Ilwaco Cemetery, Washington

Sometime in October Paul and took a trip to the southern coasts of Washington and Oregon. We had never been that far down the coast before and figured some exploration was in order. We took the RV and spent the night in the campground at Cape Disappointment and decided to head down Hwy 101 into Oregon. Right off the highway, Paul spotted the gate to this lovely graveyard just outside of Ilwaco and of course I wanted to stop. These two stone pillars stood like sentries on the road into the cemetery and all I could see from the highway was a rising hill edged with evergreens and other shrubs and plants. Other than the signs, there was no indication that this was a cemetery. Paul parked the RV just outside the gate and proceeded to check his e-mail while I ventured into the unknown.



The paved road leading onto the property was a bit of a steep climb and there was the constant humming of crickets. Other than that, all was very still and quiet. No birds chattering, no wind whispering through the drying grasses, just crickets. And when they stopped for even a moment, the sudden silence was a bit unnerving. Of course, it was also a bit odd to be walking beneath the graves themselves, which were embedded into the gently sloping hill above my head.

Many of the graves were old but still in quite good condition. It reminded me of something I read in the book "The American Resting Place: 400 years of History Through Our Cemeteries and Burying Grounds" by Marily Yalom and Reid Yalom. She talked at one point about how some schools use the local cemeteries to teach kids history. I thought that was a splendid idea: how else to make history meaningful and real? I wish my instructors had done that. I would have been all over it!


The memorial to the six unknown sailors memorial was really moving for me; I'm not quite sure why. And I thought the headstone for Beryl Brown was very cool. Each side had different images on it and I spent some time wondering what they meant to her in her life. I only had one visitor show up on that lonely hill, most likely a local making sure I wasn't vandalizing anything. They did a slow drive by and then left, not even stopping to talk with Paul, who was starting to wonder if I was okay up there all alone. But I wasn't alone, not really. Not long after I headed back, with the song of crickets singing in my ears and the stillness of that place resonating within.

Machias Community Cemetery

Machias, WA is a small town located just north east of my hometown Snohomish. To get there, you follow winding roads through farmland and horse pastures. It's a lovely drive for a Sunday afternoon in summer, which is when my friend Penelope and I ventured that way.

I had a specific purpose for heading out that way: my Uncle Fred was buried there and I wanted to pay my respects and investigate his place of burial. No other family members are buried there, at least as far as I know, so I figured it might be nice to pay a visit to his grave and tell him all about his new grandson, Gomez.

The cemetery itself is split by a road, the older "residents" on the northern side, while the more recent dead were buried on the southern side. I found my uncle's gravestone towards the most southern part of the graveyard. It's lovely, with the outline of a tree. I sat with him for a moment and told him what's been going on in our families lives, knowing he probably isn't there but wanting to tell him, just in case.

Afterwards I wandered around looking at the different markers and trees planted all around. There is no fence around this cemetery, which always feels a bit odd to me, but all in all it felt pretty peaceful. There is open sky above and fenced pastures on a few sides. I imagine it's quiet there most days, which is nice. The older cemetery has many overgrown headstones and some are so worn from the weather that you can hardly make out the letters and images. There were a few headstones with books on them, which I always enjoy. Though I have to say that this more recent one was my favorite of the bunch:

And so we took that good advice and wandered our way the most scenic way home...

Roslyn, Washington

One day in August, my friend Penelope and I decided to take a trip to Roslyn, specifically to investigate the cemetery there. I'd heard about it years ago and finally found myself in a car on a hot summer day travelling over I-90 to seek it out.

Mind you, we only had some general directions and ended up wandering around the back roads of Roslyn searching for it. At one point, we were at a stop sign and I started feeling kinda weird. There were trees all around and no signs to point us in the right direction. Penelope turned to me and suggested we drive to the left because "that way felt cemetery-ish." I agreed whole-hearted. Low and behold, there it was. It's enormous. It's actually made up of 26 connected cemeteries, each one dedicated to a certain lodge (as in IOOF, Moose, Elk, etc) or ethnic group. The fact that the town visitor center has a pamphlet and cemetery map should tell you how many people seek this cemetery out. Because there are so many immigrants buried there, I imagine a lot of people come here to seek out genealogy information. It's truly immense and in various states of repair. We only investigated a few sections in the hours we visited and I hope to travel there again one day to explore more.

One of the main reasons I wanted to visit was to see the "Druids" section. Of course, I will admit to some disappointment that it wasn't a dedicated burial place for those of a pagan bent. I discovered this entry http://www.interment.net/data/us/wa/kittitas/druids/druids.htm, which says:

"The Druids were an Italian Lodge which is no longer exists in Roslyn. This being so, there is no one to care for the cemetery, so it has become and abandoned cemetery, with no records to be found. "

"Until the day breaks and the shadows fade away"

Ocean Shores Resort, Ocean Shores WA

Paul and I took an RV trip to Ocean Shores in July. Since the public campground was closed, we randomly picked another place and ended up at a pretty place just outside Ocean Shores. The sites were quite private and shady, just the way we like it. As we drove around checking it out, I saw a sign back from the road that said "Pioneer Cemetery." Of course this made me laugh and settled the matter of whether or not to stay there. Paul's beginning to think he can't take me anywhere without finding a graveyard close by. Thank goodness he loves me with all my quirks.

