Thoughts on Haw Orchard

Richie's wife, Shawna, teaches creative writing. She is interviewing various people in our family in order to write a article about Haw Orchard Cemetery. I threw together the following and sent to her hoping she could find a quote in here somewhere that she could use.

Any time you want to comment on something, you can send it to my email and I'll post it here or you can click where it (usually) says 0 Comments. That will allow you to comment on a photo or another piece someone has written.

Though I'm mainly going to post photos on this blog, I'm open for any creative ways to share our experience with our family. At some point, I hope to post some of the video I've taken, over the years, post it on YouTube and then embed the pieces here on the blog.

This cemetery is a central part of the life of my dad's family. Over the years, most of our parents left Appalachia to find work. But at least one weekend a year, they came back "home" to honor their parents and ancestors and to reconnect their ties with their roots in the mountains. Many took jobs in suburbs and cites. But their hearts were here in the mountains. This annual pilgrimage reminds them of their roots.

I notice many retirees today have gotten used to their suburban lifestyles and their friends. Most of these grew up around the cities and have become comfortable with the lifestyle. Most of their friends are nearby. My parent's generation grew up believing that cities were places to work. But "down home" was the place to retire to and the place to live a normal life. This was my dad's experience. He worked a career in the Washington, DC suburbs, living in a small apartment and quietly saving his money. Thanks to a good job with good benefits, he was able to retire fairly early. Given his simple needs, he was able to build a nice, small home in the mountains. It was paid off when he retired and he and his second wife lived comfortably on his retirement income.

Though he spent over 30 years near the city, he always came back to this cemetery and this church. My dad grew up coming to this cemetery on the second Sunday of August. Eventually, his parents were buried here. Many of our family funerals were held in this small church chapel. A couple of years ago, it was his turn to be laid to rest here in the shadow of the beautiful mountains he loved so much. The 21-gun salute provided by the local VFW spoke to his journey across the sea, during WW II, to risk his life for our freedom. But he always returned to the mountains.

I have a photo trail of this cemetery. I have pictures of me, as a kid, with my parents here on Decoration Sunday. My grandmother died before I was born. My early visits included photos of her grave. After my grandfather died, photos of his grave became part of the photo record. I have pictures of my dad, holding my kids here on Decoration Sunday. Those pictures are priceless because not only are they grown now, my dad is no longer with us. Now my collection includes pictures of my dad's tombstone. The dates of his life remind me how fleeting life is.

Though my dad had a full life, it doesn't seem enough to me. I've often told many that I thought he lived in the most interesting generation in history. He went from living on a farm with no electricity (not much changed for thousands of years) to space travel in his lifetime. I can't imagine any generation can ever see that much change again. The small, American flag next to his VFW foot marker remind me of how he and millions of other quiet, country boys got on ships to travel to foreign lands, when needed.

I have other memories of this special Sunday. I got to walk up to Lum's store, with my cousins, and get a candy bar from here. This was one of the first occasions where I could go somewhere without my parents. It was one of my first acts of feeling grown-up.

In my eulogy for my dad, I said that in a couple of hours my dad would be buried in this beautiful mountain cemetery. It's one of the prettiest spots on earth. I suggested to the crowd that if you only go there on Decoration Sunday that you go there some time all by yourself. Stand in the cemetery, look at the mountains around you and you'll understand a little bit why my dad loved these mountains so much. I believe there must be something in our genes, from our Dutch and German ancestors, that causes us to love mountains, these mountains, so much.


For over 80 years, my dad returned to this cemetery, at least once a year. Today, I and my kids, return to the mountains and this cemetery. A few miles down the road was my dad's retirement home. This is where my kids grew up going to grandpa's and grandma's for Thanksgiving and occasionally for Christmas. It's where they came to spend a week to go to Vacation Bible School with grandpa and grandma when school was out.

Now I make the trip without him. And I imagine my kids and my cousins and their kids will do the same after me. This cemetery is central to the history of my dad and our family.If you drive by on Route 58, your attention will probably be drawn to the beautiful state park to the north of the road. You might not notice the the small church and cemetery below the road.

If you drive up into the park and walk out on "Buzzard's Rock" you can look down on this cute little country church and cemetery. But in this little cemetery lies the memories of our family over several generations.I'm one branch of this large family tree. I have incredible memories that include my dad and my kids. I imagine my cousins have just as many themselves. That's a lot of history for a little church and cemetery that you can casually notice as you drive by.