Abandoned Cemetery of Evart

     A driver drives slowly on south River rd. in Evart.  The mighty Muskegon River is just to the right of them.  A car turns left unto a gated overgrown 2-track road and parks in front of the steel gate.  There is a gap on either side of the gate where a person can squeeze on through and walk up the path up a little hill.  The sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling adds to the symphony of birds chirping in the distance.  The sun tries to shine its light through the trees casting a myriad of rays to help illuminate the area.  No signs are present to say where you are walking to but you know what lays up ahead.  The old abandoned cemetery in Evart, Mi., otherwise knows as the Holy Cross Cemetery. 

The entrance to the abandoned cemetery.

     I love walking through cemeteries.  There is something peaceful about it.  As I walk past tombstones I look to see who the person is and how long they lived.  Unfortunately I will sometimes walk past a grave of a young child.   I look at the year and see 1918.  I realize a large flu epidemic was sweeping across the nation at that time.  Could this young child have died from this flu?  I ask myself.  I stand at the gravesite and look around.  95 years prior this child's family stood on this same piece of Earth mourning their loss.  I look at the surroundings and take note of the trees.  I try to imagine some of the younger trees gone and the older tall trees to look smaller.  Was there a reason the family chose this particular spot to bury their child?  Is this child still remembered even after all these years or is the grave and name forgotten about?   I will stand and ponder some of these questions.  I will walk around and note some of the other graves that might have a memorial plaque next to them that says they served their country.  I will look at the dates and see if they died after they served or was their life ended early by the horrors of war.  Some headstones will have neat sayings on them, pictures (either carved into the stone or actual photographs) and some I have even seen with their children's names on the back side of the stone.  Our headstone is one of our last tangible item we leave for others to know that we were here in Earth at one point in history and most of the time we pass away leaving that part up to living family members to decide what to put on it.

     It was a few years after we moved to Osceola County that I read a newspaper article about an organization trying to fix the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery that sadly slipped from many residence's memory and forgot about.  In the article they talked about how many of the stones were so old that the names and dates were hard to read.  I became very curious to where this cemetery was located and I wanted to check it out for myself.  My husband and I asked around a few businesses to see where the cemetery was located.  We got some help from the library and another place of business gave us a good indication of where to look.  We eventually found it and took the children to go see it, as they also have an enjoyment of visiting cemeteries. 

My daughter, Ashton, trying to figure out one of the hard to read headstones.
Pic taken May 2009



Pic taken May 2009.  My son Halvor and Christian in the background.

Pic taken May 2009

     Walking up the hill we soon start to see headstones popping out from the tall weeds as if they were greeting us on our arrival.  We started walking towards a tombstone when we stumbled into a dip in the ground and lost our footing.  We gained our balance and noticed the unnatural rectangular shape to the dip.  We soon realized that the "dip" in the ground was from the decomposed casket and body.  We quickly stepped up on higher ground.  We looked around and realized there was a whole row of rectangular "dips" that were missing the headstones.  These people are now forever nameless and forgot about.  No one can go back through their genealogy and claim them as a past ancestor and visit their final resting place.  It's sad.  No one should be forgotten about.






One of the family plots. Pic taken May 2009





Pic taken May 2009



     It was easy to tell where a family plot was located by bricks that made a huge square around an area.  Some headstones were still erect within the stone square but others were broken or missing.  One area was even loosely fenced in and a military plaque was placed next to one of their headstones.  One headstone was even handmade which made me wonder if the family didn't have enough funds to purchase a proper headstone.  Ironically, the homemade headstone looks better than the proper made ones. 


  

The writing is still there but it is started to look faded.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Guardian Angel placed next to an unknown stone
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Time weathered away the name on this stone.  You can kind of make
out the dip in front of the stone from the pic.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Top part of the grave marker vandalized.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Unknown stone
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Another tombstone that weathered away who was laid at rest there.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone 

    

It was odd how the ferns grew up right over where the body would be.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credit to L. Morrone

Someone has been maintaining this gravesite. 
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credit to L. Morrone

     How was it that this cemetery be forgotten about?  Good question.  Evart was a logging, transient type of town that was organized in 1872.  Different logging companies would come in, cut their wood and eventually move on.  Some bring their families with them and other set forth on their own.  People died.  If the person was working with the logging camps around the late 1800's and a person perished with no family around they cannot send the body back home.  Refrigeration wasn't that good back then and the body would spoil.  That would not be a pleasant thing for a grieving family to have to deal with.  So they would bury the body in a nearby cemetery.  The area was a new area.  If a husband or wife passes on and they don't have outside family around then the living spouse might take the remaining family back to where they came from to get help in raising the children.  So they move away leaving the deceased loved one behind with no one to tend to the grave. 

