Blog Archives
bottom of the barrel
The first time I ever looked into a cemetery trash barrel I felt guilty, like I was intruding on something I didn’t need to know about.
And maybe I was.
But I still do look inside of them. This one that I saw the other day in Oklahoma made me sad: all that’s left of someone’s birthday wishes to their beloved, deceased person was an R and an I. That’s not much, is it?
Mountain View Cemetery
Mountain View, Oklahoma
photographed 4.25.2026
just one saint at a time
Not to reveal too much about how much language amuses me (because honestly, it’s sort of embarrassing), but I did entertain myself saying “saint rest” in various ways.
Like a command to a wayward and wrongly-named dog: SAINT! Rest.
Like a mild way to say “fuck on off.”
Like an end to a prayer, in place of “Amen.”
Or the name of a particularly lackadaisical cleric – Saint Rest.
And so on.
But what really amuses me the most about this sign is the implication that, while they are willing to accept saints, there is a one-saint limit. Presumably for safety reasons.
Tahoka, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
He’s no sissy
The main character in Tom Robbins’s novel Even Cowgirls Get the Blues is Sissy Hankshaw, who – with the help of her abnormally large thumbs – hitchhikes across America.
Unfortunately, the main character in the Evangeline Cemetery is physically unable to follow Sissy’s inspirational example.
Evangeline Cemetery
near Ville Platte, Louisiana
photographed 10.22.2017
conduit
Conduit*
- A pipe or channel for conveying fluids, such as water
- A tube or duct for enclosing electric wires or cable
- A means by which something is transmitted
Here’s a wall of a tomb, a tiny cross, and (possibly) several kinds of conduit.
Mamou, Louisiana
photographed 10.22.2017
*Thanks to the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language. And yes. I do own actual dictionaries and thesauruses (or thesauri, if we’re being formal), much to the great amusement of my friends and family.
fontenot + family, 1961
This is the St. Ann’s Old Cemetery, which might mean you have to be old to be buried here. Or – and this might be slightly more likely – this cemetery got full and St. Ann got herself a new place.
Numa and Emily Fontenot, who were born in the 1860s, were pioneer settlers of Mamou. They had ten children (and needed a giant family tomb).
And I can tell you that their son Duma had a festive party in 1963 for his 77th birthday. According to the Ville Platte (Louisiana) Gazette, the party featured “homemade cakes, egg nog and other refreshments…(A) french band also provided music for dancing and merry-making.”
Mamou, Louisiana
photographed 10.22.2017
One Day | One Image 