My
Google map incorrectly identified the place I was standing as Bowels Ford Park.
I did a doubletake, then clicked on the website link and saw that the entry
was supposed to read BOWLES park. I also found an article from the Savannah Morning News about the troubles
here, how for a while it had indeed smelled like something bowel-centric. But the city
had cleaned up the algae that clotted the water, and now people reportedly pull
fish from the still flat pond, big ones, bream and catfish.
I
had not come here for the park, however. I was here for the graveyard that
bordered it, the two places separated by a metal fence and a thick line of
trees and foliage. Laurel Grove Cemetery has two sections: Laurel Grove North,
the whites only section, and Laurel Grove South, which was the final resting
place for hundreds of Savannah's black residents starting in 1853. I was exploring
as an author, which meant that in this particular case, I was most concerned about
whether or not a person of ill intent could flee from park to graveyard over the
boundary fence.
It
was quiet that day, not surprising for a Tuesday morning. A cool breeze came in
over the water, rustling the azaleas and the last of the camellias, making the bachelor
buttons bob their heads. The landscape was green with spruce and cypress, live
oaks and sweetgum, glossy magnolias four stories high. Beyond the fence where
the water lay, an egret came in like a hang glider, and across the wide grass,
a pack of turkey buzzards circled high and distant, their shadows crossing my
path. A woman with midnight black hair and studded goth jeans walked a dog as
fluffy and insubstantial as a pocket of dryer lint. And even though the day was
ripe with sunshine and mild as milk, not a single car was on the road
Laurel
Grove remains an active cemetery, recent burials scattered with the graves of
slaves and freedmen, many of them alive and thriving long before the Civil War.
Some graves were decorated with Italian marble angels weeping across the tombs;
other resting places were marked by only crumbling brick and rusted pipe rail.
The pauper's field had no marked graves whatsoever, only a sign. And everywhere
there was shade—the laurels, of course, but also the wide cool laps of live
oaks, gray and green and dappled.
It
was lovely. But I was not here as a tourist, or even as a resident enjoying one
of Savannah's historical gems. I was a mystery author sizing up a setting. So I
noticed the emptiness and seclusion, the many places where one could lurk or
hide or duck out of sight. I tried to imagine the place in October, which is
when my story takes place. I tried to think like a criminal.
I
made my notes, took my photos. I did my research. But one day I want to
return—no notebook, no camera—simply to wander and ponder. Beginnings and
endings, loss and memory, history and imagination. They say in Savannah that
every step you take, you take with the dead beneath you. They are correct. And for taphophiles
(cemetery lovers) like me, that makes Savannah an excellent place to live. And
write.
* * *
Tina Whittle writes the Tai Randolph/Trey Seaver mysteries. The sixth book in this Atlanta-based series—Necessary Ends—is available now. Tina is a proud member of Sisters in Crime and has served as both a chapter officer and national board member. Visit her website to follow her on social media, sign up for her newsletter, or read additional scenes and short stories: www.tinawhittle.com.
Whenever possible, I also like to physically wander the grounds of my story settings to make sure they work and to pick up one or two things I might be able to use to lock the scene into the reader’s mind. Cemeteries are wonderful places to wander. Can't wait to read about this one when it's published.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful way to learn...even your description here brings me into the scene. Sounds like a great place to wander.
ReplyDeleteI love visiting cemeteries, especially in NOLA. I'll put this one on my Savannah list. Great piece.
ReplyDeleteI'm with Jim--I need to stroll the area I'm writing about, sniff the fragrances, listen to the birds, feel the bounce of sidewalk grates as delivery trucks roar by, amble on sidewalks heaved by massive tree roots, and always, check out the trees, bushes, and flowers.
What a lovely post, Tina. Very poetic. I grew up one block from two major cemeteries in my hometown--one side belonging to a Catholic church and the other side nondenominational. Since my town is very mountainous, the cemeteries start at the top of a tall hill and stretch down into a valley, providing a beautiful view of the surrounding mountains. In the valley is another cemetery--the one maintained by my church and the burial ground of the majority of Italian-American immigrants and their families--and where my family members are buried. So I have been surrounded by cemeteries. I love wandering through the cemetery covered in tombstones with the names of people I remember so well. It's almost like having a visit with family members and old friends. They are gone but not forgotten.
ReplyDeleteI love the company of mystery writers for many reasons, but our almost universal love of wandering is at the top of my list. And one of the places we seem to love to wander is cemeteries.
ReplyDeleteI'm heartened to hear that I'm not the only writer who has to physically inhabit a space to write about it effectively. So many writers claim to make good use of Google Earth. More power to them. They must have a better imagination that I do.
I use Google Earth to establish the relationship of one location to others, or for an overview of transportation, but I agree that personal interaction with physical spaces is irreplaceable. That said, I sometimes use my memories, like the street of old storefronts with huge show windows and recessed entries paved with tile from the sidewalk to the wooden floors of the store itself. My aunts lived in Yonkers, NY, with its many hills down to the river, and I can remember accompanying them to these stores.
ReplyDeleteI do love walking cemeteries. There is peace there, along with all the pondering and imagining. I've often heard I need to go to Georgia to see their unique take on these parks!
ReplyDeleteGreat description of the location.
ReplyDeleteWhat a gorgeous cemetery! I do love wandering old cemeteries, reading the headstones and trying to imagine the lives that went before. Where I live in Maine we decorate the headstones on the Memorial Day - there was a time it was called Decoration Day and St. John Valley residents take it seriously. The cemetery is alive with flags and flowers. Every stone gets something whether it's a relative or not and everyone tells stories about there loved ones and weaves stories together from the inscriptions.
ReplyDeleteKM, my parents both lived in Yonkers, my father born there in 1917. I know exactly where you are talking about. I wonder what it looks like today.