Ancestral Resting Places

This set of semi-annual projects includes a very finite one, visiting all three cemeteries where my grandparents and parents spend eternity.  Two of three now done, both as day trips.  This began at the time of need, as my father's younger brother fell victim at the Battle of the Bulge.  His grandfather joined a few years later, then my father's parents about ten years after that, one each beside their fallen son.  Then about fifteen years later, my father's brother-in-law whose name my son carries, then finally my father's sister.  Six in all.  This place, known as Cedar Park and Beth El has been better maintained than Beth David, a much larger place just outside NYC where my maternal relatives are buried.  We found our way to the main building, in the process of having a major annex built.  Helpful attendant gave us clear directions to the plot, able to park our car nearby without making that street unavailable to other cars.  

They had rules.  For our section, a family marker, ours engraved with both surnames.  Only foot stones in front of each family marker.  My uncle's from 1945 was the only one raised above the surface of the grass, and in pristine condition.  The other five markers were placed flush with the ground.  No overgrown and unkempt yew trees anywhere.  Some family markers had them adjacent to the granite and were kept in an attractive conical trim.  Our site did not.  The grounds overall look more as a park.  Maintenance people were at work as we came by.  While they mowed regularly, the exit shoots of the mower discharged clippings onto the graves, which settled selectively over the markers.  While the markers were flush with the ground, sod and roots from the adjacent grass crept around the perimeter of each foot marker.  Thus on arrival, the only marker I could read was my uncle's.  

My wife and I removed grass clipping from each of the five obscured stones.  Some clippings settled and decomposed in the carved lettering itself.  With the blade of my Swiss Army knife, I made an attempt to trim the sod that had crept over the edges of each marker, but this task really needed a better tool, either a razor knife or scissors.  A brush to dislodge the clippings that had settled in the lettering would have made them much more legible.

I returned to the car, left a message with my cousin in Florida, the eldest surviving son of his parents who were buried there, that we had visited and did our best to offer some maintenance.

That leaves one more, that one a plane ride away.  I have tickets to complete this semiannual project.