This cemetery is a tiny cemetery, sometimes called "Carrollton Community Cemetery", but most popularly known as "Carrollton Black Cemetery". It's about a ten-minute drive from my neighborhood in far north Dallas, Texas, but my GPS managed to get me lost. I ended up in the church/school parking lot nearby and had to ask for directions, which made for some interesting looks from the parents picking up their children from school. Some of the people there didn't even know a small cemetery plot rested right next door.
It's not surprising, considering the cemetery was established in the late 1800s and the last burial took place in 1960. Since then, the Trinity River has wreaked havoc on the little cemetery. So much havoc, that most of the grave markers have been destroyed, which probably accounts for part of the creepy vibe and spirits at unrest. It's not even known how many people are actually buried here. 
As I pulled up to the field adjacent to the cemetery, I noted the empty back church parking lot and the construction crew working nearby at another place. The men were so small in the distance; they looked like ants, but were quite entertained by the crazy woman with the camera entering the empty graveyard. They stopped working and all gathered around their truck as I approached the gates. If it had been closer to dusk, I probably wouldn't have felt safe by myself. Across the road from the cemetery on the left, lay the train tracks and on either side of the graveyard are new/old construction sites surrounded by vast, empty fields with no other people in sight.
But being the fearless writer and cemetery tourist I am, I entered the gates. I was immediately overcome with an intense wave of sadness and confusion. The feeling left me nauseous and I had to fight not to turn tail and run back to my car with my camera in hand. I have never felt uneasy while visiting a cemetery; I chalked up my feelings to the tumultuous time period when most of the individuals were buried and the damage Mother Nature has caused.
But being the fearless writer and cemetery tourist I am, I entered the gates. I was immediately overcome with an intense wave of sadness and confusion. The feeling left me nauseous and I had to fight not to turn tail and run back to my car with my camera in hand. I have never felt uneasy while visiting a cemetery; I chalked up my feelings to the tumultuous time period when most of the individuals were buried and the damage Mother Nature has caused.
Those unknown souls are not resting easy for all eternity. My writer's imagination ran wild thinking about the many slaves buried there and their descendants and the pre-Civil Rights era in the south. What horrible injustices had these human beings suffered at the hands of men? What were their stories? Were they ever happy? We will never know.On Juneteenth, June 19, 2010, a group of volunteers, including a descendant of Ned Welch, whose memorial is one of the last standing, gathered to remember the forgotten. They erected these simple white wooden crosses to mark the graves of the dead, but there are still many unknown buried in this cemetery.
And this is the only other memorial left.
I dedicate this post to all the brave souls who suffered through one of our nation's darkest ordeals and hope they will rest in peace. May we not forget where we came from as a nation and may we look towards a brighter tomorrow.
Perhaps, I can help their memory live on by including this cemetery setting in a story or two of mine. It would be an honor.
As always, happy writing and happy reading to all!
