Space, Place, Kinship and Transcendence

Many years ago, I took a course in hobbyist photography through a camera store.   It was in the Fall and as the end of October neared, the teacher suggested a field trip to New Orleans to the cemeteries on All Saints' Day, the only day of the year providing visible, armed police presence in cemeteries as families came to clean and decorate the graves. Professional photogs would be on hand for advice.  In late afternoon we would then drive to Lacombe, a small town outside Mandeville, to the Lafontaine Cemetery, also called Hilltop, for a very special La Toussaint observance.  Knowing the complexity involved in getting the right exposure for tomb photography, I jumped at the chance.

Morning and early afternoon were spent in New Orleans and Metairie.  Many hours later, head aching from the glare bouncing off acres of burnished marble, we made it to Lafontaine.  It's a small, Creole cemetery on a hill overhung by Spanish moss draped live oaks.  There are some above ground tombs but also many flush, ground level graves. The flush graves were outlined by simple concrete berms, formed by hand, most with homemade markers.

The grounds had been given a fresh coat of clean, white sand, spread the week before, and many of the ground level graves had designs finger-traced in the sand, full of curlicues, maybe echoing the wrought iron grillwork of the French Quarter.  All graves and tombs were decorated with flowers as well.  I've read that the cemetery and the practice of lighting the graves here may go back to the 1800's, a time when it was accessible only from the bayou, and torches were used to light the way.

At dusk the eldest member of each family represented in the cemetery goes to the "front" of the space, representing a sort of altar, and lighting a candle from the priest's candle, takes it to the family tomb to place it.  The process continues to the next eldest members and so on, until the graveyard is fully lit.

                                         

                                                                                  photo from nola.com (not mine)
           
I'm told the observance can vary somewhat from year to year and sometimes the descendants tell of the obstacles their ancestors buried here faced, how they overcame them and of burdens borne.  These stories, too, are passed from one generation to the next.  I have no doubt the tales recounted lend texture and meaning, solace and strength, guiding their children's lives every day, from one generation to the next.  I couldn't see what color Christ was that night.

                                                                                             photo from R.D. Vernon(not mine)

The only color I saw was incandescence.
Clergy may sanctify space but ultimately only people can make it a place.