Georgia Pine Over My Grandmother’s Grave, BlackBerry Shots, Augusta, Georgia, October 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
visiting Estelle
gravestones outlast the living
markers for the dead
all that’s left behind
a letter, a horseshoe ring
lasting love and luck
face of a pine tree
warm thoughts of the Grandmothers
hover over me
It’s the time of year when I think often of family and loved ones, living and dead. One of the highlights of my October trip to Georgia was visiting my Grandmother Estelle’s grave for the first time. I did not know her well, had not seen her since I was 2 years old. I knew none of my blood father’s family. It was synchronicity when in 2007 my paternal aunts ended up in the insurance office of my maternal uncle and asked the question, “Are you related to….?”
It happened to be two weeks before Mom and I were scheduled to travel to Georgia. After 50 years apart, the question’s answer led them to me.
It turns out, my paternal grandparents are buried down the hill from my maternal grandparents in the same cemetery. I’ve been visiting the cemetery with my mother for years and never knew. These photographs are of the pine tree that grows high over their graves. My Aunt Annette told me that my grandfather loved pine trees. So do I. When I was a child, I would spend hours sweeping pine needles, the scaly bough of a branch curving to make just the right shape, a prairie-style home.
The thing about cemetery trees is that they are many times old growth trees, never to be cut. I like to think this pine is a guardian for my grandparents, its long roots extending deep underground, branches tall and proud (reminds me of another pine in New Mexico that I’m quite fond of, the Lawrence Tree).
There is more to the story — a letter, an obituary, a ring. Perhaps another post. This week I give thanks for all who live, and those who have come before.
Skin Of A Pine Tree, Pine Trunk In The Graveyard, My Grandmother’s Grave, Cemetery Pine, BlackBerry Shots, Augusta, Georgia, October 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Post Script: the day Mom and I met my aunt at the cemetery, we also visited the Gertrude Herbert Memorial Institute of Art in Augusta. That’s where my Canon G6 battery died; I had forgotten to charge the backup battery. These photos are all taken with the BlackBerry cell phone camera.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, November 24th, 2009
-related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day)
Well, there is so much serendipity and synchronicity in this story, QM, I have to believe that one of those grandmothers of yours is guiding you all along. This part blows me away:
It was synchronicity when in 2007 my paternal aunts ended up in the insurance office of my maternal uncle and asked the question, “Are you related to….?”
Was it your features they somehow recognized? How did they know? And was this back in PA when it happened?
Ah, and then you tempt us with the mystery of the ring. Shucks. Maybe a Christmas gift to us all will be that you post the story and the photo?? (Please.) 8)
The old pine tree does remind me of Georgia’s tree.
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ybonesy, can’t believe I’m still up. Hanging on by a thread. Isn’t writing great? At least for me, I forget about how tired I am and dive into the story. Wasn’t going to do such a serious post but it’s been on my mind this season. How much I don’t know, will never know about my grandmother. I wish I could have met her as an adult. She seemed like a warm person.
About part of the story, it was in Georgia that my blood father’s sisters walked into my mother’s brother’s insurance agency and asked his wife if he was any relation to my grandfather Satcher. Because their brother (my dad) was married to a Satcher (my mother). (Sounds more complicated than it is!)
Anyway, she told them my uncle was a Satcher, in fact, the son. And that I would be coming South in a few weeks. And it all unfolded from there. I then called my aunts when I got to Georgia and Mom and I got together with them after over 50 years. They filled me in on the family history on my dad’s side. That was in 2007.
This year, I got together with my aunt again and we went to the cemetery with Mom to see my grandmother’s grave. I also went to a Halloween party with her before I left Georgia. It was a blast! Each time I see them, more unfolds about that side of the family. My father chooses not to talk to them anymore. It’s a long sordid family story. Haven’t seen him since I was 6 or so. I do often wonder though.
I took some photos of the ring tonight. I’ll write more about it later. Thanks for asking!
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I love both your and Liz’s Gramma’s names QM.
Estelle and Frances Oliver Biggs, CLASSICS!
And man, I know only too well the “not having an available battery” panic. I don’t like the extra battery pack on the bottom of my camera cause it makes it too dang heavy so I use plain ol batteries too! You did mighty fine with that Blackberry. I thought of the Lawrence tree as soon as I saw the shot 😉
My very best wishes to you, Liz, Roma and her Family for a wonderful Thanksgiving. And to all your combined fur children…hope they get some trimmings 😉
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My mother’s remains remain in my closet, waiting for me to figure out what to do with them. She doesn’t mind. I sometimes do. This time of year, Thanksgiving, is when she used to come and visit me, and so I miss her all the more. She once told me that if she died, she wanted me to scatter her ashes on her father’s grave. Which makes me wonder if I would be allowed to plant a tree of some sort there, perhaps. I guess I need to check into that.
