We recently visited Mount Hope cemetery in Rochester. This was once a major pilgrimage site about civil rights and women’s voting, since both Susan B Anthony and Frederick Douglass are buried there. We dutifully trudged through some overgrown hilly rambles.
I knew this was a “sister” cemetery to Mount Auburn in Cambridge, where Joan and I had frequently bicycled to spend a pleasant afternoon when we were young and poor. Those manicured grounds gave every indication of being an English estate for dead people temporarily residing underground. Everyone ignored the names on markers and mausoleums and simply enjoyed the quiet nooks and vistas.
I’d expected something similar at Mount Hope. But I was rather reminded of an old oil painting series of “empire at its height”, “empire in ruins”. You could detect that the initial spirit was the same, but Rochester lost its economic and spiritual power. Very like visiting the remains of the Roman forum as shown in 18th century pictures.
Perhaps there is a lesson here. Although I admit I take lessons from all cemeteries – new, old, well kept, overgrown, even forgotten. It’s always about mortality, insignificance, human spirit, and hope. Not necessarily in that order nor equally strong, depending on my mood.
I’m grateful for the physical reminder. Ashes may better fit a crowded throw away civilization, but there is a certain morbid joy in encountering such forgotten past lives. A useful humility. A surprising reassurance that my own life is okay. Weeds and all.
