As fall begins and summer unofficially ends in the tourism world, a mild calm echoes through the trees like a breeze inside our serene two acres. I reflect on the summer past but more so on the last weeks of August.It started with an earthquake and by the end of the week, I feared that I was gonna get caught in the eye of a hurricane.
On a slow and quiet Tuesday afternoon, an earthquake hit Virginia and was felt here in Philly by many people. Sitting here in my peaceful marble orchard, I did not feel a thing. It wasn’t until the burial ground suddenly got busy (because many nearby buildings had been evacuated) that I found out about the earthquake. I soon got word that the church and trust staff working in our 100 year old Neighborhood House felt the building shake and the tour guides in the church reported rumblings and the swaying of our 1744 chandelier. I spent the rest of the day checking our burial ground walls and gravestones for any damage and luckily there was none at the burial ground or the church. The funny thing is that the night before, my house cat Lolita was acting really strange and I asked, “What’s a matter with her- is an earthquake coming?” - knowing full well that earthquakes don’t happen here in Philly. The earthquake made me recall something I once read in our vestry minutes about the church wanting to buy earthquake insurance and it made me chuckle.
The earthquake talk slowly erupted into warnings of a hurricane that was poised to hit land in our area by the weekend. In anticipation of the storm that was to bring strong winds, I made sure to batten down the hatches around the property including securing anything in the burial ground that could become a flying disaster.
Hurricane Irene was expected to hit our area over night Saturday into Sunday morning which would put a damper on the streak of not missing a Sunday service here for 315 straight years. Because of recent leaks in our Neighborhood House archives and other parts of the building, Rector #20 needed someone to be on site to watch over and protect our properties during the storm. And that somebody was me. After working a rainy Saturday afternoon wedding at Christ Church, I went home to gear up for spending the night at Neighborhood House. I returned at 10pm with my Ben Franklin pillow and blanket and set up a nest not far from a letter with a Ben Franklin signature on it. As the storm raged outside, I readied myself for a night of hurricane detail. I was to check all possible leak areas in the building throughout the night. The area of greatest concern was the archives of Christ Church, which has recently had leak issues. For the most part, the archives didn’t need as much attention as other parts of the building and luckily the storm wasn’t half as bad as predicted. I must admit it was kinda neat to hang out with the memories of the ancients in the Neighborhood House as the rains and winds screamed outside. Every so often, I would stand in the atrium and stare out through the glass window listening to the rain. Somehow no matter how much the weather raged beyond the glass, I received comfort from looking at the stained glass Patriots’ Window. I knew that no matter what I could always find safety and comfort in the voices of the past.
By the time 7 am arrived, I had about an hour or so of sleep time (which is usual for me). Luckily, I found some coffee in the Washburn House kitchen and it gave me the energy I needed to walk around the churchyard and pick up the many scattered branches outside and then open the church for service.
After the service began, I made my way to the burial ground hoping that there wasn’t much damage there. Several scattered branches were around the grounds and I noticed a downed branch in Section C resting on several stones. One headstone had two pieces knocked off the top, but it could easily be repaired. I documented the damage and got out the Clark book to see if I could identify the stone. It is the grave of Wm Denman who died at age 4. The inscription, now faded, is one of the most interesting inscriptions we have in the Clark book. I did some research on who the Denman’s were and thanks to my iPhone, I discovered a portrait of William’s parents painted by Gilbert Stuart. I hope to find out more about this family as I continue my research.
I found it neat that these blank stones that we wander past each day tell more stories than we can ever imagine. The silver lining of the storm is that it brought to my lips names that most likely would never be spoken. As much as storms rage throughout the year, it is never the end of the world. For me, when I am in the burial ground I always feel fine.
- Hop
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