Today’s journey began with a search for a very old cemetery in Scotts Mills, Oregon. I actually had an address! It led me on a 3 mile (I’m guessing) unpaved gravel off road that took me to the other side of the town to a house in the country. I drove up a long paved driveway and out came a man from his garage, where I imagine he was working on some project.
I asked him if he knew the location of Crooked Finger Cemetery. He asked why I wanted to know. I explained I had been laid off and was spending time finding and visiting the oldest and least visited cemeteries I could find. He said the only reason he even knew of it was because of a story he had been told by a neighbor. This is very far into the country!
He told me the cemetery was actually on private land. The owners worked so he did not think I would have a problem going onto the property, the road was lined with a wire fence (if you can call it a road). There was a wide metal gate blocking entrance to this grassy, overgrown and unused road. I had to pack my things in.
He said once I got through the gate it was about 200 feet in and there was only one head stone left that said Grandfather, but that you could tell where they were because the ground was sunken.
Well, I have no idea of how far 200 feet is, and as far as the directions go when I’m in the middle of the woods, you can just be sure I do not know which way is which. That’s why I usually have my dog with me … they always know.
I carried my fold-up table, my fold-up chair, my box of supplies and a couple towels for what seemed forever! I came across another fence, and something told me to enter, so I did. It had a chain wrapped around it to keep it closed, I really had to work it to get in! There were no headstones, but there was a big sunken area, so I set up my chair and table and proceeded to have my chat.
I lit a new rope incense I found! Wonderful stuff, there is resin entwined within the rope (hemp?) and it smelled wonderful. I won’t tell you all I said, but it was an honor to be there, whether I had the exact location or not.
The trees above me filled with little sparrows. They were flitting and fluttering this way and that, it was as though they were there to say hello, and thank you for being there. There is a song, which I have written some of the lyrics that go to it below.
His Eyes Are On The Sparrow
“Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart be lonely When I know with Source I am One? I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free, The Eye of Source is on the Sparrow, I know Source watches over me.”
A small bird that is internationally recognized as a harbinger of good or bad luck, the sparrow is seen throughout literature and folklore as a sign of God’s benevolence, an omen of death and a catcher of lost souls. Known for their small, 5- to 6-inch-long size, sparrows were introduced to North America in the 1850s, where they have continued to become a part of both the urban and rural American landscape.
My hope is that the visits I make, and the talks we have and the time I spend with those who are in places such as this is beneficial in some way.
That is all … no-one should be forgotten or left behind, whatever the reason. We are all loved Divinely! That can be difficult for our human mind to comprehend given certain situations, but it is true.
It is sad, but one of the last things the direction giver said to me was, “I don’t know how they plan on turning that in to a tree farm with those burials there.”
It seems to me, that slowly but surely they are getting rid of the evidence (head stones).
Where has Honor fled to? Is it on it’s way back? Yes, I believe so, and sooner than most may choose to believe.
I nearly forgot! I have photos to upload!
This is the sunken area I sat at.
Of course, must have selfie.
There are bodies there somewhere, but my hope is that the sparrows took them home.