteries have suffered an inordinate amount of vandalism through the years, much of it sanctioned for and paid for by prestigious American universities and museums. Americans went through Indian graveyards like the British through Greece, stealing everything they could get their hands on. The Americans, though, weren’t content with just grave goods; they went so far as to steal whole bodies; skulls, if nothing else.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UewytmlZvqg/UOCbuXj9M6I/AAAAAAAABxA/3Z_SMC7f-D4/s1600/agency+mission.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UewytmlZvqg/UOCbuXj9M6I/AAAAAAAABxA/3Z_SMC7f-D4/s400/agency+mission.2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agency Mission Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Casting one blanket over all the Indian tribes, of course, doesn’t do justice to the diversity of cultures found in a land as varied as the Oregon Territory. Coastal tribes lived a significantly different lifestyle than did those from the interior. Nez Perce were distinct from the Paiute. Each had its own culture and nuances, and each treated their dead in a different manner; distinctions which had to be submerged in the move to reservations that combined tribes, not only quite different from each other, but sometime mortal enemies. Life in pre-American Oregon Territory was no Rousseauian idyll. There may not have been many Indians left after diseases ravaged their peoples, but for those who were left, peace settled over the land like snow. One could finally walk the breadth of the Territory without fear of being killed. Nonetheless, it’s only fair to warn you, being an outsider in an Indian cemetery can cause trouble. Inadvertent as it may be, your very presence can be an irritant; and many Indians are disturbed that outsiders would want to visit their cemeteries, much less take pictures of them. I once stirred up a hornet’s nest by innocently asking a tribal historian if there was someone who could talk to me about the changes in burial practices that they’ve gone through since the arrival of the Americans. They were outraged to find I’d been taking pictures of their cemetery, not to mention writing about them. This very article will, undoubtedly, put some of them on edge. The general gist was that no one should talk about or write about Indians without being an expert and preferably Indian. Sort of like one shouldn’t write about highways without being a traffic engineer.<br /><br />Okay, so shoot me.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n2usRjjvke4/UOCb9_7NVdI/AAAAAAAABxI/NjwL68gQbXU/s1600/agency.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n2usRjjvke4/UOCb9_7NVdI/AAAAAAAABxI/NjwL68gQbXU/s400/agency.1.jpg" width="331" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agency Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Beyond that, though, Indian cemeteries are interesting for the large amount of personal items that tend to be left at graves. Grave site decoration is becoming more and more prevalent in the U.S., despite the sextons’ eternal battles to maintain the place; but rarely is it encouraged to bloom the way it does at Indian cemeteries. They can be bewildering. The first one I experienced—one that my wife and I happened to stumbled upon at the side of a highway—we had to spend some time looking at to even decide that it was a cemetery; our first impression was confusion because it seemed like no place for a junk yard, yet there was a staggering variety of things strewn about. Finally, clues here and there led us to understand the nature of the place.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GsR4_Rypt4E/UOCdnMXkBPI/AAAAAAAABxo/6fap69pNs10/s1600/paiute.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GsR4_Rypt4E/UOCdnMXkBPI/AAAAAAAABxo/6fap69pNs10/s400/paiute.2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paiute II Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I believe I was wrong about my first impressions, which included the idea that this small cemetery alongside the road represented the disintegration of Indian culture in the face of the onslaught. I no longer think that. If the historian had taken the time to talk to me, I’d probably have understood it sooner. What it represents, I’ve gathered from further reading and observation, is the continuation of age-old traditions with an overlay of American-Christian practices. Indian cemeteries before the appearance of the white man were equally strewn with grave objects, personal items of the deceased. One of the reasons for the enmity between the Indians and the invaders is that the invaders saw the cemeteries as ripe for the picking. For a long time, it had been custom among many tribes to put the deceased in canoes; but after the arrival of the Americans they had to start smashing holes in the bottoms of the canoes so they wouldn’t be stolen. It’s easy to see why they’re reluctant to have Americans in their cemeteries.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v4DjXpUCOFg/UOCdOtSeM6I/AAAAAAAABxg/Gv3XDqWdzp4/s1600/old+agency.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v4DjXpUCOFg/UOCdOtSeM6I/AAAAAAAABxg/Gv3XDqWdzp4/s400/old+agency.1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Agency Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Indians who railed against me never seemed to understand that I shoot cemeteries. All and every cemetery. The proportion of Indian cemeteries in my portfolio is minuscule. I wasn’t emphasizing them or zoning in on them. I wasn’t elevating them or demeaning them; I was just showing their cemeteries along with everybody else’s. Still am. I’m sorry they got pissed, but I figure it’s their problem. I gotta keep doing what I gotta do; they gotta keep doing what they gotta do.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D4lTVz2M4Hc/UOCfe1qx2KI/AAAAAAAAByY/BK56rPW1fec/s1600/paul+wash.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D4lTVz2M4Hc/UOCfe1qx2KI/AAAAAAAAByY/BK56rPW1fec/s320/paul+wash.2.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Washington Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It’s a cautionary tale for those of you who might be inspired to search out Indian cemeteries in your area. Like all cemeteries, they’re endlessly fascinating and some of the more colorful graveyards around. It would be nice if someone would shoot the different styles from around the country, but it would be a touchy subject. It’s not a job for an outsider.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2wD1OueGeo0/UOCcnG2AsbI/AAAAAAAABxY/_9OVu9r-9ks/s1600/husum.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2wD1OueGeo0/UOCcnG2AsbI/AAAAAAAABxY/_9OVu9r-9ks/s400/husum.2.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indian Cemetery - Husum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-91507515508416838702012-12-07T21:17:00.002-08:002012-12-07T21:18:26.667-08:00Vandals, Huns, and Visigoths<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OgqUHFBk07Q/UMLNcwZ2czI/AAAAAAAABtc/1-_6lm-5CiI/s1600/2060869146_dbaad42454_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OgqUHFBk07Q/UMLNcwZ2czI/AAAAAAAABtc/1-_6lm-5CiI/s400/2060869146_dbaad42454_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Jonathan asked: “Have you ever done anything on graveyard vandalism? Forgive me if you have and I missed it. I know you like the uprights, but they invite wackoes to knock them over.”<br />
<br />
No, Jonathan, I haven’t; and I’ve been pondering that ever since you asked: “What could I say about vandalism”? Other than it’s fucking stupid?<br />
<br />
For the purposes of the blog or Flickr, I don’t record vandalism, other than occasionally. It tends to be a given in any cemetery to one degree or another. The most successful cemeteries on combatting vandalism are Jewish cemeteries (at least around here) which often have resident caretakers; the surest protection known. Larger, more expensive cemeteries have a degree of immunity, but are not entirely safe. Every cemetery is at risk. Small, unattended, rural cemeteries are ripe fodder for disenfranchised youth (vandals are most often young).<br />
<br />
If the vandals are not young, I’d suggest that a more sinister motive is in play: bigotry. Certainly, bigotry can be a motive for the young, as well, but sheer indifference and mischief making are heavy factors, too. Tell the Jews about bigotry and cemetery destruction.<br />
<br />
The practical question is how to combat it. Punishment is probably ineffective and pointless and, at best, after the fact. If one is always paying for the pound of cure, one never gets to the ounce of prevention. There are many practical steps one can take to make one’s cemetery less inviting to vandals, such as trimming up the bushes and keeping lines of sight open, which are undoubtedly good advice. In general, the better the maintenance, the less vandalism. Vandals are less likely to target places they think are under observation.<br />
<br />
For rural and pioneer cemeteries, your best bet is to make the communities “own” the cemeteries; and by “own,” I don’t mean “have physical title to,” I mean “own” in the sense of “having, with pride, accepted responsibility for.” Involve the community in making the cemetery a place of community, not just a repository for dead people. Get the community to care about the cemetery. Have classes and school clubs take up maintenance. Do things in the cemetery. Have art shows, plays, concerts. Hire local graffiti artists to do art/promotions. Bring your history to the cemetery. Do whatever you can to involve the neighbors in believing they have both a treasure and a sacred place on their hands. You’re never going to win it all, but you can make a big dent.<br />
