I have just returned from five days away camping up at Forkland Campground, in Greene County, Alabama, where I spent my time relaxing, pondering and journaling, reading and finding a couple of fascinating old cemeteries. What a bang-up time I enjoyed this trip!
According to an article I found, a name has evolved for those of us who love cemeteries and gravestones: taphophile. One of my friends labeled me a historian, and this does fit me, as I seek the history of the cemetery and surroundings and those people whose names are etched on the stones. However, I’ve decided what fits me most closely is the term cemetery hunter.
Think of it, the stories these old trees, gravestones, monuments, fences could tell. Sometimes I feel the land holds the emotions, the sorrow but also the wonder and respect, too, for the people who were born and lived through their times, having failures and victories, making their mark. Harrison Lassiter’s mark is still there, having weathered storms and neglect, outliving those who erected the elaborately carved and surely costly monument one hundred and thirty-seven years ago in 1886, in the tiny town of Forkland, Alabama.
So many stories happened within the creaking walls of the beautiful St. John’s-in-the-Prairie Episcopal Church. I could almost hear the whisper of voices, catch snatches of conversations: “It’ll be a church to honor God.” “It’ll be a church to make him look a big-shot.” “It’s beautiful!” “She is heartbroken, her only child…” “He says he didn’t do it…” “Father, I have sinned…” “Thank you, dear Jesus…” “There won’t be war. It won’t come to that.” “How will we make it through?” “Move the church? What an idea!” “Well, we did it. We moved the whole dang thing across the river and set it up again.”
The church building was actually erected up near Greensboro, Alabama, and ten years later, at a time the South struggled to survive, it was moved to Forkland. I have not read why. There is a historical black and white photo here, which shows there were no woods around it in 1935. The small graveyard behind the church now stretches into the trees, surely long lost graves swallowed up by the tree roots and brambles.
Down the road from the church, I stopped at the stop sign. Suddenly I realized what appeared overgrown woods on the opposite side of the road was actually an enormous house, fully covered over with trees, wild ligustrum bushes, wisteria and kudzu vines. I drove down the road and came back and stopped in front of it. I will have to come back in winter and see if more is visible when the leaves have dropped.
The stories this house could tell. I hear the voices of the women on the porch on a hot summer’s day…
Grace and peace,
“I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see, and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” – Joan Didion
Curtiss Ann Matlock 
6 responses to “The Girl Camper Cemetery Hunter”
Hi CA! Glad to see you and Faith are still living the good life! Loved this post. Poppy and I are still hanging in there..She’s 10, I’m 85.
Sending hugs, Diane from Ohio 🌺
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Hello, Diane!! How have the years passed so quickly? Faith is 9 this year. I calculate almost everything by before and after my husband’s death. I got Faith a little over a year after his passing. Praise God for our dear furry companions. You and Poppy enjoy each other. Big hugs, CurtissAnn
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I enjoyed the pictures and your writing what you observed on this trip! I bet it was a lot of fun! Looks like you had good weather also! I’m so proud of you❣️
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Dearest Mary Frances, the weather was really lovely, until the last day, when a heat wave came in. I did have such fun, truly blessed! Love you, CurtissAnn
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Beautiful thoughts. I feel a book cooking on your writing stove! I too am a cemetery hunter. We had an old Dutch church in a town where I once lived. It was still being used for services, funerals included. Like you I wonder about the people buried there and what their stories are.
Have you ever had your family tree done? I always find myself so grateful to those who went before me and whose DNA I carry. Because of them, I am here. They survived long enough to pass on that DNA. It always makes me so, so grateful. Not all were angels but they were striving to survive in their time. I’m glad someone marked their passing.
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Louise, thank you for reading and commenting. A delight to know you are a cemetery hunter, too! How much fun it would be to sit on a porch and exchange family stories. It has been age and maturity that has opened my eyes to appreciate all of my family, even the ones that were troublesome and disappointing. Some of their stories now I marvel at–they needed extra love. And yes, they survived, and were simply doing the best they could, as are we all. There is just not enough time to write all the stories that swirl in my mind. Sending hugs, CurtissAnn
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