Sunday Pastries With the Dead 13

This 1760-era New Jersey cemetery is a VIBE.

My initial intent in visiting this cemetery was to follow a lead for last week’s installment of SPWTD. It ended up being a dead end (punny!), but the spooky gothic locale (complete with fog!) was a delightful surprise. This small New Jersey graveyard is perched on a hill overlooking the grounds of a massive Hogwarts-meets-Chilton-esque private boarding high school, and everything about it is ghostly in that movie set-perfect way.

Aside from the atmospheric wide view, which speaks for itself, most of the headstones are weathered beyond readability and covered in moss and lichen. Prepare for a très esthétique Sunday stroll.

The stone atop the left-most headstone is called a “grave good”—the pebble symbolizes building a monument in the deceased’s honor.

Let’s first turn our focus to these barely-decipherable weeping willow symbols. They may stand for everlasting life after death, but the headstone materials didn’t get the memo.

And next, this faded open book (meaning a life ended too soon) and barely-there twin rosebuds (symbolizing youth and innocence—this double headstone honors multiple siblings buried beside each other).

This one really threw me for a loop—it’s a 9.75/10 on the Inadvertently Creepy Scale. I’m used to seeing the weather-worn lumps of what were once carved lambs atop infant graves, but this appears instead to have been a…person sleeping on their side? I studied it for longer than I care to admit. Is this place a mood, or what?!

On the more recognizable end, there was a lovely example of clasped hands (meaning marriage and/or a higher power leading the soul into the afterlife), an upward pointing finger (where the soul now resides), and one I haven’t yet encountered: an angel in flight (symbolizing the departed’s ascent to heaven) for dear little forever newborn Ida May Mitchell.

There were some wonderfully-preserved old headstones near the front entrance, marking the final resting places of some original inhabitants of this tiny town. Coonrod Sherer (above left) died in 1799, Elizabeth Kinney (above center) died in 1794, and Catherine Sipley (above right) died in 1793.

The largest monument in the graveyard is just inside the entrance. A predictably phallic obelisk, it’s in memory of the town and adjacent private school’s founder John Insley Blair. He was a railroad tycoon and super wealthy merchant, and he didn’t stop at christening his hometown after himself—there are identically-named cities across the midwest along his railroad expansion route. Rich conquering white men, amirite?

Blair’s Old Academy Building sits at the far end of the graveyard. It was founded in 1848 and had a folding door that separated it into two wings—one side was used as a public school, and the other was for Academy students. The larger Academy buildings were erected in 1904, after which this location was retired.

I admit I enjoyed strolling around the campus of the current Academy—it made me want to sharpen a pencil and sit in on a class. I can’t even imagine what kind of kids go here—the grounds and buildings are grander than most colleges. This whole place—cemetery included—felt ripped from a Hollywood backlot. Coincidentally, I found actor/director/screenwriter John Cassavetes among a list of the school’s notable alumni. Rosemary’s Baby inspo, much? Lights, camera, see ya next Sunday!