     The cemetery didn't start at this location on S. River rd.  The church burned down but the cemetery remained.  In the 1950's GM built an auto plant, Ventra, where the catholic church used to be but the cemetery had to be moved for the parking lot to go in.  Loved ones were contacted to help move the bodies.  Many couldn't be contacted.  Some of the names were misplaced with moving of the bodies and no one was there to help name them.  Whether some remained on that spot and was paved over is unknown but it does leave it up to imagination of what if.  The bodies were then moved over to the spot where they rest now on S. River Rd.  ( N 43° 52' 59.99"  W 85° 17' 30.01" (43.88333, -85.29167)) 

     I still am baffled at how a cemetery that was moved in the 1950's could be forgotten about so quickly.  In the article about the abandoned cemetery it mentioned why the catholic church wasn't tending to this since it was the catholic cemetery.  If I remember correctly the catholic church lost or didn't keep the records of this cemetery and they didn't know they were responsible for it. 

     The best time to view this cemetery would be early spring when the grass is still short and the leaves aren't fully on the trees yet so the sun can shine brightly on the ground.  It also makes it easier to see the "dips" with the grass and weeds kept low.  If anyone does venture out in that direction I ask that you please be respectful and not touch the stones as they are fragile with their age.  Thank you. 

Thoughts on Life and Death

     Since the day we are born we come closer and closer to the day we die.  We all have an expiration date yet no one knows when.  It is one huge mystery - when?!  We all expect to live well into our senior years but unfortunally that is not always the case.  Sometimes the young parish as well.  I believe that when our work here on Earth is done (that God has planned for us) He will call us home.  There is a meaning behind everything whether we understand it or not.  Perhaps the reason to why a loved one dies may not be our reason to know but for someone else to know the meaning behind it.  We don't always need to understand it, but death is something we must accept. 

     I recently had my mother-in-law pass away last week on December 7.  I felt thankful to have been there - not thankful for her death but thankful to have been a part of her life.  Her adult children were by her side giving her words of comfort and reassurance as she leaves this Earth.  I watched and pictured her in yesteryears as she welcomed each child through labor and gazed upon each new baby with awe.  I envisioned her holding them as they took their first breaths in the world and now her children were there waiting for her to take her last.  There was a mournful comfort to it. 

     I came to the analogy of death being like a birth.  At one moment the unborn child is not of existence, relying solely on his mother's body for survival.  Then one unexpected day there is a little pain and discomfort and that unborn child is born into a beautiful world.  All that pain is forgotten as the mother and child stare into each other's beautiful faces.  At the time of death things are reversed.  On an unexpected date and time there may be some discomfort and pain.  Once you get through the "labor" of dying you are welcomed in Jesus' arms and the beauty of Heaven makes you forget all about the suffering from before.  It is a birth into death. 

     William Wallace, a character from the movie Braveheart, said it best with this line, "Death comes to us all."  There is no cure from death.  No matter what studies the medical field does we still will all die at the end.  We can eat all the right foods, live an active and healthy life and we still die.  There is no escape from that fact.  It is true that by making good choices in our life we can prolong our life a bit longer but death is still going to greet us eventually. 

     At times when I look at the elderly I try to picture them being young and carefree.  I picture them without the wrinkles, gray hair, and without their slow gestures.  I imagine them being a young child running around playing happily and carefree.  I picture them wooing their spouse by them getting butterflies over that first phone call for a date and feeling wonderfully beautiful.  Then I look at the youth running around and wonder if they realize that one day they, too, will get old and not move at a quick pace anymore.  Their hair will gray or may even fall out.  Their skin will wrinkle and sag.  Things that seem important as a young adult will seem trivial to a person with several decades behind them. 

     So should we just give up on life and roll over and wait to die?  NO!  That is not what I am saying at all.  We should live life and enjoy the gifts that God gave to us all.  He gave us the gift of life to live in His glory.  God has a purpose for us.  He has given us a meaning.  We need to give our elders respect while teaching the youth to be respectful to others.  We need to remember those who have died and enjoy the moments now that we have with our loved ones.  Once that those moments pass we may never get another chance to let them know how much they mean in our lives. 

