What was it about that cemetery that drew me to visit? A killdeer calls from above. In the unkempt section, sweet vernal grass sports its tassels. Lots of clumps of Star of Bethlehem wildflowers bloomes were scattered around the perimeter. Along with the commemorations of the lives of people, there are signs of life. I recently explored Lakeside Cemetery in Patchogue.

avestones so weathered from a century of wear that many of the epitaphs are unreadable. Some marble stones are covered with black splotchy lichens. I find pieces of white marble from broken head stones scattered around. A sprawling yucca plant obscured one stone. Many are toppled, pushed over by vandals, perhaps even natural forces of gravity.

I am scouting the place looking for interesting engravings to make rubbings. There are trees that look sad and stately, noble sentries for the spirits in this burial place. Or is it just because I’m in a cemetery? I carry my kit in a backpack…newsprint and black crayons. I am looking for texture engravings that are either positive or negative, meaning lettering either elevated above the background, or letters carved into the rock.

The newer stones are granite and do not usually have epitaphs. The usual information…birth, death dates, relationship to the living. Each plot has its unique identity. I am here to collect interesting and unusual images by passing a shaft of a black crayon over newsprint that has been placed on the stone. Epitaphs are the messages to the living from the dead…part of the grieving process of the relatives that buried their loved ones.

Acid rain has erased many of the messages I seek. I found one very interesting sentence at the bottom of a marble stone dated 1836. I made the rubbing after pulling out weeds that obscured the message. When I returned home, I darken the edges of the letters to make them more visible. Frequently, I cannot see the entire word and have to use my own form of forensics to infer the word. I stared at the newsprint intently for several minutes getting more and more frustrated. I could not read the entire message. I backed off to look from a distance and a few new letters popped into view…just barely. While I was on
one knee actually making the rubbing, I could read the epitaph. I should have written it down in my notebook right away. I thought I could figure it out. I was wrong. I returned to the message baffled, trying to extract the exact wording. This is exciting and unnerving at the same time. The weathering process had slowly done its work. What was once carved by a stone cutter in clear, crisp letters had faded over a century. As a poet, I reflected on the similarity here to many other things that fade with time. Politicians bank on this hoping that their audience will forget their promises. Stone forgets too. Finally, after returning to this mystery several times, I cracked the puzzle. No wonder I wanted to lift this inscription off the stone. It would probably prompt a poem. It read:

“FOR MY TRUMPET SHALL SOUND AND THE DEAD SHALL BE RAISED”

I found that there is a difference in weathering on stones facing east compared to those facing west. Prevailing west winds have a long-term effect on a stone carvers’ handy work. Frost also plays a role. Water seeping into the sharp edges of a carved letter “K” will freeze and thaw and break off tiny pieces of rock.

As a naturalist who loves geology, cemetery strolls turn into rock hounding. I find igneous and sedimentary rocks of different color and crystal size. Rubbing on granite are clearly visible because of its hardness. On the other hand, marble, a metamorphic rock, offers itself up to slowly dissolve. Once in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, I found ten of the twelve Roosevelt stones completely unreadable…New Jersey, not far away offered its acid-filled air to speed up the etching process.

History is more fun in a cemetery. Sometimes a stone will offer itself as a page in a book and I learn much about the person buried there. One stone in particular that held my interest read:

“SQUIRES Capt. W.H. Squires. Born July 10. – 1837. Perished in the rigging of the schooner LOUIS V. PLACE wrecked on the Long Island beach opposite Patchogue Friday, Feb. 8 1895 buried at Southold L.I. N.Y. “

I find acorn shells on the top of a stone where a squirrel perched to open the shell and feed on the nut. Life goes on in its complex food webs and
chains, cycles, and generations. For some crowded communities, the cemetery may offer the only open space around. It is a good place to actually experience the slow processes of change that we are all part of.