In rural America there are many places where secrets lay hidden amidst overgrown brush, only to disappear as the earth reclaims the foreign elements that were once crafted by human hands. Craig Corbin takes us into the heart of the land, tracing steps that are no longer traversed and stumbles upon a mystery. An enigma which fueled his imagination, and gives us the story The Grouping of V.
The Grouping of V
by Craig Corbin
Walking down a two lane path it's not a grand entrance into a historical cemetery. To my right, an open field that allowed a cold wind to keep me company. To my left the creeping of sounds that seemed to offset the crunching of my shoes among the dead grass.
The church that once stood among them is long gone. People once stood outside its doors exchanging the events that might have taken place over the past week. Perhaps discussions of the weather and the dry spell that is bearing down on seasonal crops or the unforgiving down pour of rain that might keep the plow out of the fields. What was a gathering place of voices is nothing more then a place to turn around for the few that might venture down the two path lane into the small resting place that holds the graves of just a few, especially five in particular who I have come to visit. The graves of the nameless babies that lay in a row.
Walking into the cemetery the first encounter or should I say, the avoided encounter is the old church that once stood is now gone, but on a good note, it was hauled off in parts and retorted to its previous glory and now is on display at the local fairgrounds. Just past where the church stood is something I forgot about but it reminded me quickly when I looked up. Two cement pillars in the woods. Not sure what they where there for and they seemed sorta out of place since the graves are very simple and most do not even have tombstones but the pillars had a elegance about them. Maybe they where land markers, maybe not, just added mystery and I welcomed them.
The birds are out in numbers today. The contrast of life above death. The energy of the cold moving wind against the stillness of bricks and stones. I cannot think of any other place that showcases the two biggest physical events in anyone's life and that is the death that lays below us as we travel thru history and my destination into this small plot was in the back next to the swinging limbs of life that hung next two five small graves. The ones that lay all in one row, without names, without tombstones, and from what I can see without the graves of their mother or father.
What appears before me is a great mystery. Who where their parents, their family? How did they pass away before they even had a chance to create their own history. Did the mother have five miscarriages and if so where the twins or multiple life's lost at once. I guess I can research them thru the scattered community or maybe if someone was still alive from the church but not knowing adds to the mystery and that alone keeps me coming back to visit them and if the mystery does nothing else maybe my visits to the five babies somehow shows remembrance to them as they lay by themselves.
Am happy to be apart of them and as I walk away. The cold wind seems a little more comforting and the long two path road just a little bit shorter. Taking a single image of the graves with me along with the mystery behind it could not be more historical or grand then the lives of the little five. Until my next visit.
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