First Death Experience

    My grandfather past away 24 years ago exactly on February 29, 1988.  What a unique day to pass away on - leap year day.  If I had to pick a day for my grandfather to pass away on none other would be so fitting.  There was no other man as great and unique as my grandfather.  He followed the beat of his own drum in life.  He enjoyed many things life had to offer and knew how to spread that love of life around. 


     His life wasn't always easy.  He was born with heart troubles and was in and out of hospitals much of his youth.  His mother died from TB when he was around 7 years old.  But my grandfather wasn't one to wallow is his worries.  He used his experiences to rise above the hardships and turn his life around.  He was a strong person inside and out.

From L to R:  Opal (his mom who died a few years later), sister Barbara, George (my grandfather), and sister Oneita taken about 1929.

     It was a chili winter day.  I was barely 11 years old.  Report cards came in earlier that week.  Our grandfather was in the hospital which he was no stranger of.    My mom was already at St. Lukes Hospital with our grandmother who we called Nonnie.  My sister drove my brother and I up to the hospital early in the afternoon and we were supposed to bring our report cards.  I purposely left my report card behind because my grades were starting to slip and I didn't want to disappoint my grandpa.  I knew it wasn't the time to deal with bad news.  Overall, the visit was nice.  He was sitting up talking and laughing with us.  He wasn't that upset that I left my report card behind.  I couldn't lie to him and told him about my grades.  He told me I needed to start working harder at my studies.  It was starting to get late and we had school the next day.  My sister was to take us home and Nonnie would bring mom home later. 

     As soon as we got home there was a message on the answering machine telling us to hurry and come back to the hospital, that grandpa wasn't going to make it.  We stood there in shock waiting for the answering machine to tell us what to do next.  The words were still dangling in the air yet none of us could comprehend what was said.  He was just laughing and talking with us about an hour ago.  Could this really be true?   The drive back to the hospital was long and quiet.  We all were scared. 

     We arrive up to the floor and we were directed to the waiting room where Nonnie was waiting.  Our mom was in the room with our Grandpa and no one else was permitted to go in.  Around 7pm, not long after we got there, a nurse came into the waiting room to tell us that our grandfather has passed on and we could go into the room if we liked. 

     My sister, brother, and I in a close group slowly creep into the room.  Mom was softly crying in a chair in the corner.  She was the only child and very close to her parents.  My sister quickly leaves our sibiling group and runs to my grandpa's bedside dropping to her knees and starts crying.  My brother and I just stood there unable to move.  I think I was in shock.  I don't remember crying but I do remember thinking how quickly death happens.  A few hours prior all was fine and now he didn't exhist anymore except only in our memories. 

     A nurse came to me and asked if she could take a walk with me.  I said that would be fine.  I don't remember what exactly we talked about but I knew she was trying to offer comfort.   She took me around to the nurses station and gave me some apple juice and grahm crackers.  I remember looking at the different monitors in the room beeping to different patients heart beats.  I realized my grandfather's wouldn't beat anymore.  Just like that he is gone. 

     After a while I reunite myself with my family to share in the mouring of our beloved grandfather.  Everything seemed surreal, like a dream.  My body would do the motions but I had no feeling to it.  I was numb.  I somehow found myself back into the waiting room.  I sat near the window's ledge and looked out.  It was lightly snowing outisde.  I could see another wing of the hospital from my angle.  I looked at the lights on in a variety of floors and rooms.  I wondered what was going on in those rooms and what those people were feeling.  Did they know I just lost a loved one?  Is someone else losing a loved on in the hospital tonight?  Can others see me looking back at them? 

     I don't remember much of March entering into my life.  The funeral was a few days later.  I remember it being cold and snow was still on the ground.  At the funeral home I mostly stayed off to the side writing about the events that just unfolded around me.  I didn't want to forget.  How did I ever think I could?  I finally managed enough courage to step up to the casket and reach out and touch his hand.  I was curious to what a dead body felt like.  It was cold, leathery and unsoft like how I remembered my grandpa's hand being.  I felt brave touching his hand yet I didn't want to do it again.  It wasn't my grandpa anymore.  It was his shell and even at the tender age of 11 I knew that. 

     I found out later that when he was about to die he would tell my mom to "stay strong, stay srtong".  Easy words to say but so full of wisdom.  In life we are thrown a handfull of obstacles and the best way to overcome them is to "stay strong" and to grow and learn from them.  Time marched on and our hearts healed but we never forgot about our wonderful Grandfather and his memory lives on and his stories are shared with my children. 





Picture taken of George Hurley a few months before his death.