Sometimes love insists on finding new ways to show up – even beyond time and space.
I’m not sure where my fascination with cemeteries began. Living in South Louisiana, cemeteries are just different. So many areas here are literally below sea level so the graves are above ground. Often, they are basically mausoleums and they vary from place to place and family to family. Some are simple, others majestic and stunning. I think my curiosity grew when I heard about the Little Grave houses that were at a local cemetery called Istre (pronounced East).
One day I was out shooting pictures, for work as it were and was headed in the direction of Istre so I decided to stop. I knew cemetery pictures were a stretch for my office needs but you never know what you may find that would be suitable. I was in the middle of nowhere… literally. I was using GPS and was convinced that at any minute cell service would just give up, tell me to fuck off and that my best hope was a relative who knew the area to find me should something happen. I stop short of saying I was lost, but I was on a back round surrounded by rice fields. That could describe almost any spot in this particular parish (county for you northern folks).
I was grateful it was the time of year where the fields weren’t flooded so there was no danger of running off the road and drowning. Sometimes you have to find the little things…
I called my husband and frantically asked if he could see me on find my phone. He was very perplexed at this point and wants to know why and was there anything wrong. He knew I was out shooting, but most places I had talked about going were well known and in populated areas. No, I said, just wanted someone to know where I was. He laughed and assured me I would be fine, but ya’ll, I swore at one point I heard a banjo…
But let me perfectly clear, the drive and the “risk” was completely worth it. Istre was small space, nestled off the road under the cover of several large oaks. As I stepped out of the car, the only sound was the soft rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze blew across the trees. I closed my eyes and felt the peace surrounding me. The houses caught my eye immediately. There were 4. One was admittedly creepy and I found myself keeping my distance. I was instantly drawn to 2 enclosed in a picket fence. It gave the feeling of visiting someone’s home. I expected a front porch and rocker with a pitcher of sweet tea. And while that’s not what I found, the intention and feeling wasn’t far off.
I found out later those are a mother and daughter which is already heartbreaking but then my heart broke a little more after I discovered what the houses were most likely for. The stories vary depending on who you ask, but one theory was the houses were a way of “protecting” the loved one from the elements. Others indicated, especially in the South of old, this was a way of providing the comforts of home to the loved one as well as a place where family and friends could come and perhaps have a cup of tea and “visit”. The thought of the mother meticulously creating this house for her daughter brought tears to my eyes and lump in my stomach. I could see myself doing the same for those I’ve lost. A cup of tea and a chat with my mom, in particular, feels both delightful and heart wrenching. I left without knowing the real story behind the little grave houses, but not really needing it. When you can’t protect in life, you feel compelled to continue to try in death.
On another outing, we headed to St Francisville to visit Grace Episcopal Church and the cemetery there. It was vast and housed graves, not only recent graves, but many that dated back to before the Civil War. I had heard about a grave that had stairs. Stairs? There is a morbid part of me, that very hesitantly asked that question, not sure I wanted the answer. At any rate, it struck me odd. One story is that the stairs were used as part of the underground railroad and that it actually led to a tunnel.
Perhaps that is true of a grave there, but not this one. No, this was the grave of a local woman that was built by her husband. A “house” was constructed over her resting place and there were stairs down to the actual grave. The husband would frequent the grave, descending the stairs and having a place to visit his wife. Did I say yet that my heart broke again?
I think I was starting to understand at least part of my fascination with cemeteries. These elaborate, well-kept structures were a testament, were they not? They felt like a demonstration of the love a family felt for this person. The desire to still communicate. To have a way to feel close. I believe we can speak with our loved ones that have passed at any time and they hear us, but there is something to be said for this feeling these houses and stair created. It felt more… tangible. Being there, protecting them, visiting them. Feeling like they are still you’re you and you with them, in a more normal setting.
The idea of protecting them really hit me as well especially with the daughter. I can’t imagine losing my son and understand how they may feel like this is the last opportunity they have to try and offer them protection. To keep the rain off their face, the sun out of the eyes and wildlife at bay. Perhaps these acts provide the family and friends left behind some solace. Some feeling of control in the face of the unknown that death often brings. Some final act to demonstrate their love and care to the one they lost and to allow that connection to remain, even if in a small way, until they are together again.
Perhaps these acts provide the family and friends left behind some solace. Some feeling of control in the face of the unknown that death often brings. Some final act to demonstrate their love and care to the one they lost and to allow that connection to remain, even if in a small way, until they are together again.
Reflection Prompts
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What “house of love” have you built — a tradition, a ritual, or a habit that keeps you connected to someone you love?
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Is there someone you long to feel closer to, past or present? What would creating a tangible connection look like for you?
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Where in your life might you be trying to protect someone (or their memory)? What comfort does that bring?
Practices & Exercises
1. Create a House of Love Ritual — Dedicate a small space (shelf, corner, box) for reminders of someone you love. Add items that help you feel close.
2. Write a Visit Letter — Write a letter to someone you miss, as though you were sitting with them. Fold it and place it somewhere meaningful.
3. Living Connection — Think of someone still with you who may need a reminder of your love. Show them tangibly — a note, a call, or a small act of care.
Closing Thought
The cemetery houses are reminders that love doesn’t end. It transforms, it protects, it creates new forms of connection.
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