Category Archives: Ramblings

Dishes and Sea Shells

My mother sent me a very interesting article from the “Vermont Old Cemetery Association Newsletter”. The subject of the piece was how one women’s family would gather on the third Monday in August to clean up the local grave yards. It seems the town turned out and it was very much like a reunion with food and sharing. In this article she mentions after the graves were cleaned, grass cut and debris removed, they took broken dishes and placed them on the graves to keep the grass from growing. She recalls this happening in the 1940’s around the Dresden Tennessee area.

I found it very intriguing as have I never come across such a practice in my research and I wondered where this tradition may have come from. In my search around the internet I found some very interesting results. It seems that this is an African-American, and African tradition. I do not know the women’s ethnicity so I can’t really say that this was the case in her story. In the book by Alan Jabbour, and Karen Singer Jabbour “Decoration day in the Mountains” on page 38 they state:
“There is also an African-American tradition of broken glass or broken pottery on graves, which is of African origin” In the blog “The World Is Just Enough“, Frank Hanisch tells of visiting a cemetery in Zambia and how they break and put on the grave everything the deceased used in the last week, including clothes, glasses in trying to make sure the illness and all bad things leave with the body. A record of  Blairs Chapel C.M.E. Cemetery in Madison County Tennessee comments that in a part of the cemetery that is African-American burials is littered with shells, another grave decoration used, and broken pottery. Leaving the author to believe that this practice also took place in this part of the cemetery at one time. At SCIWAY (South Carolina Information Highway) they note that an anthropologist in the early 1890’s noted that “ nearly every grave has bordering or thrown upon it a few bleached sea-shells of a dozen different kinds.” The author states that this practice is traced back to the Bakongo belief that the sea shell encloses the soul’s immortal presence. It has also been stated by some Gullah into the 20th century that the shells are representative of the sea, where we came from and where we will return.

This practice can be found widely through out the old cemeteries in the south where there were African-American burials.

This has been a very interesting adventure! I would urge you to look into such practices more thoroughly as this is just a bit of what can be found.

There are so many traditions that so many of us are unaware of. Knowing where some of these traditions come from can’t but help to enhance our research and family histories.

Happy Hunting!

Post Script: May 21, 2013

I came across a very good blog concerning African-American Burial Traditions here is the link! Enjoy. Understanding History: African-American Burial Traditions by Annette Hinkle on the Sag Harbor Express.

Alex

2nd Lt. Alexander Kaye Ogilvie
2nd Lt. Alexander Kaye Ogilvie

I dedicated this to a man who,
I never had the pleasure to have known.
Though the blood of his ancestors
mingles with my own.

A man just reaching his prime
A man who left this world
Long before his time.

Did he have a girl?
Yes he did,
but a life they would never share.
he also had a loving family
Oh! And they loved him so!

He did his duty,
and did what was right.
He toiled,
and labored in freedoms mighty fight.
To his family he gave great pride.

It was on November 29,1918
I am not sure if it was early or late,
when he was to take his last flight.
Victory, he helped secure.
From this “little scrap” he’d not return.

He lost his wings on that day…
he lost is life on foreign soil…
with his family so very far away.

This Dear man was my Grand Uncle,
An Uncle that would never know the joy
of his own children.
This man would never
hold his nieces and nephews in his lap.

He would never see all
his Sisters married.

His mother wrote this of him, in words that only a mother can;

… Is it needful to speak
of the dear one
Who made the supreme sacrifice;
For the love of mankind and his country
He journeyed and paid the big price.
We laid him to rest in God’s acre
In Crown Hill on the Government lot,
Which will always be tenderly cared for
And his mem’ry will ne’re be forgot.
But our hearts are so sad and so lonely,
For his face we shall never see more
Till the time when our labors are ended
And we meet on eternity’s shore…….
Barbara Jane Kaye OGILVIE
written in July, 1924

At this writing this family is at last,
each and everyone with their hero and beloved one…
Sisters and brother, Mom and Dad alike.
Even many of his nieces and
nephews have joined him around the throne.