<br />
The tougher problem is altering one’s views on the origins of vandalism, in the first place. Or, for that matter, the origins of social deviance and what to do about it. One’s views determine one’s response.<br />
<br />
One response is punishment for acts of transgression. Punishment has two components: revenge and behavioral modification. Our legal system, if I understand it correctly, operates almost entirely on punishment as a response to transgression. In theory, both components, revenge and modification, are justification for the punishment.<br />
<br />
Revenge, as a punishment component, has the unfortunate effect of multiplying itself. Revenge turns to revenge and cycles are set in motion that are almost impossible to eradicate, witness Turkey-Greece, Israel-Arab, Sicily, Hatfield-McCoy, and on. Old scores die hard. The only way to stop revenge is to stop it. There’s no compromise out of it. It simply has to be stopped. Revenge is counterproductive.<br />
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With that out of the way, we can concentrate on punishment as behavioral modification, as deterrent, as reprogramming.<br />
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But, perhaps, it’s better to begin by asking, not how effective punishment is, but what do we know about behavioral modification and how can it most effectively be achieved? If we were serious about reprogramming criminals, we’d be a lot further along than we are. The most that can be said for our behavioral modification program is that it relies almost exclusively on fear (of further punishment which could well extend into the afterlife, if you believe the believers); but it’s long been known that positive reinforcement is much more effective than negative. Punishment that doesn’t include community building and the integration of the transgressor into society is pointless, useless, and expensive. It does, though, provide for a lot of jobs.<br />
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Just offhand, I’d put all cemetery vandals on cemetery maintenance patrol. I’d have a few classes on what cemeteries mean to people, what they do for society. Maybe I’d have the vandals assist with a few funerals. Maybe involve the vandals with putting on a community art show in the cemetery. You get the idea.<br />
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Just keep it in mind that nothing solves everything. Be realistic.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-51604039792979125722012-12-04T08:45:00.000-08:002012-12-04T08:45:30.508-08:00Other Spaces<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_1">There are places I remember all my life</span>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_2"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_2">Though some have changed</span>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_3"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_3">Some forever, not for better</span> </span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_4">Some have gone and some remain</span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_4"> </span>
<br /><span class="line line-s" id="line_5">All these places have their moments</span>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_6"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_6">Of lovers and friends I still can recall</span> </span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_7">Some are dead and some are living</span> </span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s hover" id="line_8">In my life I loved them all</span></span></i><br />
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Dying doesn't have to be ugly.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L71yEI8rFE0/UL4oQ6U8NYI/AAAAAAAABsg/DLeb3A9L8kw/s1600/highgate+cemetery.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L71yEI8rFE0/UL4oQ6U8NYI/AAAAAAAABsg/DLeb3A9L8kw/s400/highgate+cemetery.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lBmuCvv6-7k/UL4oR28dUZI/AAAAAAAABso/FnTWaUZrzWk/s1600/okopowa+st+jewish+cem:warsaw.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lBmuCvv6-7k/UL4oR28dUZI/AAAAAAAABso/FnTWaUZrzWk/s400/okopowa+st+jewish+cem:warsaw.png" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okopowa Street Jewish Cemetery, Warsaw</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1yquMWNlbdA/UL4mkWhxWBI/AAAAAAAABsA/IkAuIeXHDIg/s1600/santa+rosa+mem+park.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1yquMWNlbdA/UL4mkWhxWBI/AAAAAAAABsA/IkAuIeXHDIg/s400/santa+rosa+mem+park.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X5VrpiODeJU/UL4mlv9xLsI/AAAAAAAABsI/tWVjUjXkkjs/s1600/sonoma+cem.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X5VrpiODeJU/UL4mlv9xLsI/AAAAAAAABsI/tWVjUjXkkjs/s400/sonoma+cem.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sonoma Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8AlwqzL2ZDo/UL4mmXjTtUI/AAAAAAAABsQ/E758wbnkhC8/s1600/spring+grove.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8AlwqzL2ZDo/UL4mmXjTtUI/AAAAAAAABsQ/E758wbnkhC8/s400/spring+grove.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring Grove Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H08fR3080Hw/UL4mnIPEYlI/AAAAAAAABsY/W43mBqOJ4Jo/s1600/texas+state+cem.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H08fR3080Hw/UL4mnIPEYlI/AAAAAAAABsY/W43mBqOJ4Jo/s400/texas+state+cem.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-60336690408238287562012-12-03T07:58:00.002-08:002012-12-26T18:16:20.092-08:00You Are Not AloneReally?<br />
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Blogger.com keeps track of a variety of information which is available to the user. You can’t tease out everything you might want to know, but there’s enough there to whet your whistle. They don’t, for example, tell you from which country everyone has come that have visited your site, but they give you a breakdown of the heavy hitters; and if you troll each week, you can catch many countries with less frequent visitors to your site.<br />
<br />
In the past week, for example, I’ve had visitors from—besides the United States—in order of number of visitors: Germany, Canada, Russia, United Kingdom, Thailand, France, South Korea, Mexico, and the Netherlands.<br />
<br />
All-time, the rankings are somewhat different. The U.S. still leads in page views with 73.4%, but is followed, way down the list, by, of all countries, Russia with 7.1%. Germany follows with 5.7%; United Kingdom, 4%; Canada, 3.4%; and , surprisingly, Ukraine at 1.6%; France, 1.4%; Netherlands, 1.2%; Australia, 1.2%; and, finally, Slovenia at 1%. Yes! Let’s hear it for Slovenia! Statistically there’s not much difference between Ukraine and Slovenia and the countless other countries not listed, but we’re proud of every one of them.<br />
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Although we do wonder, how in the heck did they find us? Blogger.com let’s us know, for example, that 45% of the page views were through Internet Explorer versus 27% for Firefox, but that’s not telling us much.<br />
<br />
Regardless, hello to all you Russians, Germans, Ukrainians, French, Dutch, and Slovniks and everyone else.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-16039132882817343592012-11-29T19:40:00.000-08:002012-11-29T19:55:42.559-08:00Basin & RangeGoing out on a limb here, my guess is that most of you don’t live in Oregon. Or, perhaps, even the West. If that’s the case, may God be with you. Worse yet, you may not have places nearby that are beyond the back of never. A lot of Oregon is like that, beyond the beyond. These pictures are from the basin & range country where never vies with forever. What few people live here live in the basins. The ranges can be fierce, although the basins aren’t much better.<br />
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The names "Paisley" and "Fort Rock" will be familiar to students of the first Americans. Both places have caves associated with them, which have provided some of the most significant findings in American paleoanthropology. Luther Cressman in the 1930s found at Fort Rock what is, probably, the oldest pair of sandals extant in the world. Recent revisiting of the Paisley Caves have produced human coprolites 13,500 years old, old enough to upset many traditional academic apple carts.<br />
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Needless-to-say, this is some of my favorite hunting country. There aren’t that many cemeteries out here, but they’re mighty fun finding. I’m known to drive here all day until dark falls and then pull off the road and sleep in the front seat. There’s a lot of sky and a lot of quiet at night.<br />
