That big old Oak tree had a profound effect on me and made me think and rethink some things--things like after death is the spirit free or is it confined? Can the spirit roam and mingle with others, can it leave the area and go where it desires? Or is the spirit confined to the area where the body was interred? I had never thought of these things--matter of fact they had never broached my mind. My thoughts of death were that when you die, the body mind and spirit are all dead and ended. No heaven, hell, or in between--just them in a decaying state, with the embalming process arresting the decay for some indeterminate time. While in the end it is, or it was, "ashes to ashes and dust to dust", and death was the "finis."

I still vividly remember that day and how I was initially interested in the old lace--what kind of dates were on the head stones and not about anyone who might be buried there, who they had been, or what they had been. I parked and started walking around, ignoring the newer stones but just ambling around, trying to read the names, trying to see when the people had lived, and when they had died. I guess I was trying to see if I could see a name that rang a bell, the name of a relative I remembered, or a name I had heard when I was a kid.

As I started to amble around among the headstones, looking at dates, I noticed dates of nineteen hundreds, late eighteen hundreds, early eighteen hundreds, and even some seventeen hundreds. Wow, a headstone from the seventeen hundreds that I could read! I started to get excited and to search harder. I wanted to see what the oldest date was that I could find.

1772. That was the oldest one I found, and that was great. But man, who would believe it? On the other hand, I had read the history of when the area had been settled. But 1772 was before the Declaration of Independence, I realized, and also before the Revolutionary war.

Rambling around, I was lost in my thoughts for quite some time. I had not seen anyone, or rather I had not paid any attention to anyone being around. Then I noticed a man in work clothes, a caretaker I presumed, who was making his rounds, or doing his chores, or for that reason, may have been checking to see if everything was quiet and as it should be in a cemetery. When I saw that he had seen me him....lord knows how long he had been watching me....I wandered over and said hello. Then I mentioned the stone I had found and explained that I had been born up on High Street. I was wondering, I said, if any of my relatives were buried in the cemetery.

He knew the family name, he said, and told me there was a '1759' marker. So, after mutually wishing each other a "nice day", he ambled off.

As soon as he started to leave, I immediately made for the area he had pointed out. I began to look closer at dates. And after about fifteen or twenty minutes of looking, I found it "1724 - 1759". But I could not make out the surname. I was ecstatic and all manner of things started to run through my mind. Who was he, what was he, what had he done, how had he died? He had died at an early age, 35, I noticed. How long had he lived here? Had he lived here, or had he just died here? Was he a real settler? and on and on....

With this in my thoughts, I walked over to a little log cabin that sat in the corner of the cemetery, and there I found a sheet of paper. I started to write down my thoughts. But then as I was trying to write, with my brain as usual going one hundred miles a minute, my hand going about ten, I glanced up and started to notice a big old Oak tree. But start to notice is not a good selection of words, I don't think, because you either notice something or you don't. You don't start to notice. But what the heck, that tree had caught my attention.

It was winter and the day was overcast, with a slight wind, or I guess back there they would call it a wafting breeze. Out here, however, it's a wind. So, there was a wind. And since it was wintertime, the tree had no foliage so from my position on the porch of that little cabin, was the tree with the overcast sky in the background. I stopped writing and just sat and looked at that tree, thinking how it must be. It was at least a hundred feet tall, and quite wide, with an enormous trunk. I started looking and wondering how old it was, until finally, after taking its size and expanse into account, I decided it must be what? 150 or 200 years old? If it was over two hundred years old, then it had obviously had been planted, or sprouted, about the time the town was founded. And as is par for me, my mind started to wander and think how, if this tree had been here as long, or nearly as long as the cemetery, then it must have seen and heard a lot. I then gave the tree life and let it see and hear, and take in all that had transpired over the last couple hundred years.

First off, how had this spot become a cemetery? It is on the West Side of town and there is a fork in the road, so back then it had most likely been in the country. (The town of Abingdon is only about four thousand, so back then it had been maybe four hundred?). It made good sense to me that this plot of ground on the way out of town would have been a good spot for a cemetery. And, I reasoned, since the gentry and middle class back in those days had their own cemeteries, only those of lesser importance had used this one.

How many arguments, fights and disagreements that families have over who is buried where, and next to whom, has the old tree seen? I wondered. Until today, I hadn't thought much about how people worried and fretted over exactly where someone was to be placed. Was the Black Sheep of the family usually relegated to the furthermost boundary, or was all forgiven so the family could be kept together in death? I was talking with a lady who was originally from Tennessee the other day, and she said that in their family all eight of the brothers were buried next to their father, and that their wives and children were placed together in another area. But so much for that and back to the tree.

As I studied the tree, all black and swaying about in the breeze, I noticed there were three or four crows flying about, squawking. Funny thing, there you are in a cemetery, all quiet and peaceful, and those damn crows bring you back to reality. I got up and left, and for the rest of the day didn't think much more about it. But as night fell and things quieted down, that tree kept haunting me.

The next morning I went back to the cemetery, and was looking around when I settled on this one section that was apart from the rest. It had a five-foot brick wall around it, and a large chain draped along the top of the wall. The chain looked large enough to be that of a ship's anchor. I went around to the gate, but it was locked with a great big padlock. The gate was as tall as the wall, and it was massive, made of two or four inch boards. There was a brass plaque on the wall saying it was the Unknown Confederate soldier's graveyard. Hmmmm, I didn't know there had been any Civil War battles in the area. But then I didn't know the history in that section of the State. I do know that every able-bodied man in the area had joined the Confederacy and had fought for the South. No one I had ever heard of had fought for the North.

I started thinking about those unknown soldiers, and then I thought what if one of them had been a drummer boy? Drummers were young boys anywhere from nine to twelve years of age, and they marched with, and stayed with their unit. What if one of those unknown soldiers had been a young drummer boy, and what if the rest of his family, his mother father brothers. and sisters, had been interred fifty or a hundred feet away, in another section of the graveyard? Here he was locked up in this special section, with the rest of his family out there. He could not walk with and be with his parents, nor could he play with his brothers and sisters. He was locked up with the other soldiers, alone and isolated from the closeness and camaraderie of the people he knew, loved, and mingled with, until that frightful day when he had lost his life. Maybe it was not a frightful day when he had lost his life, but instead could have been one of complete calm and beauty.

This got me to thinking about the spirit world. Is there really life after death? Does the spirit live on? What are the controls and limitations of a spirit? Are spirits free to roam and wander? Do they come and go as they please, if and when they desire? Are they restricted and can only roam in their immediate area? What is the immediate area and how is it defined? I let my mind wander and wondered if the spirits had parties and dances on Saturday nights, and if those parties and dances were held under the tree? Did they also have trysts with their new found flames under the tree?

Did the spirit of the little one climb the large oak tree and explore its branches and boughs? Did it trip over the roots and throw rocks at the birds perched in the upper branches? These are things I would like to know....