A Tree Called Life

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
- E. E. Cummings
(The rest of this marvelous poem may be found here.)

A few weeks ago, on a morning when the sky was doing interesting things, I stopped at a local cemetery along Buffalo Run Road not far from Bellefonte. It's called Meyer Cemetery, and it's right across the road from a pretty little rural Methodist church.

I didn't have any particular reason to be there other than that I am a lover of cemeteries. I've printed out a list of cemeteries in our county and am trying to visit as many of them as I can. Just because I enjoy cemeteries and I am curious as a cat: I must go and see.

There was a particular stone that I was hoping to photograph again, and so I decided to stop once more. It was raining this time, and I had my umbrella. Things look different in the rain: slick, wet, and contrasty. And I thought I might get some interesting shots.

This is the tree featured on the stone that drew me back. I am a lover of trees, in addition to cemeteries, and this stone is a nice combination of the two. When I saw it on my first visit, I had an epiphany: I want a huge tree on my own tombstone! (Not that I'm feeling peaked, mind you; I just like to have my ducks in order, you know, just in case.)

I strolled around the graveyard just a bit, not as long as I would usually visit because it was raining pretty good. I walked to a part of the cemetery I hadn't seen last time. One grave featured a huge eagle carving.

I walked closer to see it, and noticed another grave behind it, this one labeled John Doe 2000. The grave stone was small, and it was accompanied by a bouquet of flowers, a small stone statue of a dog, and a simple cross. It was profoundly simple and yet beautiful.

A visitor had placed two stones atop the grave, and I fingered them gently, and said a prayer for the man and for his family, who do not even know where his body lies. I wondered at his story, and I wished that I could tell them: we did not know his name, but he is at home here, among friends; and we watch over him with love, amid the beautiful, gently rolling hills of my beloved Pennsylvania. (we carry him in our hearts)

And kneeling in the rain under my black umbrella, watching the raindrops fall like tears, I thought about my own death. Someday far down the line (one hopes FAR FAR down the line), I'll get my own chance at making a good death, after what has been the best life I could fashion out of these everyday beautiful things.

I know where my bones will lie when my spirit is tired of dragging them all over creation: back home, beneath the dirt at St. John's United Methodist Church, between my husband and my baby sister. None of us are there yet, but what a party when we all shall be!

And I shall lie down in the grass and sigh, and pull the good earth in over me like a blanket. And my flesh and my bones will belong once again to the soil of my beloved Pennsylvania, this dirt that I was made of. (This is a strange thought but it does not pain me to think so; no, it makes me smile. I am not afraid.)

And so it will be that I'll finally return to my roots. (the root of the root and the bud of the bud) And perhaps my own heart will beat again in a flower - or even better yet, a tree! - that grows over or nearby my grave.

And maybe, as my spirit, set free, soars at last among the moon and stars (and the sky of the sky), someone somewhere will look up and remember me. Maybe my words, or maybe my pictures, or perhaps songs that I loved.

I will no longer walk these hills with my camera, but others who do still live will carry me with them. It would make me happy to think so. (they will carry me in their hearts)

A few days ago, country music lost one of its legends, with the passing of Merle Haggard. So I wanted the song to accompany this image to be by him, and for him. The tune to accompany this image and story is Sing Me Back Home.

I'm including several versions, as there are quite a few I love: Merle's, of course; and Merle with Johnny Cash (here's a bonus: a cool story about Merle and Johnny); and Joan Baez; and the Grateful Dead; and Gram Parsons; and Don Williams. I hope you find one among those that you like. And if you are aching for more Merle, here's a link to the full album of his greatest hits.