gravenimages
Hi! Eek! I meant to reply sooner than this--but now that my friend has gone home I've discovered just how behind I am. I'm actually writing this on the fly as I'm gone for the weekend but will be back on Monday night, so the next time I post I'll put up a couple more cemetery stories (I actually wanted a vampire face, but I don't know how to do it!). In the mean time, if you visit the website you'll see that it’s under construction--that should be done in the next couple of weeks…
Elmwood cemetery, which I've mentioned before is an eerie place. The final resting place of many of the area’s prominent citizens, (one of the famous memorials there is for Joyce Kilmer who wrote the poem “Trees”) most of the street names in town match up with the names of the tombstones. Things have changed. To get into Elmwood, you have to go down a badly repaired, industrialized road. The street ends at the cemetery gates--two solid looking Victorian pillars. Once you pass through, you’re in another world.
The first thing you’ll notice is the quiet. You can’t hear anything from the outside, no cars, no machinery, nothing. You can hear animals, but that’s about it. What you’ll notice next are the trees. They’re huge and dominant—maybe it’s because you came in from an area where there is little to no plant life at all. The trees are tall, dark and old. And they’re everywhere. In places they are so dense, that it is dark under their canopy. I found myself at the edge of one of these patches when I went to photograph the monument that would eventually be known as “Ivy.”
I had been wandering around in Elmwood one afternoon and had gone through various “sections.” These groups of tombstones are marked off here and there with thin rows of shrubs—there are no gates, so sometimes you can wader in and out without realizing that you had left one section and entered another. This was different. This section was nestled in a section of imposing pines—there are so many trees that you can smell the sap in the air even if you are in your car and the windows are up (we tried this!). And then there’s the ivy.
I stepped in—hesitantly. By the time I had taken a handful of steps, the ivy was calf-high. The stones seemed to float in a green sea. And it was dim and murky in there—any pictures I took ended up needing the flash—even though I was outside and it was the middle of the day. As I examined the stones—and I really didn’t want to touch anything—I found that all of them were carved with the Cyrillic alphabet.
The photograph that became “Ivy” (and you’ll be able to see this card once the website is done), is of a cross-topped headstone that is overwhelmed by ivy. You can see some of the other stones in the background, the trees, a litter of autumn leaves, and the shadows. I think the picture captures a tiny bit of the movement that was going on in that place, because you see, something lives in that little wood. Oh, of course there are animals, but what I saw, out of the corners of my eyes and even head on, were shadows—too large to be woodchucks—flitting from tree to tree. And there was the distinct feeling that I was being watched. It wasn’t negative or threatening, but watchful—and it followed me home. I’ll never forget that night—it was one of those times where you’re in bed with your eyes closed and you feel that if you open them you’ll be face to face with something…
Now adjacent to Elmwood Cemetery, is Evergreen Cemetery. There are no “people” statues there (angels, archetyple figures, etc.) but the last few times Kat and I drove by at night, she saw a transparent figure there, and each time he’s gotten closer and closer to the road…
Elmwood cemetery, which I've mentioned before is an eerie place. The final resting place of many of the area’s prominent citizens, (one of the famous memorials there is for Joyce Kilmer who wrote the poem “Trees”) most of the street names in town match up with the names of the tombstones. Things have changed. To get into Elmwood, you have to go down a badly repaired, industrialized road. The street ends at the cemetery gates--two solid looking Victorian pillars. Once you pass through, you’re in another world.
The first thing you’ll notice is the quiet. You can’t hear anything from the outside, no cars, no machinery, nothing. You can hear animals, but that’s about it. What you’ll notice next are the trees. They’re huge and dominant—maybe it’s because you came in from an area where there is little to no plant life at all. The trees are tall, dark and old. And they’re everywhere. In places they are so dense, that it is dark under their canopy. I found myself at the edge of one of these patches when I went to photograph the monument that would eventually be known as “Ivy.”
I had been wandering around in Elmwood one afternoon and had gone through various “sections.” These groups of tombstones are marked off here and there with thin rows of shrubs—there are no gates, so sometimes you can wader in and out without realizing that you had left one section and entered another. This was different. This section was nestled in a section of imposing pines—there are so many trees that you can smell the sap in the air even if you are in your car and the windows are up (we tried this!). And then there’s the ivy.
I stepped in—hesitantly. By the time I had taken a handful of steps, the ivy was calf-high. The stones seemed to float in a green sea. And it was dim and murky in there—any pictures I took ended up needing the flash—even though I was outside and it was the middle of the day. As I examined the stones—and I really didn’t want to touch anything—I found that all of them were carved with the Cyrillic alphabet.
The photograph that became “Ivy” (and you’ll be able to see this card once the website is done), is of a cross-topped headstone that is overwhelmed by ivy. You can see some of the other stones in the background, the trees, a litter of autumn leaves, and the shadows. I think the picture captures a tiny bit of the movement that was going on in that place, because you see, something lives in that little wood. Oh, of course there are animals, but what I saw, out of the corners of my eyes and even head on, were shadows—too large to be woodchucks—flitting from tree to tree. And there was the distinct feeling that I was being watched. It wasn’t negative or threatening, but watchful—and it followed me home. I’ll never forget that night—it was one of those times where you’re in bed with your eyes closed and you feel that if you open them you’ll be face to face with something…
Now adjacent to Elmwood Cemetery, is Evergreen Cemetery. There are no “people” statues there (angels, archetyple figures, etc.) but the last few times Kat and I drove by at night, she saw a transparent figure there, and each time he’s gotten closer and closer to the road…