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Parts of the West are overrun with tourists and would-be cowboys. The Oregon outback resists gentrification. This is what you’ll find when you get here.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BZbLpgDTE-k/ULgrxkPUBUI/AAAAAAAABqo/Vf02lKpSNjI/s1600/summer+lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BZbLpgDTE-k/ULgrxkPUBUI/AAAAAAAABqo/Vf02lKpSNjI/s400/summer+lake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer Lake Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z-tWigJuydw/ULgoUbhjGbI/AAAAAAAABpo/km34QbkteWw/s1600/juntura.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z-tWigJuydw/ULgoUbhjGbI/AAAAAAAABpo/km34QbkteWw/s400/juntura.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juntura Cemeteries</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBzBB-eWfAA/ULf-8bhGz-I/AAAAAAAABoQ/cCI7iHFh2_s/s1600/brown.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBzBB-eWfAA/ULf-8bhGz-I/AAAAAAAABoQ/cCI7iHFh2_s/s320/brown.2.jpg" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brown Cemetery</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bdq2mlVe-QU/ULgmXJONvaI/AAAAAAAABpQ/Wnez8MGk5sY/s1600/ft+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bdq2mlVe-QU/ULgmXJONvaI/AAAAAAAABpQ/Wnez8MGk5sY/s400/ft+rock.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fort Rock Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f022-a1MJEs/ULgmnB2k0cI/AAAAAAAABpY/GaQp9bT4MGc/s1600/westside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f022-a1MJEs/ULgmnB2k0cI/AAAAAAAABpY/GaQp9bT4MGc/s400/westside.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Westside Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMZU2ckExUY/ULgoxoZ6veI/AAAAAAAABp4/VvsxAaNR-z8/s1600/paisley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMZU2ckExUY/ULgoxoZ6veI/AAAAAAAABp4/VvsxAaNR-z8/s400/paisley.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paisley Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D2BwaQ1DVdI/ULgpBw-8E8I/AAAAAAAABqA/Dzv0YNlrnlw/s1600/ft.+harney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D2BwaQ1DVdI/ULgpBw-8E8I/AAAAAAAABqA/Dzv0YNlrnlw/s400/ft.+harney.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fort Harney Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C58kgyy7jwg/ULgpP3bLTgI/AAAAAAAABqI/PxzWFE_Vo0M/s1600/brown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C58kgyy7jwg/ULgpP3bLTgI/AAAAAAAABqI/PxzWFE_Vo0M/s400/brown.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brown Cemetery<span id="goog_2049560304"></span><span id="goog_2049560305"></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mguh7VCTl7E/ULgpZwq93LI/AAAAAAAABqQ/qvH731um7K0/s1600/chief+schon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mguh7VCTl7E/ULgpZwq93LI/AAAAAAAABqQ/qvH731um7K0/s400/chief+schon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Schonchin Cemetery<span id="goog_2049560310"></span><span id="goog_2049560311"></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pknAxjLn85g/ULgpweHsJiI/AAAAAAAABqY/M5EzmuHHsKQ/s1600/drewsey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pknAxjLn85g/ULgpweHsJiI/AAAAAAAABqY/M5EzmuHHsKQ/s400/drewsey.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drewsey Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sNAv6JYNIqc/ULgqHAVOLNI/AAAAAAAABqg/vHO3rob1pKw/s1600/denio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sNAv6JYNIqc/ULgqHAVOLNI/AAAAAAAABqg/vHO3rob1pKw/s400/denio.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-88017331011151345802012-11-29T08:01:00.003-08:002012-11-29T08:01:52.859-08:00AlmostShould be in my hot little hands within two weeks.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-44451023840310967552012-11-24T10:44:00.000-08:002012-11-24T10:45:55.760-08:00The Silence of the LambsIt started with my wife, Kay, and me visiting Patience McMaster’s grave in the Lowell, OR cemetery in the early/mid-1970s. There aren’t but four or five graves in the Lowell cemetery; it was a humble beginning. Thirty years later, in 2004, I decided to purchase a camera and a new computer and set off recording the cemeteries of Oregon. Another humble beginning.<br />
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Exactly why I wanted to record the cemeteries of Oregon is muddled but was mainly a factor of my liking cemeteries; I find the stories and art compelling. Regardless, why I like cemeteries isn’t germane to this account. The first trick, of course, was to find the cemeteries. I developed my techniques, but was always on the lookout for better sources. At the same time, I began reading whatever I could find on cemeteries; which, it turns out, is a lot smaller library than I was expecting.<br />
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Academically, the study of cemeteries is limited to folklore studies, landscape architecture, and geography; but within those categories the amount of work done is minimal. The best work is done by landscape architects who tend to approach cemeteries as would a geographer: fitting the place to its function. Most general writing about cemeteries are local guides to both the cemeteries and the people buried within them. There tends to be confusion, especially amongst amateurs, about what one is studying when one is studying graveyards; and the study of the inhabitants of the cemetery is often conflated with the study of the cemetery, per se. Cemetery symbolism is one area that academics like to concentrate on; and, in this country, the East Coast is obsessed with carving styles and eras, thanks to its abundant old cemetery resources. <br />
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A notable exception is Richard Meyer’s <i>Cemeteries and Gravemarkers</i>, a collection of twelve essays, largely in the folklore vein, on a variety of topics by differing authors. It’s a highly entertaining book, arguably the best I’ve run across on the subject of American vernacular cemeteries. Better yet, Richard is an Oregonian and his piece in the book was regionally oriented.<br />
<br />
Ah ha!<br />
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In the late 70s, I tracked Richard down and sent him an email explaining what I was doing and asking for any tips he might have for locating cemeteries around here; to which he replied that, unfortunately, he was no longer in the cemetery research business and couldn’t provide any assistance. Okay, I could live with that, despite wondering why, if he was no longer in the business, he should have forgotten how he tracked down his cemeteries. I understood that he was no longer interested enough to be bothered with answering the question, even should he have the advice. It was, I thought, unfortunate, but a reality I had to live with.<br />
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That was the beginning of my curious relationship with the world of cemeterians. I had little idea what an insular group they are. Perhaps it comes from toiling for years out of the sight of the sun or people. Despite Richard, of course, I managed to find more than enough cemeteries to visit. Then came a gathering of the National Society for Preservation, or some such, here in Portland, perhaps in the early 80s or there abouts, and they were planning on visiting some cemeteries while they were here. Maybe it was still in the 70s. In any event, I hadn’t been to that many cemeteries at the time—sixty or seventy—but I was concerned that the cemeteries that would be chosen to be visited would most likely be the stock cemeteries that everyone knew and talked abut, and that the more interesting and representative cemeteries would probably be missed; so I wrote to the state office in charge of cemeteries and in charge of selecting the cemeteries to visit and asked to be added to the group that was doing the deciding.<br />
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Can you say “stonewall”?<br />
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I got a reply saying, thanks for my interest, they’d contact me later, etc. Nothing happened and I persisted and eventually got a rebuking reply from the state cemeterian telling me to be patient, they’d get to me.<br />
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They didn’t. The conference came and went without any more contact from the state. I eventually sent the lady a note asking if I’d been patient enough, yet, but I never heard back from her. Hmm? (Should you want to know, yes, they did choose the old standards.)<br />
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My suspicion, way back then, was that not many people, even the cemetery folk, have visited that many cemeteries. My suspicion was that people had their favorite cemeteries and those are the ones that they visited. I still have that suspicion. I did, of course, run across the <i>Oregon Burial Site Guide</i>, with its wealth of information, and those people had visited a bunch of cemeteries. The OBSG, though, was a locating guide and not a descriptive guide and it was burdened down with large numbers of lost, unavailable, and no longer active sites. Furthermore, it did its locating by section and range numbers, a decidedly difficult and imprecise way of finding things. To be fair, the book was compiled prior to GPS locating; but, then again, so was my database. (On the other hand, I had Google Maps.)<br />
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Then came the Oregon Historical Cemetery Society (again, these names are approximate; I can never remember their exact wording and I’m not interested enough to go look them up). They are the non-governmental equivalent of the state office. I’d joined them even though they were (and are) fairly moribund. Their newsletter (which hasn’t come our for years) was sporadic at best. They did, as one can imagine, send out constant requests, when they did publish newsletters, for people to come join their board.<br />
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Silly me, I said sure, I’ll join. I went to a couple meetings. That in itself was difficult to set up; there was obviously a reluctance to have me attend. I stressed my database and offered it to their organization and its website. By the time the third board meeting came around that I could attend, they told me that there was no point in attending because there was only regular business to address, nothing special; which I found curious, as from my experience that’s what boards and board members deal with. I understood it as an oblique way of say, “No thanks, we’ll do without you.”<br />