I take my hat off to him and
all the rest whether an early grave,
where they found their rest,
or those that Marched on
and lived these memories daily…
and in some way preserved the
memories of those that have been lost,
for you and I at such a great cost.
Julia K. Hogston
February 19, 2000

This poem has been re written several times! I initially wrote it to place on my genealogy website, hoping to find out more information on Uncle Alex (Kaye). The piece did bring me many pieces of information and the reasons that I’ve had to re-write some of it.  This is the poem that brought me his dog tags. If you have a website, don’t give up someone will see it some day and will have just that little piece of information you need. I have not been to Alex’s grave site, but I have had flowers put on his grave for his birthday.

Happy Hunting!

Whispers In The Wind

Whispers In The Wind

 

The day is warm, the sun shining,
a soft breeze is blowing, the fall colors are in their glory.
Yet on this Georgian hillside, a heaviness is in the air,
and an unseen stirring leaves ones very being wounded and torn.
The sorrow of thousands of souls are calling to the living.

Suffering is felt on the whispers of the breeze.
It is told by tall oak trees standing sentinel over long abandoned wells,
dug to escape, bone chilling cold, starvation,
the blazing Georgia sun, disease
and above all the burning desire for freedom.
It is spoken in earthworks
built to keep others at bay with the weapons of war.
Had I not been told the story of this place,
. . . all is not well
would still have been whispered in my ears

White carved stones stand is perfect rows,
dedicated to the men who died at this beautiful place,
now tarnished by cruelty and suffering.
The feeling in my heart and in my soul is this…
It is their bodies that now rest in the red Georgia clay
but their souls still linger
within the stockade walls,
and this is what they wish to tell us,
if we will but listen.

make sure this happens Never Again!
allow not yourselves to war against one another again,
stand united and strong against that which ails your
country and fight together as brothers should,
not divided, desolate and alone.

Andersonville, Douglas, Belle Isle or Elmira.
Let no man hold a brother captive again.
So as you leave this place,
May you leave in peace and may you Never let us be forgotten .

Julia K. Hogston
November 5, 2000

 

Chili’s for a cure

There have been some trials in our lives in that last year.

Two of my nephew are suffering from the ravages of cancer.

One nephew has completed his chemo treatments for now, the markers where good at his last appointment. Praise the Lord. As he gets stronger we still have yet another nephew that has Leukemia and has just under gone his third round of chemo and is doing okay, at the moment he is getting a blood and platelet transfusion, as the chemo kills the good stuff too. He has invited all of his FB friend to join him at Chili’s this afternoon as they are donating 100% of their profits today to St Jude’s Hospital.

I invite you to join us as we partake dinner with family and friends of our nephew at Chili’s.

A prayer from them both would also be appreciated.

Bon Appétit!

 

Questions

I sit here wondering what your life must have been like?
As I try to piece it together with fragments that I have found.
Did you find life hard, did you find life a pleasure?
Were your children a blessing or curse?
Ah the questions I should have asked.

Did your father speak with a brogue?
Did your mother fix wonderful food?
Did your uncles toss you on their knees?
Did your aunts have tea with you?
Did you travel or did you stay?
Ah the question I should have asked.

What was your childhood like?
Did you learn to read? Did you learn to write?
Did you go to Church?
Did you learn to cook?
Did you learn to fish?
Did you ride in a wagon to a new found home?
Or was it a ship that brought you here?
Ah the questions I should have asked.

What were my parents like as children?
Were they serious? Were they clowns?
Were they your pride and joy?
Ah the questions I should have asked.

As I sit here and fill in the past,
My life I must try to encompass,
But there will be things I leave out
There will be things that slip my mind.
So Ask the questions now while my
Memories are fresh and my life is moving along.
Don’t wait for another day.
Do not delay or you’ll look for answers,
That will be shadows of the past
Ah the questions I should have asked.

Julia K. Hogston
July 24, 2003