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QM,
I can’t believe how similar this is to the tree at the D.H. Lawrence’s ranch. Was Georgia O’Keeffe laying on a bench underneath it painting by any chance?
I love it. You’ve got the artist’s eye, sister.
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Pine trees in cemeteries. What a memory that is. In a cemetery not too far from my grandmother’s house in the country was a cemetery with what I know as cedar pines. They may just be a local variety of a cedar tree, but they whispered in the slightest breeze. I always though the dead communicated through the whispering of the wind through the branches. I could never understand what they said. I wonder if your grandparents have talked to you in whispers from those trees.
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Heather, thanks so much. You are kind and dear. I hope you and your family have a great Holiday weekend as well. Ancestral names are always so much fun. I wonder if our ancestors are going to look back and wonder about our names the same way.
The thing about batteries really bugs me. I just know they’ve figured out how to make lightweight and affordable batteries that hold up over time — in cameras, hybrid cars, laptops, cell phones — where are they? My theory is that if they gave us a longlasting battery, they wouldn’t make a mint selling batteries anymore.
Just think, if someone came up with a patented longlasting battery formula for all of these electronic devices, they would be set for life!
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J, that’s a tender story about your mother. It seems good that she told you where she wanted her ashes scattered. I would ask the cemetery if you can plant a tree or shrub near the grave. I know in the Hobbs plot where my Grandmother Estelle and Grandfather Jerome are buried, there is another general “Hobbs” headstone nearby where the tall pine rises and where there is a shrub planted. I don’t know if someone planted it or if it grew naturally. I think it would be worth asking about the planting though.
My mother has told us she wants her ashes scattered over Clarks Hill Lake. It turns out to be where my maternal uncle (her brother) has settled. And my paternal aunts who I talk about in this post. One of my aunts lives in Estelle’s home, right across Clarks Hill Lake on the South Carolina side. The little white cottage where she lived has stayed in the family.
There is one other thing we learned that day at Estelle’s grave when we visited the cemetery office afterwards to ask about some maintenance. There are a couple of plots left near Estelle and Jerome. In the office, they told us that unless she mentioned in her will who was to use those plots, it would have to be hashed out between the remaining children of Estelle’s. And after that, the grandchildren. That presents a dilemma in the family, since my father isn’t talking to his sisters anymore. Who then gets the remaining plots?
Just another lesson about leaving a detailed will when we pass. So many family fueds ensue about property, money, land assets when a person passes on.
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Teri, thank you! I loved that this pine rose over their graves. And when my Aunt Annette told me that my grandfather loved pine trees — that’s something I would never have known if we hadn’t visited the cemetery together.
I do have this thing about photographing trees. And doesn’t it look so much like the Lawrence tree at Kiowa? You can’t tell from this photograph, but it’s a bit smaller than what I think is the Ponderosa pine that is the D.H. Lawrence tree that O’Keeffe painted in New Mexico.
I don’t know if this Georgia pine is a Ponderosa. I need to ask my uncle. I never thought of asking him what kind of pines these are that are so common in Georgia and South Carolina. They seem so much taller and skinnier to me than the big ponderosas in the Southwest and Northwest. I’m going to have to ask him!
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Bob, I wonder if they are cedars or pines in the cemetery near your grandmother’s home? I agree. I do think the dead communicate through the whispering pines. I remember that sound as a child. When I was making my pine tree lined homes in the dry sand and dirt, it would be so silent and quiet. Except for the ever so slight wind through the branches of the pines. The sound is also pronounced when you visit Kiowa, the D.H. Lawrence Ranch in New Mexico. You can hear the pines talking to you. I felt the same way there — the dead communicating to the living through the whispering trees.
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Whispering pines…I like that! Those are great photo’s QM! Was great reading this post, talking with you today, & hope your meal went well! We had a great meal with Mom & the rest! First time J & I have been away from home for Thanksgiving day in years, though we are always invited to several places. Our day will be Sunday, when I cook for the boys, K & J, & Brant. D
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diddy, thanks. It was a good trip South. Too short this year though. I wish I’d had another week. I learn something new each year that I visit. All the people that make up family history over time.
Will be thinking about you all on Sunday. Hi to J and Big hugs to all. I’m savoring the long weekend. Liz usually has to work the Friday after Thanksgiving, but took off this year. So we hope to head to the studio tomorrow for some art. Seems like forever since I’ve been there. Happy Thanksgiving to all!
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