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jaalaWhile bicycling further north then I usually go (away from the town centre), I came across yet another graveyard[1] and though I was in a bit of a hurry I couldn't help myself from stopping to take a brief look around. I find graveyards both fascinating and slightly frightening. This area of Canada has been host to European settlement for nearly 300 years too, so one can see some pretty interesting sites. (I know, peanuts to you Europeans.)
When I visit graveyards, I marvel at the older stones that are still legible, probably ones that were expensive to begin with, weren't affected by acid rain, or have survived through pure luck. I look for family groups, try to figure out genealogies and note with an extra tinge of sadness how young some of the children were when they died and how entire families were wiped out by disease or disaster. I see what materials, designs, religious iconography, or typefaces were used by which groups of people. And so on.
Mostly, I'm reminded very vividly of my mortality. Some stones are completely blank--what of those people? Are they forgotten altogether? Or does it really make any difference at all if one's name can still be read? Staring like that into the face of something as incomprehensible and infinite as death never fails to put me in my tiny place in the world.
[1] I've seen three in the past two months. There can't be many more in a town of 5,000.
When I visit graveyards, I marvel at the older stones that are still legible, probably ones that were expensive to begin with, weren't affected by acid rain, or have survived through pure luck. I look for family groups, try to figure out genealogies and note with an extra tinge of sadness how young some of the children were when they died and how entire families were wiped out by disease or disaster. I see what materials, designs, religious iconography, or typefaces were used by which groups of people. And so on.
Mostly, I'm reminded very vividly of my mortality. Some stones are completely blank--what of those people? Are they forgotten altogether? Or does it really make any difference at all if one's name can still be read? Staring like that into the face of something as incomprehensible and infinite as death never fails to put me in my tiny place in the world.
[1] I've seen three in the past two months. There can't be many more in a town of 5,000.