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Which they’ve been happy to do without ever since. Now, the fact that they seem to have disappeared can’t have anything to do with their rejection of me, but one has to wonder what their objectives are/were.<br />
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Enter the Association for Gravestone Studies (AGS). They’re pretty much the only serious gravestone people out there. Quasi-academic, they publish a newsletter and an annual. I eventually joined them, too. It turns out the Richard Meyer, that Richard Meyer, was a longtime editor of the annual and a prominent member of the association. In fact, he stepped in to do some relief work within the association, which surprised me, as he said he was out of the business. Maybe he’d taken a sabbatical when I contacted him. The AGS, too, puts out a regular call for papers, and a while back I suggested a piece on, I believe, cowboy images on tombstones. The editor said it sounded right and I should send it on to her for vetting. Well, time went on again, and I contacted her about what was happening, and there was a vacation and this and that and she’d get back to me and never did. Eventually, I stopped asking. I figure I’d gotten lost in the cracks and wasn’t of enough interest for her to remember or pursue. <i>Cest la vie</i>.<br />
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Then the AGS decided to hold it’s annual meeting here in Oregon, highly unusual for this East Coast organization; but Richard’s influence looms large. A call for papers went out. I responded with suggestions, but, in particular, stressed that I’d like to help with setting up tours to appropriate cemeteries. I recounted my past history with the state and said I didn’t want that to be repeated. By this point, my database of Oregon cemeteries had grown to well over 600. It had long since become the definitive website for Oregon cemeteries.<br />
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I got a response from a guy named Robert Keeler on behalf of the AGS. He thought my presenting a paper on epitaphs would be a good idea. I wrote back saying I was more concerned abut the tours and would like to discuss that first; I emphasized the time factor and thought that tour decisions should be being made, and that, if someone was already on it, they should get in touch with me; and I further urged that anyone coming to Oregon to visit cemeteries should familiarize themselves with the DeadManTalking Flickr site. It would be foolish not to.<br />
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Then I made the mistake of looking up this Robert Keeler. His email address implied he was employed by a local community college, and, indeed, he is. That got me to wondering who he was and what his interest in cemeteries was. I’d never heard of him and he’d never made any effort to contact me. I have no indication that he ever visited DeadManTalking or <i>Bogging a Dead Horse</i>; and I asked him that, straight on, “Who are you and what’s your interest in cemeteries?”<br />
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That’s the last I’ve heard from him, despite nudging emails. In further reading his website, I caught what might be part of the problem: he’s on the state commission that’s I’d run into before. He already knew who I was. But, still, I found it amazing that the AGS, which knows who I am and what I’ve done for Oregon cemeteries, would set up a conference in my state without consulting me to begin with. I’m sure this Robert Keeler likes cemeteries, but his school website doesn’t mention any interest in cemeteries other than his position on the cemetery commission. He does no academic work around cemeteries. Nor, does anyone else in the state, to my knowledge. As far as I can tell, since Richard quit, I’m it. If there’s anyone else, they’re very quiet.<br />
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I went further in trying to maintain contact with Keeler since he stopped answering my emails. I wrote the AGS proper to see if he was okay, that he wasn’t overcome by illness or other calamity. You may find this strange, but the AGS didn’t respond either. Not a word.<br />
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I took my last step. I have a Flickr contact, John Martine, who’s also an AGS member. John is very active in AGS, goes to all the annual meetings, etc., and takes great photos. A while back I sent John a Flickr message explaining the situation and asking him what should I do? John has posted pictures on his Flickr site since I wrote to him, so he’s had a chance to read my note; but, and this is going to doubly surprise you, John hasn’t answered back, either. Hmm?<br />
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Offhand, I’m not in favor of conspiracy theories, but I’m beginning to detect a pattern here. And an interconnectedness. I have no fears that anyone from the AGS will read this, considering how they avoid me like the plague, but I’d certainly like to know what goes on among them. It’s a long string from Richard telling me he’s no longer in the business to John ignoring my inquiries. I can tell you right now that the AGS folk are going to come here without talking to me. Whatever I do to give them the heebee-jeebees, it sure works. It’s too bad, I know a lot of good cemeteries; I could show them a good time. Why they don’t want to know, is beyond me. Are they all Republicans?<br />
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Sayonara. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-61879829939207162632012-11-20T10:36:00.002-08:002012-11-20T10:36:18.563-08:00Home, Sweet HomeThe following photos are copyright of Gary Tepfer and the Mongolian Altai Inventory, University of Oregon Libraries. They are of cemeteries in the Altai region of Mongolia. They were taken in 2007. Mr. Tepfer has no idea I crimped his photos to show you. Shame on me.<br /><br />I mentioned this earlier, but it doesn't hurt to say it again. Native American bloodlines point to relationship with the folks who currently live there. The common ancestors to both may, of course, have lived elsewhere; but the Altai, for all their barren inhospitality, have been a crucial meeting place between East and West for millennia. This is the true dividing line between Europe and Asia rather than the Urals.<br /><br />The mountains are north of the Tarim Basin of China where the Takla Makan mummies were found. The mummies have distinctive Indo-European features and were accompanied by plaid cloth similar to that found in Scotland.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-58987628689403375622012-11-19T09:22:00.000-08:002012-11-19T09:22:48.204-08:00Hello, All of YouToday (11/19/12) so far, twenty-six people have visited this blog. That’s probably fairly typical. Which, truth to tell, I find pretty astounding, not the least of which because everyone comes and goes so silently. How would one know that anyone’s been here were it not for the counters? Beats me.<br /><br />In any event, hello to all of you, you dear folk.<br />
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Update of the book of epitaphs from the Oregon Territory, which I mentioned earlier: it’s in proof stages now and should be ready in a month’s time, and it’s name has changed to <i>Hey Darlin’; Epitaphs of the Oregon Territory</i>. It will be available nationally, so you can push your local bookstore to carry it.<br /><br />Testimony to its power: my wife, who was proofing it, came out of her room in tears. She had to stop proofing for awhile; it was too sad.<br /><br />Now, not all of the epitaphs are sad, but they’re all good and some are downright sublime. It makes one wonder why they haven’t been collected before. One of my flippant answers to the question, “Why cemeteries?” is that I go for the stories and the pictures. The stories are really these little departure-poems, voices from an ever receding past.<br /><br />“Hello. I hear you.”Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-61905828110529619002012-11-19T08:56:00.000-08:002012-11-19T08:56:57.935-08:00Altai Mountains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These photos are blatantly stolen from Google Maps. I don't know who took them; my thanks to whomever. They weren't labeled, but the sure looked like a cemetery to me.<br />
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The Altai Mountains lie at the juncture of Kazakhstan, Mongolia, China, and Russia. Rather than the Urals, the Altai mark the divide between Asia and Europe. It was here that the two cultures met; this is as far east as the Indo-Europeans went and here they mingled with Asians coming out of China.<br />
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Perhaps more importantly for the Americas, Native-American bloodlines point back to the Altai, as well. This cemetery dates from well post-emigration for those who left for America, but, symbolically, it's the world's cemetery, sans Africa.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-44228603837622982212012-11-18T16:30:00.000-08:002012-11-18T16:30:42.156-08:00Love Me Do<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was not always thus.<br />
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We all know how the past is a foreign country with strange garb and customs. We hardly know our grandparents for their antiquity. We accept change as a constant.<br />
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Yet time itself changes through time. The apparent length of a day or a life or a millennium has bent and twisted through the ages to mean different and, perhaps, contradictory things to different peoples. For millions of years, time couldn’t have been more than an awareness of days and seasons, of aging and death. Time existed as a cycle, not a direction. Change itself was cyclical. Yesterday would return as surely as tomorrow would fade.<br />
