I have been taking pictures of cemeteries for 30+ years. I love the history and beauty of old cemeteries. Any stones I find that I can prop up and clean off, I will, by taking a soft cloth or a stick or my hands to brush off mud, grass, mold if possible, and yes, even cow poop occasionally, in order to make the stone legible in the picture.
I get a lot of photo requests that I can't fill - I wish I had more time - but I prefer to do the western Rockingham County, Virginia and Mathias, West Virginia areas. I can go as far north as Broadway/Timberville or south to Dayton/Bridgewater/Mossy Creek. I prefer not to do eastern Rockingham or Augusta County. I have gotten several requests for Pendleton County, West Virginia, which is about 40+ miles from me. I don't know if I can ever get out that way.
Please use the edit link on the upper right corner of a memorial if you would like me to make additions, corrections, or add links, and I will do so. I am happy to make reasonable transfers. I have noticed some people are very good about making corrections or adding information right away, and others seem not to do it all.
Any pictures I take of cemeteries and stones, you are welcome to use for personal use. This does not mean you can create a duplicate memorial and copy my pictures onto it, which is against FAG rules. ANY FAMILY PICTURES OF GROUPS OR INDIVIDUALS, DO NOT USE. THESE ARE MY PERSONAL PICTURES AND I OWN THE ORIGINALS.
Helpful tip if anyone needs lots of pics from the same cemetery - I know there is a limit of 20 requests per week, so if you need more than that, please put the extra names in the Note section of your request for each cemetery - this will really help the photo volunteers and decrease the amount of repeat trips out to the same cemetery.
The following poem was written in 1906 by Walter Butler Palmer.
Your tombstone now stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out on polished marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who care,
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist,
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh and blood and bone.
Our heart contracts and beats a pulse,
Entirely not our own.
Dear Grandfather, the place you filled
One hundred years ago,
Spreads out among the ones you left,
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder how you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew,
That someday I would find this spot,
And come and visit you.