A woodland cemetery in southern Vermont. Grave in foreground, circa 1833 reads: See travelers as you pass by/As you are now so once was I/As I am now you soon must be/ Prepare to die and follow me.
As a young man, I often struck out from my home in Belmont, Maine, to spend the day among alders and young poplar stands, hunting woodcock, grouse, and hare. Once, when sunset dictated that I unload my gun in compliance with the end of legal shooting time, I tarried in an unfamiliar covert. The woods road leading to my home lay to the west, and I knew that was a safe enough direction to head. But it would take time, and with darkness quickly falling, I chose to take a less familiar route, one that would save many precious minutes.
Wading through waist-high spirea, my shotgun stock hit a solid object. I was shocked to see that it was an obelisk, and that I was standing in the middle of a long-forgotten cemetery. Just enough light remained to pick out the different headstones, many of them tipped at crazy angles. The cemetery dated to the mid- 1800s, and it was only the first of many that I would find by chance encounter while hunting and fishing in the Maine woods.
In the old days, small towns often had several cemeteries. Most of these were named for the families interred there. In time, as the region’s small-town makeup changed and populations dwindled, these little cemeteries were left to the vicissitudes of nature and weather. This became more and more commonplace as the last surviving family members themselves passed on. By then, there was no one left to visit, plant a flower, shed a tear, or just stand in silent respect for those buried there. But the cemeteries remain. Many are in wrack and ruin, and some are so remote and hidden, like the one I stumbled on while hunting, that even the oldest residents are not aware of their presence.
Woodland cemeteries abound in northern New England and upstate New York. Often, contentious issues surround access for family members, landowner rights, and landowner responsibilities. Each state has its own protocol for resolving the conflicts.
Maine provides for municipal takeover of abandoned cemeteries. Owners of cemetery plots have the right of appeal if they’d prefer to continue owning the land. Once a municipality assumes responsibility for a cemetery, it is not likely to transfer the title back to private ownership in the future.
New Hampshire law also has a process by which a town can take over abandoned burial grounds on private property. The state protects burial grounds – both public and private – by prohibiting people from disturbing the contents of any tomb or grave therein. In fact, there is even a law against making gravestone rubbings in any municipal cemetery or burial ground without first obtaining the written permission of the town selectmen or city mayor.
Which brings us to a case in Hartland, Vermont, where a new landowner plans to disinter the remains that lie buried in a private graveyard on a farm he recently bought. Despite the cultural taboo, there is a legal process in Vermont for relocating graves. In this case, the purchaser gave legal notice, and after a six-month court battle, was granted permission to proceed with his plans.
While cemetery laws vary slightly from state to state, one point holds true across the board. According to Tom Giffin, president of the Vermont Old Cemetery Association, nobody can ever arbitrarily destroy any cemetery. Still, as the Hartland case illustrates, conflicts over private cemeteries can arise, and final resting places might not turn out to be final.