For many years, a memorial service has taken place on the third Sunday in May at the cemetery, near Bacon’s Castle, where nearly all my ancestors are buried.
Yesterday, Motor Man and I attended. Less than 30 minutes before time for the service to begin, a brief shower came through the area.
I wrote about the cemetery, known locally as “Brick Church” in this post from 2011. The physical appearance of the building changed drastically when it was damaged during Hurricane Isabel. But the familiarity of the grounds is the same as I remember from the first time I stepped foot there as a small child.
Walking through the cemetery, I pass the graves of my parents, my sister, grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins from both “sides” of my family.
These are the graves of my maternal great grandparents, John and Ross Anna Warren. The “anna” portion of my name is for her. Had Marshall been a girl, her name would have been Amanda Ross. My mom was twelve when her grandmother died; how I wish I’d asked her to share with me her memories of my namesake.
Brick Church is a beautiful place with old, old tombstones, fences and gates.
The cemetery is situated directly beside a highway: two-laned, but busy. When I was in elementary school, our bus driver, Miss Annie Rose, was an older lady who lived in the community. If a funeral was being held on a particular afternoon, she would inform us as we boarded the bus for the ride home. She taught us the importance of being quiet and respectful. And, as a bus full of boisterous school children passed the cemetery, you could have heard a pin drop.
My respect for The Old Brick Church Cemetery was instilled upon me from an early age, not just by Miss Annie Rose on the bus, but also by my mom during our visits there.
But my appreciation for its beauty and history has been learned through the years.
~These Days Of Mine~