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It was the Dream Time. It was when we shared the Earth with the other animals instead of riding dominion over them. The world had not yet been given to us.<br />
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At some point in time, change began happening fast enough to notice. At some point, innovation happened fast enough that one person could recognize its arrival: “Hey, when did you start wearing that style of moccasin?” By the time written history arrives, we can track changes in culture and plot a direction. Time becomes less circular and more helical.<br />
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In the graveyards of Oregon, we have a touch over 150 years of time etched into stone. We can wander the rows and see the styles change before our very eyes. If we look at them all, we can see the arc of our culture has diversified and draws its messages for the future from a much deeper well now than in the past.<br />
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Epitaphs are necessarily parsed through the context of their era. Who merits a headstone, much less an epitaph, is not evenly distributed through society at any time. Cost limits availability, style, and size of monuments. The handmade, wooden headboard will be swallowed up by the elements long before granite or marble will. Different elements of the culture, differing ethnic and religious groups, different eras, have different ways of approaching memorialization; what is custom to one, might be unheard of to another. How interpersonal relations are handled on tombstones offers us a window onto previous times; we can see the trend towards informality (not to mention secularism) writ bold on the rock faces.<br />
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The early tombstones of the Oregon Territory reflect both a more homogeneous populace than today and one that took its inspiration from a narrower range of options. Early (1840s-1910s) epitaphs have a much greater tendency towards standardization, set in formal dialogues reflecting as much the choices of the broader community as those of the interred.<br />
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It’s not just that people of earlier times were less inclined to write their own epitaphs rather than borrow them from already written sources than people of today, but rather that they chose their selections from a restricted field and one that probably didn’t reflect their own personal experience so much as the dictates of chapbook collections of sentiments written anonymously for such a purpose. Such chapbooks still exist and are still in use, though the contents have changed. Most funerals homes have them, and they’re readily available on the Net. In such instances, it’s the community which fashions the epitaph versus the individual.<br />
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It’s doubtful, for example, that William Miracle’s wife, who I presume arranged for his epitaph in 1905, ever thought, much less wrote:<br />
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<b><i>Oh Love I am so sad and lonely<br />Here without you upon the earth<br />That the fairest spot in its realm<br />Are to me but desert dearth.</i></b><br />
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“Desert dearth”? Even in 1905 no one said “realm,” but “desert dearth”? Please.<br />
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Written for the distaff side, it doesn’t get much better. An 1887 epitaph for G. W. Prosser is slightly less ornate:<br />
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<b><i>My wife, how fondly shall thy memory<br />Be enshrined within the chambers of my heart;<br />Thy virtuous worth was only known to me,<br />And I can feel how sad it is to part.</i></b><br />
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I’m sure Mr. Prosser loved Mrs. Prosser, but I’m not so sure how often he said, “My dear, you are enshrined within the chambers of my heart.” Maybe he did.<br />
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Nor do I think that many people were inclined to say “doth,’ even back then.<br />
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<b><i>Although he sleeps his memory doth live<br />And cheering comfort to his mourners give.</i></b><br />
The stilted nature of those epitaphs, though, was not universal. Ira Goodell’s epitaph from 1894 is shockingly modern.<br />
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<i><b>“…how we would make the kisses fly.”</b></i><br />
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That leaves one with an entirely different impression of their relationship than does “thy virtuous worth.” I’m not saying the Goodells had more fun than the Prossers, but they might have been more fun to party with.<br />
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The early period of epitaphs in the Territory was followed by a period of sterility where epitaphs almost disappeared. Cost was undoubtedly a factor, but equally important was a cultural shift away from recognizing death. The lawn cemetery became de rigueur and the customs of memorial day began to wither; there was no longer a grave to maintain. Gravestones were lost in a sea of uniformity. There was little room for sentiment on small, plain, stone tablets level with the ground.<br />
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The modern era, which begins slowly in the 1970s, dumps the conventions of old and strikes out in innumerable directions reflecting a new polyphony of beliefs and eschatologies.<br />
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Returning to the theme of romantic epitaphs: the category didn’t exist substantially until the turn of the twenty-first century when they blossomed in a fine mist. Inevitably, wrenched from the dependence on preordained scripture, the new epitaphs vary greatly in sophistication and sensibility. Many, if heartfelt, are mundane. Some, though, transcend the ordinary and reach into the poetic. Often, of course, the velvet words are chosen from an extant work and as often it’s hard to discern the authorship of many epitaphs; but a conscientious collector can find genuine gems hidden in the marble bosque.<br />
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They, too, fall into recognizable categories, many of which emphasize the permanence of their life together and how it transcends time and corporality. Eddie Hogan (b. 1939) declares that view in its simplest terms. Speaking to his wife, Debbie (1954-1994), he declares: <br />
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<b><i>My wife til the end of time.</i></b><br />
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The Woods, Sharon (1948-2005) and Wesley (b. 1946), elaborate on those words: <br />
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<i><b>I am with you always <br />To the very end of the age</b></i><br />
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Whereas The Heffners, David and Barbara (1952-2002), frame the same feeling in a metaphor: <br />
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<b><i>Our highway<br />Will never end.</i></b><br />
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That sense of bonding drifts through many epitaphs. Esther Knight (1991-2008), while only seventeen, emphatically declares:<br />
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<i><b>We were in this together</b></i><br />
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But the Pearson’s of Roseburg, Glen (1931-2006) and Geraldine (1933-1994), put a light-hearted and endearing spin on it by simply saying:<br />
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<i><b>wild & crazy kids</b></i><br />
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Which says oodles about who they were and on what their marriage was based. <br />
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<span id="goog_1017832782"></span><span id="goog_1017832783"></span>A pair of anonymous bridge players—A.C.B.L. Life Masters—in the Lower Boise Cemetery had an equally endearing take on what trumped their relationship:<br />
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<b><i>He led diamonds<br />She returned hearts</i></b><br />
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Sometimes it’s recognized that the road to eternity is only interrupted. It’s not sure if it’s Darlene Urban talking in 2007 or if it’s someone talking to Darlene, but her epitaph reads:<br />
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<i><b>I’ll find my way back to you by heart.</b></i><br />
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On the other hand, there’s a good chance it was a wife who wrote to Richard Banker in 1995:<br />
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<i><b>He arrived with the snow<br />He left with the wind<br />someday<br />we’ll be together again</b></i><br />
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Often as not, the author is merely trying to say “I loved you” in a meaningful manner, one that resonated between them. I have to think it was Eugene (1909-2001) Petucho speaking to his wife Anne (1908-2002) when it was written on their tombstone:<br />
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<i><b>Eyes so dark and dear</b></i><br />
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Maybe it was the other way around. <br />
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Who is speaking on the Sauerwein’s tombstone, Shirley or James who died in 2005?<br />
