Sunday Pastries With the Dead 31
A two-in-one visit to neighboring 1785 and 1843-era New Jersey cemeteries.
Today’s locales usher a bit of a throwback, as they flank the circa-1730 cemetery that I covered in SPWTD #1—it was the first burial ground established by the south side of the Presbyterian Church that still stands amid all three graveyards.
Once the 1730 plot became overly full, the congregation started a second cemetery on the north side of the church in 1785.
The graveyard by the west side of the 1730-era burial ground isn’t associated with the church—the land was sold to an individual who created an independent fenced-off section in 1843.
I’ll begin with the 1785 cemetery, which is positioned on a grassy slope overlooking rolling farmland. It’s one of my go-to graveyard views—bucolic as heck with lots of lovely shaded spots to read or just sit and ponder.
My favorite monument here is a bittersweet one, carved for Martha Huffman, who was one year and eight months old when she died in 1865. The top of the headstone features a design that became very popular starting in the mid-1800s: the sleeping child. Because childhood mortality in America was so high at the time (about one-third of those who died were under five years old), carvers sought to soften the harsh reality by creating visuals of little ones at rest or being carried off by angels. Though the marble is weathered, this lovely example is still quite clear. It always stops me in my tracks.
There are plenty of obelisks here, and for me, the Emery family monument takes the cake—it features lovely intricate carved designs at the base and is topped with a tasseled shroud (earthly garments being shed) and rose-covered (innocence, purity) urn (the soul leaving behind the mortal flesh), which is capped with a flame (eternal remembrance).
In rural cemeteries, you’ll often find one marker bearing the names of all the family members buried beneath it (such as the Emery’s), or you’ll see separate monuments for family members buried together in one section. These latter areas are sometimes fenced off, though it’s very common to see those separators dismantled, as with the Bonnell’s pictured above right. Only the vertical posts remain; the horizontal bars have been removed by groundskeepers who became tired of maneuvering mowers in and out of the small fence openings.
There are some excellent examples of large flush markers here, as well—on the above left, we have two hip tombs (named for their likeness to hip-style home roofs) flanking a box tomb, and above right are two ledger stones. These are just a design style, they’re not treated like mini mausoleums—as in, the bodies aren’t literally placed ground-level in the raised tombs, they’re still buried six feet beneath.
And now to the 1843-era burial ground! Emily G. Humphrey’s gorgeous circa-1882 cradle grave is, without a doubt, my favorite in the section. The carving is so lovely, from the detail of the footer (and the incredible almost branchlike at rest font) to the calla lily (which stands for purity and holiness) topping the headstone portion to the epitaph, which reads Angels ever bright and fair, take oh! take her to thy care. As an added bonus, there’s a very clear maker’s mark for a carver by the last name of Miller. Based on the date, it’s likely by A.H. Miller who worked out of Lambertville, NJ at the time.
I love the pomp and circumstance of the massive Grandin family marker, which towers over the graveyard with its topper bearing a popular personification of one of the Seven Virtues. In this case, it’s Hope, as she’s shown holding an anchor. Lower down on the monument, a wreath (which stands for eternal memory and immortality) and columns (representing a noble life) support her.
The main family member listed on this piece is Daniel Reading Grandin, who—upon his death at age 74 in 1892—bequeathed $3,000 (equivalent to about $100,500 today!) to the nearby town to build and furnish a library. Seems like no coincidence that his middle name is Reading, huh? Here’s a portrait of our hometown hero!
And last but not least, we have what cemetery enthusiasts refer to as a “Zinkie”—a monument made of molded zinc metal. They’re easy to spot thanks to their slate grey coloring and sharp details (they’ve stood up to the elements far better than marble and slate monuments from the same time period). If you’re ever in doubt about whether or not you’ve happened upon a Zinkie, just knock on it—if it echoes like metal, you’ve confirmed it!
These monuments were produced starting in 1874 through 1914 and were marketed as “white bronze.” Door-to-door salesmen sold them through catalogs, presenting them as a fully-customizable, far more affordable option than stone. To achieve the stone-like texture, they were sand-blasted and then coated with linseed oil and steamed to create the slate color. The company that made them, Bridgeport, CT’s The Monumental Bronze Co., advertised their durability as “enduring as the pyramids.” Turns out their marketing speak wasn’t exactly far off! For further reading, here’s a fascinating article about Zinkies.
Until next Sunday, fellow taphophiles!