I have posted the emblem of my hometown, Marion, NC which has a lot of the Southern Cemeteries described in this blog below by Stephanie Lincecum.

The Southern Cemetery
by Stephanie Lincecum

I’ve been thinking about the southern cemetery quite a bit lately. By “southern,” I mean cemeteries found in the southern part of the United States. It seems the most prominent, most grand, most intricate, most angelic, and most beautiful cemeteries and gravestones that are proudly and splendidly displayed online are from locations in the northern United States. Does this mean these same beautiful images cannot be found in the South? Of course not. I could list many, many grand displays from “down here.” If we are to be honest, though, these types of cemeteries and gravestones are not the norm.

Recently, while visiting a small church cemetery in middle Georgia (in a little town I had never heard of), I was reminded of why I love the southern cemetery. It has nothing to do with grand markers placed for prominent individuals.

It’s the fact that they can be located right next to a field of cattle. It’s the peaceful silence, with only the sounds of birds, because very few cars bother to travel this out-of-the-way road. It’s the obvious love of family, all grouped together. Sometimes with a large surname marker and several more little markers surrounding it. All adorned with a first name only. It’s all the trinkets left at a grave. You know they mean something to the one buried there. It’s the homemade tombstones. The homemade crosses. It’s the mounds of dirt with flowers at the head when a tombstone cannot be afforded. It’s the idea that a family that can afford a large, marble, pedestal tombstone with an urn on top is buried right next to a family that chose a simple concrete plaque marker. It’s even the living people you might meet. They are eager to greet you, ask how you are doing, tell you who they are there to visit, and then tell you why they miss them so. Huge monuments are not what makes the southern cemetery a wondrous sight to see.

GRANDMA'S APRON
<<<<<>>>>>
When I used to visit grandma,
I was very much impressed,
by her all-purpose apron,
and the power it possessed.
for grandma, it was everyday
to choose one when she dressed.
The strings were tied and freshly washed,
and maybe even pressed.
<<<<<>>>>>
The simple apron that it was,
you would never think about;
The things she used it for,
that made it look worn out.
She used it for a basket,
when she gathered up the eggs.
and flapped it as a weapon,
when hens pecked her feet and legs.
<<<<<>>>>>
She used it to carry kindling
when she stoked the kitchen fire.
And to hold a load of laundry
or to wipe the clothes line wire.
She used it for a hot pad,
to remove a steaming pan.
and when her brow was heated,
she used it for a fan.
<<<<<>>>>>
It dried our childish tears,
when we'd scrap a knee and cry,
and made a hiding place
when the little ones were shy.
Farm products took in season,
in the summer, spring and fall.
Found it's way into the kitchen,
in Grandma's carry all.
<<<<<>>>>>
When Grandma went to Heaven,
God said she now can rest.
I'm sure the apron, she chose that day,
was her Sunday best.
<<<<<>>>>>
Author Unknown

Happy St. Patricks Day. I was told by my dad as I was growing up that we were Scotch-Irish. I was never sure what this meant but now I do. It means: In the 1710 to 1775 era, over 200,000 people emigrated from Ulster, Ireland to the 13 Colonies, from New Hampshire to Georgia. The largest numbers went to Pennsylvania. From that base some went south into Virginia, the "Carolinas" and across the South, with a large concentration in the "Appalachian" districts. My family is definitely a cultural mix but that is what makes us unique.