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<b><i>I love you to your toes</i></b><br />
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Likewise, is Lillian (1915-2005) Engel speaking from the grave or is someone speaking to her when her marker says:<br />
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<i><b>Hey Darlin’</b></i><br />
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And who walked with whom as recorded on Erten Brock’s 2005 stone?<br />
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<i><b>I walked with you once upon a dream</b></i><br />
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On the other hand, it’s pretty obvious to whom Nathan Hand was speaking when he wrote on his monument:<br />
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<i><b>Searching for Linda<br />on the Oregon Trail</b></i><br />
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We don’t know if he ever found her. We hope so.<br />
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The pressing question is what will happen to epitaphs in the future? Will they disappear along with cemeteries? Will the dead of the future be relegated to mantlepieces then attics and then left behind in the chaos of a long-distance move? Or will they be scattered in streams, on beaches, off mountain tops, or buried in gardens? How will people say they love each other when there is only the wind left and the faint humming of computers? Will anyone care that there once was poetry?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-80253636521720800522012-10-30T09:33:00.000-07:002012-10-30T09:37:52.151-07:00New York State of Mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We’re pretty much convinced that the New York state of mind is it. There’s not really a state that goes along with that city. I mean, how would that work, the city would be larger than the state? New York, it’s bigger than anything except California and Texas, right (we’re not sure Alaska counts; it’s not truly a part of the U.S.).<br />
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We do know that New York is surrounded by other suburbs they call boroughs and that there’s practically an unlimited number of them. Famous boroughs are Brooklyn, Long Island, and New Jersey. Apparently, there’s a hilly, Jewish park called the Catskills where all the Jews go for comedy shows. It might be part of Central Park; we’re not sure.<br />
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There’s supposed to be another city in New York called Buffalo, but that’s highly unlikely. Why would they call a city in New York, Buffalo? That would be like naming a city in California, Fugidaboudit. Well, there is a city over there called Buffalo, but it’s in Niagara, not New York. Easy mistake to make; everything so crammed together over there.<br />
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I was out there recently in a place called the Finger Lakes, and I won’t go into that anymore than that. Enough’s enough. While there, I chanced upon nine cemeteries that I visited. Two-thirds of them I ran into by accident, whereas I intentionally hunted down three cemeteries in Ithaca. Not only was I not in Kansas anymore, I wasn’t in Oregon, either. They speak the same language out there, but it’s different. Maybe it’s part of the U.S., maybe it isn’t. They accepted my money.<br />
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It is cute out there, and the architecture is fantastic. There are perfect villages that looked dazzling in their fall colors. The lake I drove around, Cayuga, is rimmed with vineyards producing, rumor has it, unpalatable white wines. Quite where they grow their grapes in somewhat of a mystery as the roads aren’t flanked with vines as they are in other wine producing areas. This is no Alsace. Nor Oregon, for that matter.<br />
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Still, these glacially scoured lakes up to forty miles long and no more than two-and-a-half wide that settle into slumps in the earth have an unmistakable charm that lack of vines doesn’t diminish. One could live here under certain privations, but comfortably, nonetheless.<br />
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Cornell University, high above Cayuga’s waters, lords over Ithaca lapping the southern terminus of Cayuga Lake. It inspires no end of loyalty and love from its alums and faculty and deservedly so. It’s a proud and venerable institution in a marvelous setting. What more could a college student hope for? <br />
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It has, though, not inspired a flourishing for the death arts, so to speak. Death around here is still subdued and restrained. Diamond engraving has reached tombstones here, but grave decoration and homemade monuments are scarce to non-existent. Ithaca cemeteries are fairly sober affairs with little of the exuberance exhibited on the West Coast, which, frankly, surprised me. It is, I’m sure, a cultural thing. This is a part of the world where the 18th and 19th centuries reigned supreme, and in one way or another they’ve become locked into that mindset. This is a part of the world where “transcendentalist” still has meaning.<br />
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Granted, though, New York is a big state and the East Coast is bigger yet, so my nine cemeteries visited aren’t even a drop in the bucket. I can make no comparison nor draw any conclusions. I saw what I saw; that’s it.<br />
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I saw Carl Sagan’s grave. If you don’t know who Carl Sagan was, you should quit reading this blog and go play basketball or something. You’ve no business here. If somebody told me this was the stone that Jesus rolled away to rise up from his tomb, I’d be nonplussed, but Carl’s grave, that’s something else. Carl really existed. And I understand that Carl was a modest guy and talked in a much more soothing voice than Garrison Keillor; still, something more than a flat stone with name and dates would be nice. A little respect, eh?<br />
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Aside from Carl, what I liked best were ubiquitous, thin, severe stele from the early part of the 19th century, with shallow illustrative carvings and the most delicate flourishes in the script. Picture the “John Hancock” signature on the Constitution, then translate that into stone. Considering the technical nature of the carving, the fineness of line is noteworthy. They could use a program of identification and restoration for many of these stones; they are a local treasure.<br />
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It is probably best I don’t live east of the Mississippi. The sheer number of cemeteries is overwhelming. The maps show scads of them and I ran across others not listed. I didn’t begin to stop at all those I saw. I’d have to move there. And New York is but one small part of a vast territory. At least in Oregon I have a chance at knowing what’s here. On the other hand, I could have found my 850 cemeteries a lot closer to home if I lived out there.<br />
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All-in-all a fruitful if too short trip.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-35909100279851671812012-08-23T16:50:00.000-07:002012-08-23T16:50:21.092-07:00Lone Fir: The CemeteryThe printer says the books will be here on or about September 4th. One-hundred-and-thirteen pages. I'm not one to review my own book, but I'm quite delighted with it. It came out looking just like I laid it out; which maybe doesn't say so much for my layout skills, but at least I can't complain that they messed up my order. What I haven't figured out yet, is how to set up ordering through this blog; maybe it's not possible. Some PayPal tie-in. In the meantime, it should be available (soon) on Amazon and, sometime after the 4th, at local bookstores (Portland, OR). Metro might also carry it. It retails at $12. If you want one, send me $13 (a buck for mailing) and I'll send you one back. Or more, if you send me more money; I'm flexible.<br />
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It got to be more of a book than I originally intended—I'd just wanted a cheat-sheet for tours—but once I got into the actual size of the project, as well as delving into the history, it was apparent that a more thorough treatment was in order. What the heck, how many guides come with footnotes?<br />
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The dynamics of Lone Fir can be baffling even to its intimates, as if ancient, unsettled ghosts insinuate themselves into the Friends and bring old scores to toss onto the floor at meetings, like dead carcasses; though the scores too are faded and illegible. They lie unseen, unacknowledged, but still festering, only felt by observers as a vague unease. Which is a way of saying that I don't know if the book will be available through the Friends or at their tours. They'd make a bunch of money that way, but…<br />
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Why does that person cast no shadow?<br />
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I'm splitting the net wholesale receipts with the Lone Fir Foundation which is charged with fund-raising for the Memorial Garden and further, large-scale restorations. My contribution will be tiny, but will, hopefully, increase awareness of the foundation and its goals. But think of that when you're sending in your money. We can both use the bucks.<br />
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If you want to contact me by email, it's "johan.mathiesen@gmail.com." It may be the best way to order a book, at present.<br />
