Cemetery Sighting

There's a word for people who, well, love cemeteries: taphophilia.  

While that's not exactly me, I do find burial places interesting, even fascinating, and explore them whenever I can.  I always see something novel or puzzling, and come away wondering all those W words: who, what, when, where, and most importantly, why.

This is my latest find:

Image credit Gary, from cemetery beside the Butcher Shoppe on Stouffer Avenue, Chambersburg, PA (may be called Stoufferstown Cemetery)

Bronze military flag holders are probably familiar to most folks, especially those of WWII vets and the GAR (Grand Army of the Republic) ones honoring the graves of Union vets of the Civil War.

But this is the first I've ever seen of Spanish-American War vets. Note the "CUBA" at the top.  I need to return to take some more photos: the day I snapped this was blindingly bright and sunny, and I had an impatient little one in tow.  Plus, although this grave is literally right beside the street, it's tucked into in a blind fenced corner with limited access.  Thus I cannot even tell you who is buried here--I just focused on the bronze Spanish-American War veterans' marker.

If you want to read a bit more to catch the flavor of this interest, I encountered an couple of blogs you might want to check outs:

A Strange Case of Taphophilia
The Strange Hobby of Graving

As an aside, from the second link above I note how aficionados of this "hobby" seemingly refer to themselves as "gravers."  I get it--when I was in my teens and 20s I was an avid caver and it always drove me absolutely nuts when people would use the word "spelunker."

People who cave (yes, that's a real verb) never use the word spelunker.  NEVER.  Guess a similar process holds true for taphophiles.

Grave Still Empty...and Ultrarunning

I posted awhile back (Aug 2010) about Staying Buried...and Ultrarunning, where Janet Marie Christiansen's body in a cemetery by my home was disinterred for forensic reasons.  She was murdered in 2005, and recently authorities in NC have charged her husband with her death.

Couple Fridays ago, while I was running thru the tail of Halley's Comet (see my post here), I looped thru the cemetery to pause at her grave.

It is still empty, as evidenced by the weeds and grass growing on the bare earth uncovered from the disinterment this summer.  I've been placing flowers there whenever I pass by.  Last Friday's flowers were Chicory, a tough roadside flower with a lovely blue color.

As when I previously posted, I'm not sure of the point here; the whole situation at once seems necessary and sad and bittersweet.  But I keep being drawn back, as though writing about Janet--whom I did not know, neither do I know her family--seems like something I should be doing.  So I do.

Thoughts of immortality frequently are on my mind as I run.  And that sheer time to ponder is one of the totally underrated aspects of Ultrarunning.  Most people in their lives simply do not have hours-long blocks of time in which to think about as much--or as little--as you wish.  During my time on roads or trails, I can examine an issue, toss it about, leave it to focus on the now of the trail (footing, animals, water, whatever), later come back to it....

I think that aspect, more than any other, may be the real reason I run long.

For Ronni and Cher...and Janet Marie Christiansen

See previous post here.

Sunflower from my garden...may you rest in peace....

 

Staying Buried...and Ultrarunning

As an Ultrarunner, I guess it's fair to say that I am concerned, to a point, about immortality. That's because my running not only has to do with loving back country running, but also the physical fitness aspects as well.

See, heart disease and diabetes runs in my family, particularly among the male members, so I have more motivation than most to be fit. For example, my dad had his first heart attack at around age 50 and was an old man, physically, at the time of his death at age 66.  On the other hand, I fully expect to run an ultra on my 66th birthday.

So the fitness motivation sorta relates to delaying--to a point--immortality. That's why I was disturbed last week when I ran through the local Brown's Mill Cemetery half a mile from my home and saw the freshly disturbed grave of Janet Christiansen Abaroa, murdered back in 2005. Her body had just been exhumed to gather additional evidence. From the local newspaper, the Chambersburg Public Opinion:

Janet Christiansen Abaroa was found apparently stabbed to death in her Durham [NC] home in late April 2005. Her husband, Raven Abaroa, was charged in her death earlier this year. He remains incarcerated at the Durham County Detention Facility.

Although most of her immediate family lives in Virginia, Janet was buried in Brown's Mill Cemetery near Greencastle...she was buried in a large family plot, next to the body of her sister, who died years ago of leukemia.

The closest marker to Abaroa's grave simply reads "Christiansen." There is no stone bearing her full name and the dates of her birth and death. The family will likely install a headstone after the case is finally closed.

I mused a bit about our mores and rules about disinterring people. It's OK to dig somebody up for forensic reasons, because it's for a good purpose and the body is then put back afterwards. And it's OK to dig up mummies, say, from Egypt's age of the pyramids (although maybe that's changing).  But while it'd not be cool to dig up, say, President Lincoln, King Arthur's tomb would (probably?) be fair game.

So somewhere in that time continuum it starts out as a no-no to dig up graves (unless for law enforcement), but as you work backwards, at some point it seems that a grave ceases to be so much a grave as it is a historical site worthy of investigation.  It becomes OK because the science  makes it worthwhile to disturb a grave.

I'm rambling here, so I guess the point I'm trying to make is that the jury is probably still out on where grave robbing stops and history begins.  I don't hold any special belief in the sanctity of a buried corpse; after all, the essence of the person is long gone. 

I believe in the necessity in this case of exhuming the body.  But it bothers me symbolically that Janet Marie Christiansen's memory? spirit? has been disturbed. 

When I run my last ultra and die, I plan to be cremated and my ashes scattered.  But I also hope to figuratively rest in peace.