Irish Hollow Cemetery

IRISH HOLLOW CEMETERY

September 30, 2016

Traveling to Bond Falls (from Ontonagon), we happened upon a cemetery… and as is the case on many of our wanderings, we drove in to check it out.

We noticed a sign for a cemetery, the Irish Hollow Cemetery.

We had to back up, because we passed it by, as I’m sure most travelers do. We drove in to explore, yet another cemetery… For some odd reason, I am fascinated by cemeteries… I don’t find them spooky, ghoulish, or depressing – I find them alive in an otherworldly sort of way. A place where ancient memories linger and their pasts are far from dead.

Patti also likes delving into family histories, deciphering words on headstones of those interned within – why they died and how old they were when they died? And in this case, where they were from in Ireland, their history and their name?

The lane into the area was narrow, shady and wet. At some points the path was barely wide enough for the truck so we parked it and walked into the ‘sleeping chamber’. When we got out of the truck we noticed a pile of ‘fill-in’ dirt lying beside the road for pothole patrol. The caretakers definitely take great care of the road and by inclusion, the resting place of souls of old.

Inside this magical place was the energy of the emerald green, the lush Irish Isle… Everywhere we looked there was the footprint of Ireland – from the lush carpet of dew sparkling on the periwinkle, to the treed canopy overhead, to the mossy stones, and the mushroomed trees.

There was wildness in this mystical isle, where the rolling mounds are left to nature, time has tumbled many a tombstone, and the moss obscures the names and dates as the remains are embedded back into the earth.

No one breaks the silence with a mower or an eater of weeds – nature tends her own.

This place is otherworldly, nothing scary, sacrilegious, or sad. It is peaceful, free and sacred. A resting place for hallowed remains – honor for a “life well lived”.

No manicured, crew cut lawns with a few well-placed trees: no perfect rows of plaques aligned with military precision that the mower can mow right over… NO this cemetery is old and wild and free!

The stones revealed many an Irish name but the date they died was the most prominent on the stone, yet, curiously, often the age was listed as, so many years, months, and days. Often times the date of birth was omitted or swallowed with time.

There were yards for some family plots and one fence even had chalices’ on the corner braces so those interned would never thirst again.

Often there were only parts of fences that had fallen down or were missing altogether (were they intending to keep the souls in… or others out)?

At one intersection a metal top-rail became imbedded in a tree as it grew and, eventually, raised the pipe well above 10 feet high – leaving the energy of King Arthurs’ Sword protecting those within.

The periwinkle was amazing… it has taken many a decade, if not a century, for the mat to become so thick and lush. On this particular morning, it was cloudy and damp from last evenings’ rain – but when we arrived at the cemetery, the sun began to shine through the trees and made the matted periwinkle glisten and sparkle, as we had never seen before.

There was also a mushroom I had never seen before that was so fluid that it seemed to drip, as does a candle when it is flowing down from a heated wick. The paths were strewn with leaves of the fall colors creating a blanketed tapestry of fall.

As this was the ‘creame-de-la-creame’ of cemeteries, we are quite sure all other cemeteries will pale by comparison: but we will keep searching for other magical sleeping chambers wherever we go.

As we were leaving this marvelous, sacred place… we saw a glimpse of the ‘sleeping chamber caretakers’ sitting on the stones and in the trees: it was several leprechauns from the Grand Irish Isle, toasting that we were there.