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Following are screen shots of the cover and a few interior pages:<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-60324462073495057222012-08-15T11:31:00.000-07:002012-08-15T11:31:41.773-07:00Dying to Speak: Oregon Territory Epitaphs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The following screen shots are from my current project, <i>Dying to Speak: Oregon Territory Epitaph</i>s. I've only just begun sorting them out and doing research on their origins if I can track anything down. I can't imagine doing this without the Internet. The name and format are subject to change, but I'm happy with the layout so far. If you have any suggestions, now would be a good time to bring them out. Aside from me jumping in the lake, of course.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-83785156719818295772012-08-13T17:39:00.000-07:002012-08-13T17:49:57.482-07:00UpdateIt just looks as if I’ve been lazy. Maybe a little bit lazy.<br />
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I have finished Lone Fir: The Cemetery and am waiting for proof copies to come from the press. Now all I have to do is sell it. Can I interest you in a dozen copies? Oh, good.<br />
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Elsewhere, including on <a href="http://apeshit-mathiesen.blogspot.com/"><i>Ape Shit</i></a>, I’ve been ranting, but that’s avoidable, and put a number of new cemeteries on <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadmantalking/">Flickr</a>.<br />
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Coming up, though I’m not sure in what form, will be some installments on the next project: organizing the epitaphs. Starting with an initial collection of 1700 epitaphs, I’ve whittled it down to, perhaps, closer to a thousand or twelve-hundred of some merit. I’ve assigned each epitaph to one of eleven categories and am currently breaking down further the category of quotes appearing as epitaphs, which I call “borrowed” epitaphs. Right now I’m tracking down song lyrics which fall into two major groupings: Christian songs or pop ballads, with a certain amount of overlap.<br />
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I’m still working out the form of presentation, so it’ll be a while before installment one comes out. Have faith. Below is a sample of a database:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-7314016543204386752012-08-04T15:31:00.000-07:002012-08-13T17:08:40.097-07:00Dying to Say ThisAs Mark Twain intoned, I've got nothing against dying; I just don't want to be there when it happens. Or, as others have observed: death always comes out of season.<br />
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You've probably seen these last words before, but they bear repeating:<br />
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Pancho Villa: “Don’t let it end like this. Tell them I said something.”<br />
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Roman emperor Gaius Caligula: “I am still alive!”<br />
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Dominique Bouhours, French grammarian: “I am about to — or I am going to — die: either expression is correct.”<br />
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Henrik Ibsen, after his housekeeper told a guest he was feeling better: “On the contrary!”<br />
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Karl Marx, to his housekeeper, who had just asked whether he had any last words: “Go on, get out! Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough!”<br />
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British surgeon Joseph Henry Green, after checking his own pulse: “Stopped.”<br />
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Union general John Sedgwick, sizing up enemy sharpshooters: “They couldn’t hit an elephant at this dist…”<br />
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On her way to the guillotine, Marie Antoinette stepped on the executioner’s toe. Her last words were “Pardonez-moi, monsieur.”Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-51577471055198875302012-07-27T08:52:00.000-07:002012-07-27T08:52:20.467-07:00Urn Your Keep<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obama by Cremation Solutions</td></tr>
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3D printing, they say, can print just about anything. With a couple photos of your face—front on and sideways—they can print a perfect 3D you. Better than Madame Tussauds. An outfit called <a href="http://www.cremationsolutions.com/Personal-Cremation-Urns-for-ashes-c109.html">Cremation Solutions</a>—in case you need a solution; I’ve heard fire works well—is now offering of bust of whomever hollowed out into a cremains urn. The example they have on their website may be a bit premature, but the Commander-in-Chief could be known as the Deadhead-of-State. (We’re not suggesting anything, Homeland, we know you’re there.)<br /><br />If they can do a bust, I don’t know why they couldn’t do a whole naked you, but that might be asking a bit much. It’s a tad unheimlich.<br /><br />On a more elegant note, Steve Prastka of <a href="http://www.capsuleproject.com/">Capsule Project</a> chatted with me at the funeral directors’ conference about his modernist urns that are beautiful if pricey. That got me searching the Web for cremation urns, but found that the Web does a terrible job of finding such. Pretty much everything I found was awful or worse, and it never led me to Steve’s product. Back to “never underestimate the vulgarity of the American public.”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LNrIlhsn9ME/UBK4sp-Q6mI/AAAAAAAABUc/8Z1yLiVMtvw/s1600/Picture+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LNrIlhsn9ME/UBK4sp-Q6mI/AAAAAAAABUc/8Z1yLiVMtvw/s400/Picture+4.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Urn by Capsule Project</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-57046757206938700972012-07-16T20:41:00.000-07:002012-07-17T07:55:06.545-07:00sadlydeparted<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_S4R5s0_HDU/UATcTcY3NXI/AAAAAAAABSs/Hn1zBO1yAGI/s1600/marcola.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_S4R5s0_HDU/UATcTcY3NXI/AAAAAAAABSs/Hn1zBO1yAGI/s400/marcola.1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gerlene Thorne (1961-2011)</td></tr>
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Sometimes this is a delicate job, this recording of cemeteries. For the most part, aside from certain categories where I try to religiously cover as much as I can find, the monuments and markers I choose to photograph and post as representative of any given cemetery are arbitrarily chosen by my own internal aesthetics and interests. I figure that, if nothing else, my biases will probably be consistent and therefore can be taken into account by independent observers.<br />
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I photographed the Marcola cemetery in early April of this year (2012).<br />
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Oregon doesn’t have an Appalachia, white folk haven’t been here that long. It does, though, like everywhere else, have its pockets where God avoids showing up on weekends and doesn’t drive down an unknown driveway. I had a whilom friend—I think he’s no longer whiloming with us—who, while living out Marcola way, got into a short gun battle with the sheriff. He fought the law, and the law won. It was on a roadside to Marcola where Diane Downs shot her three children in the backseat of her car. Marcola, perhaps, doesn’t aspire to greatness; it’s more likely to settle for a meth lab. It’s buffered from Eugene, the capital of the county (Lane is too big a county to suffer a mere county seat) by a line of Cascade foothills. You cannot hear the highway from Marcola and you can’t hear the cheers from Autzen Stadium where the Oregon Ducks play football. What happens in Marcola doesn’t want to get out of Marcola. It stays put and lets the endless firs soak up the sounds.<br />
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Brownsville is a small, preserved town near Marcola. The movie <i>Stand By Me</i> was filmed in and around Brownsville. It’s a picturesque and somewhat chic town. I used to help an organic farmer there get his crops of baby vegetables and flowers air-freighted to New York, Miami, and Chicago. It’s at the runout of those buffering hills.<br />
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At 3 p.m. on October 23 of last year, thirty-one year old Josh Shaddon stabbed his mother, forty-eight year old Gerlene Thorne, to death in the home they shared in Brownville. He was arrested shortly thereafter on his way out of town with three young boys, ages two to six, in a Chevy Tahoe. Two of the boys were his children and the other a nephew.<br />
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Shaddon was found guilty except for insanity and was sent to the state hospital in Salem for indefinite sequestration. Ann Webb (aka Ann Alto), who unearthed this information in the first place, posted this report from Democratherald.com (Dec. 21, 2011).<br />
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“Court officials read two letters from family members before the sentencing.<br />
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“Mike Thorne wrote that every morning he says good morning to his wife and he tells her he loves her.<br />
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“‘What he did to his mother is unbelievable. He viciously took her life. I hope he realizes what he’s done,’ the letter said.<br />
