I know those are probably fightin’ words. Bonaventure’s pretty proud of its ghosts. Maybe the tourists rolling around on Segways the day I was there scared the spirits away. The place was still…
We don’t have mossy trees like this where I’m from.
What an angel!
They don’t do fences like this anymore.
Life goes on!
Wonderful iron work!
Now this stone is pretty spooky looking!
I bet this old tree had some great stories.
I love these cradle graves.
Do you have a ghost story from Bonaventure? I’d love to hear it!
Sedona Community Cemetery,
199 Pine Dr., Sedona, AR?
I’m a sucker for graves decorated by family and friends. This cemeter is full of them! I love Daniel’s bricks, the many walls hand-crafted with colorful native stones, the statues and the whimsical found-objects. Each display’s careful construction whispers, or shouts, clues about the life led and lost. I find cemeteries like this one sooo much more compelling than those full of plaques – “In loving memory…birth date…death date.”
The Sedona Community Cemetery is only a little way out of town. With the address above, GPS got me there just fine. It’s tucked back off the road among the trees with gorgeous red rock views. Don’t miss it!
While you’re in Sedona, stop for breakfast at Cafe Jose. All the tourists will be at The Coffee Pot, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Lunch is probably great there too, but I kept going back for breakfast and excellent coffee.
I’ve been obsessed with cemeteries since I organized
my first funeral.
When I was a kid, one of several fishes my sisters and I kept in a freshwater aquarium died. Since we didn’t care about him much, he didn’t really even have a name. Until we found him belly-up. Then he had to have a name – for the TOMBSTONE.
Deciding on Flashy, we made a sparkly, little casket out of aluminum foil lined with a folded square of soft, pink toilet paper. With me leading the way, I was the oldest, we carried his body slowly, in procession through the living room, the kitchen, out the back door.
At the graveside, we sang swing low, sweet chaaar-ri-ah-aht! Words were said – sad, respectful ones about Flashy’s tragically short life.
We discussed the six-feet-under concept, but our mother convinced us — I believe her exact words were, “No, you will NOT dig a six foot hole by the back patio!” — that six inches would be more than enough for a creature Flashy’s size.
We buried him under the Skunk bush. That was our nickname for a rare and gorgeous species of Azalea that blooms a brilliant orange, but has the unfortunately pungent scent of skunk.
Flashy wouldn’t mind the smell. We marked his final resting place with a Popsicle-stick-cross beautified with crayon. There may have been tears, but I don’t think so. The feeling I remember most about the whole affair is glee.
Several years ago, sheer luck led me to the mountains of Nevada on a gorgeous, clear afternoon. Serendipity and a rental car brought me to Virginia City, its fabulous cowboy cemetery, and the most magical hour I’ve ever spent wandering among tombstones. There was a full solar eclipse.
Have you ever seen a solar eclipse? You can only look at them through special lenses or watch their shadows through a pinhole projector. In the cemetery that day, nature’s pinhole projectors, the leaves on the trees above the graves, cast these eclipse shadows.
Even before I realized that this rare cosmic event was happening, the Virginia City cemetery took my breath away. Spring in the mountains was just so gorgeous!
Best tombstone tourist experience ever!