Pioneer cemeteries are just that: the places where the pioneers of an area buried their dead. I find it interesting that many are still used today and are an option available for those not wanting to be in a modern memorial garden or cemetery. There were very few graves in this cemetery, mostly belonging to people who passed quite some time ago, mostly Native Americans who lived in the area. It was a quiet and neglected sort of place, not exactly welcoming to the living. Then again, I visited on a particularly dark and gloomy day, when the fog was rolling in off the Pacific Ocean, so maybe that influenced my thoughts and feelings about the place. I only stayed a short while, enjoying the sound of rain dripping from the enormous and obviously guardian tree, before finding my way back to a strong cup of Scottish Breakfast tea to warm me up.

Conconully Cemetery, Eastern Washington

I visited this cemetery shortly before dusk during our Memorial Day weekend trip this year. It's about two miles out of the small Eastern Washington town of Conconully. Paul, his brother Glenn and father Rod spent the weekend riding ATV's all over the countryside and I had some blessed peace and quiet. I spent much of the time beneath ancient willow trees at the town park across from our RV site. It was perfect weather for laying in the grass and looking up into green branches, thinking and doing nothing in particular.

The night before we left I took a walk to this cemetery. It was sometime after 6pm and the day was beginning slide towards nightfall. I figured a walk would do me some good, so off I went. About halfway there it occurred to me that walking alone up the main highway wasn't probably the best plan for a woman, especially when you're out in the middle of nowhere. But did that stop me? Noooo.. I had a graveyard to explore! Thank goodness for those who watch over fools.
It was getting close to sundown when I walked through the back gate of the cemetery. The first thing that struck me was how brown and brittle everything seemed. I kicked up dust as I walked alone along the mowed pathways between the graves. The grass grew wild, tall strands waving in a stiff breeze. I snapped a few pictures iron fences enclosing a family plot and a strange and unmarked headstone. There were some surprises: the lilacs were in full bloom and their perfume lingered in the air. And one grave had some glorious purple irises beginning to blossom in sharp contrast to the dead grass and plastic flowers all around them. It was peculiar to see such vibrant life and color what felt like such a weathered and desolate place.

I got a strong feeling that I'd better be out of the cemetery before nightfall, which was not far off by the time I left. As I walked back into town, I watched the sun beginning to set over the mountains in the West. I reflected on what it would be like to live and die in this part of the world. And I thought, as I watched the the last rays of the sun fall golden on the lake below me, that maybe it wouldn't be so terrible to be buried there. After all, you'd have the glory of the mountains around you, the lilacs and irises in the Spring and hawks flying overhead year long. And that would be no bad thing.

Cypress Lawn Memorial Park

One of the things I've noticed during my visits to many graveyards is that there is a different flavor to those who fall under the heading of "Memorial Park." Many of them feel like parks and not cemeteries at all, which seems strange to me. There are almost always immaculately manicured lawns with few headstones sticking up out of the grass. There are plenty of rules about what can or cannot be placed on grave sites, which are usually posted on neatly printed signs placed along the paths that meander throughout the graves. I can understand wanting to comfort the living when they are visiting their deceased loved ones. Making a graveyard feel like a golfer's dream is something else entirely. I'm just saying...

Several relatives of my maternal lineage are buried in Cypress Lawn Memorial Park in Everett, WA. It has immaculate lawns, plenty of flowers and paths and a lovely memorial to those who have fallen in service to our country. My relatives are buried in this section. I snapped a shot of the memorial, as well as each of their gravestones, leaving offerings and prayers for them. After visiting them for a while I wandered toward the back of the park, which felt entirely different.

The headstones stand tall above lush grass. They are ornate, mostly memorials of the recent dead, many of them made of polished marble that gleam in the sunlight. I snapped a few of them as well, because they felt so out of place in this neat and tidy park setting. My favorite picture is one of a bench beneath a giant tree. The bench is inscribed with "Have a Sunshine Day!' It makes me smile every time I see it.

Evergreen Washelli

One of the reasons I love cemeteries is the unexpected things you can find there. Several weeks ago I had about 20 minutes before picking up a friend and decided I'd wander into the Evergreen Washelli cemetery in Seattle. I was drawn to a giant stone pyramid on the northern perimeter of the cemetery and stopped to investigate further. I'd seen it before but never had time to poke around and see what was there. The pyramid itself is in fact a Russian Veterans Church Monument dedicated to Saint Nicholas. Most of the graves there had Russian names and many had ornate headstones. It was there that found the angel with the haunted eyes who adorns the beginning of this blog. After wandering around the pyramid and snapping some pictures of interesting headstones, I reached the western side and discovered a door on the pyramid. And it was was propped slightly open. I couldn't resist- I opened it or and peered inside.

What I found there broke my heart. It was clearly once a holy place used for services. It was obviously disused, abused and neglected. The air was pungent with mold. The paintings gazed down upon you from high up on the wall- angels, Mary, Jesus, all sorrowful and melancholy. Some had mildew spots. At some point someone had started a fire and there were scorch marks on the pulpit and side tables, their fabric coverings beginning to disintegrate. Yet despite all these things, the gilded icons still glowed in the sunlight that touched them. I felt like I was in a place outside of normal reality. And I felt a strong desire to call attention to this place, to bring back it's sacred reverence, something I may still do.

As I closed the door, I gave a silent prayer of thanks for allowing me to take photographs, as well as a prayer that someone would find a way to clean things up. My 20 minutes was up and I needed to be on my way. I will most likely be visiting that place again and I'm curious to see what it looks like now.