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…<br />
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“Two of Gerlene Thorne’s sisters, Kathy Rocha and Helen Wilkins, wrote they were not sure Shaddon was insane at the time of the killing. They hope he gets the mental health help his mother tried so hard to obtain for him.<br />
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“‘We love you because you are her son, but we hate you for what you did,’ they wrote.<br />
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“Karen Johnson Zorn, one of Shaddon’s defense attorneys, told the court her client understands the family’s anger. She said it has been hard for Shaddon to accept his mother’s death. He can’t believe he killed her.”<br />
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•<br />
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I can understand the urge to kill. I have been up against that wall. More than once. The reasons I didn’t are as many as the reasons I had for wanting to. I do know, however, that being up against the edge of that wall is very, very short from being pushed over it, and that, once you’re falling what happens next is beyond your control.<br />
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What does it take to kill a person? I have no idea. But I suspect that even should I happen to non-accidently kill someone, I’d still have no idea what it would take to kill a person. All I know is that it would take madness. Something would have gone terribly wrong.<br />
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Something went terribly wrong that fall day. Terribly, terribly wrong. The pain and anger from the family’s letters is palpable. The agonizing pull between “we love you…,” and “but….”<br />
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Gerlene’s stone was among those I photographed in the Marcola Cemetery in April. It was unusually elaborate for this modest cemetery: a matté, full-relief angel holding a burnished granite heart in the center of which smiled a photo-ceramic of Mrs. Thorne. Her grave was neatly covered with bark-mulch and richly adorned with ceramic figurines, photovoltaic butterflies, whirligigs, <i>faux fleurs,</i> and American flags. It compelled me to take a couple pictures, which is how Ann came to take up the story.<br />
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Time passes. Three months.<br />
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Then a Flickr mail from sadlydeparted. sadlydeparted, evidently, joined Flickr solely to comment on Gerlene’s photos. She/he just joined, has no profile, and has posted no photos. It’s not unusual for people to join Flickr simply to comment on a relative or friend’s tombstone. The note is reproduced in its entirety, as is. In offering it to you, I had two choices: one was to give you the backstory, as I have; but the other was to give you the letter unadorned as a short story in itself. I chose my way, but when you read it, read as a complete story. It needs no elaboration.<br />
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•<br />
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“amost every day they took him to mental hospital saying i have dreems and thouts of killing my famly and no one wold take him he was planing on going to my aunts house where he had a large amount of my family gathered that he had called 2 days before and told them to meet them at my aunts house he was heading there where he was planing to kill them all including his kids im reveled that my grampa was able to call 911 in time before he reached marcola”<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6161654137117620028.post-42238080814827076172012-07-15T11:05:00.000-07:002012-07-15T11:06:40.620-07:00Back to the Future: Neighborhood CemeteriesI'm giving a talk here in a few days to the annual convention of Oregon funeral directors and cemetery operators at Seaside, OR. Primarily, I'm focusing on do-it-yourself cemeteries, but I end with a few remarks about the future of cemeteries, which I've reposted here. The photos are selected from those illustrating DIY cemeteries.<br />
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•</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KijoVwMt0LI/UAMCZwhfibI/AAAAAAAABSA/aeAM0ni6B-4/s1600/17-agency+bear+attack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KijoVwMt0LI/UAMCZwhfibI/AAAAAAAABSA/aeAM0ni6B-4/s400/17-agency+bear+attack.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadmantalking/sets/72157602819340656/">Agency Warm Springs Cemetery</a></td></tr>
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Correlation: The rise of the lawn cemetery has been accompanied by the rise in cremation rates. Is there a causal relationship? If there is, what is it?<br />
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I believe that the rise of the large lawn cemetery—taking the maintenance of the cemetery out of the community and leveling the playing field—has withdrawn the value and use of the cemetery to the community. That, along with the steadily increasing cost for an increasingly abstract service, has driven many people out of the market place. Why buy sterility?<br />
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The lawn cemetery, as much as anything, was the result of the commercialization of the industry in the U.S., the necessity to trim costs and to stay in the black. The rest of the world did not follow our lead.<br />
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Other than National cemeteries where they give their plots away, can lawn cemeteries expect to survive?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U8CfSThxO2A/UAMDR2AwtUI/AAAAAAAABSI/lAOatM0Hbv8/s1600/1-rob+strasser.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U8CfSThxO2A/UAMDR2AwtUI/AAAAAAAABSI/lAOatM0Hbv8/s400/1-rob+strasser.1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob Strasser Grave: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadmantalking/sets/72157600386536350/">American Legion Cemetery (Manzanita, OR)</a></td></tr>
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Question: should cemeteries ever have been commercialized? What are we going to do with all these stone parks that weren’t designed as parks very well? Are we creating a network of private parks that have little value for their communities? If we know all cemeteries eventually turn into parks, shouldn’t we design them with that in mind? Could the private sector ever afford to do that? What kind of job would they do? What are the constraints?<br />
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Two questions: 1) is the shift to cremation permanent? 2) what are the consequences of no longer having a memorial place for the dead? If we no longer have a physical spot to be with our departed, will that connection be lost? Do we care? Places where ashes are scattered tend to be lost to succeeding generations. Can we recoup memorialization without reversing the cremation trend? Do we want to?<br />
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Supposition: the majority of communities in Oregon are already in the cemetery business either directly or through maintenance districts. Some still have functioning IOOF or Masonic cemeteries that are, essentially, a community responsibility. All those cemeteries are still in business. I would wager that none supports itself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s58R2FvB-RQ/UAMEKS3J12I/AAAAAAAABSQ/JQUq6oFc21o/s1600/3-camp+polk+fire+pit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s58R2FvB-RQ/UAMEKS3J12I/AAAAAAAABSQ/JQUq6oFc21o/s400/3-camp+polk+fire+pit.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fire Pit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadmantalking/sets/72157600339160836/">Camp Polk Cemetery</a></td></tr>
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Fact (as I know it): aside from the golf course fantasy—it seems every golfer has come up with it—the idea of integrating cemeteries into a communities general park system has not been explored. Off-hand, I don’t know of any parks which include pocket cemeteries or free-standing columbaria. I don’t know of any park schemes considering burials or niches as a partial funding mechanism. For the most part, cemeteries operate as sub-functions of parks and recreation departments, not as an integral feature; and they’re certainly considered a drain, not an asset. Does that need to be reassessed?<br />
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Fact (as well all know it): parks developed out of cemeteries. Are the functions antithetical? Could governments use internment fees as a way of generating acquisition funds?<br />
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Who should be in this business and what’s it going to look like tomorrow? Is memorialization a thing of the past? Is it worth recovering? Is there a partnership available? Do you want the Post Office to manage your burial? Perhaps not.<br />
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It would be nice to have a dialogue about this, but I’m not sure how or with whom. Grade school kids and politicians? Neighborhood cemeteries?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mxPyZMz5Ubk/UAMFN-sl6KI/AAAAAAAABSc/AZpsHXro8pY/s1600/28-p.+washington+cars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mxPyZMz5Ubk/UAMFN-sl6KI/AAAAAAAABSc/AZpsHXro8pY/s400/28-p.+washington+cars.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadmantalking/sets/72157602160981000/">Paul Washington Cemetery</a></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274717088538425802noreply@blogger.com0