Railroads and Cemeteries, According to Girl

Railroads and cemeteries according to Girl: Okay, here’s the deal, we lived smack dab in the middle of at least twenty cemeteries. I am not kidding. There was the Lutheran Cemetery to our north, next to Mount Olivet Cemetery, to our east was St. Johns, to the south was the Cluster of Evergreen, Knollwood Park, Most Holy Trinity, Mount Judah, Union Field, Machpelah, Hungarian, New Union Field, Mount Neboh, Mount Carmel, Cypress Hills and Cypress Hills National, Salem Fields, Shearith, Maimonides, Mount Lebanon and Mount Hope.


Slicing through the silent stillness of the dead were the iron and steel tracks of the Long Island Railroad. Yes, silent cemeteries and rumbling railroads, these two opposites. Had the city planners been around during their inception, they probably would not have placed the two in the same vicinity, even though those noisy freight and passenger trains have always been the lifeblood of the city.

Perhaps it was not by accident, after all, that cemeteries and railroads are so intertwined. It is a simple fact that the dead could never complain.

What was the deal with all of the cemeteries, anyway? Not sure, it didn’t really matter. As far as Mike and I were concerned, we liked the fact that there were a lot of cemeteries located near us. We took advantage of the quiet setting they offered for walking our dogs. Once we entered a cemetery, we would unleash the dogs. This worked out most of the time. But, occasionally one of them would spot a squirrel or other small animal, then the hunter in them would be unleashed, like a bat out of ...well, you know.

One of the innate traits of Mister’s breed (Norwegian Elkhound) was the uncanny ability to focus on a target. He would block out all else and run. It was virtually impossible to get his attention until his squirrel was out of reach, up a tree and out on a limb. Then, he would choose to find us and transform back into our mild-mannered pet.

Mike and I spent many hours in the cemeteries. The trees were mature, the oaks and maples went through their seasonal changes while the pines elegantly draped the gravestones, protecting and watching over their charges, much like the sentinel in Arlington who guards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

A hushed silence followed us home those nights; it would be a solemn ritual that created within us a sense of awe and compassion for those gone on before us.