On Sunday, John and I did a little exploring in Goshen Cemetery. Goshen (only a few miles from Fayetteville) was originally settled as a Methodist encampment around the Civil War days. So yes, the cemetery is historical with headstones dating back to the 1800s.
Walk beneath the primitive sign into a million untold stories. Old cemeteries provide history, art, and nature. They are often park-like with mature trees and gorgeous vistas. Each epitaph is attached to a soul who had dreams, secrets, fears.
I thought it only fitting we strolled along the rows of old graves during Labor Day weekend. Labor Day is the day set aside to celebrate the overall economic achievements of the American worker. There’s no doubt the folks interred at Goshen Cemetery labored hard simply to survive. And although many lived before the formation of trade unions (which was at the root of Labor Day formation), they accomplished remarkable things simply because they lived and loved and made this place better.
A loved one gone.
The infant markers are the saddest, often decorated with a sweet lamb. The sentiments tug at my heart for a mother’s loss over a century ago.
Families rest together.
I wonder how many my friends are connected to these people. Cannon is a family name on my mother’s side. I recognize prominent Fayetteville names such as Lewis and Gregg. If we trace our roots far enough, we are all related. And so, in a way, these are my people. And yours.
I hope you had a restful, enjoyable Labor Day weekend. I hung our cotton boll wreath on the front door which means I’m officially counting down to fall and harvest. How about you?
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Rhiannon Giddens, Wayfaring Stranger