People say that history repeats itself. I truly believe that. I am sitting here waiting to be interviewed by phone for a history podcast with Bob Cudmore. The topic is the little graveyard next to the old Presbyterian brick church. I was organizing my notes and came across a packet of information that Priscilla Edwards, the Edinburg historian, had sent me a while back. In the packet were several pages that were copied from the book..The Sacandaga Valley, by John Boos. He wrote the book in 1962, almost 60 years ago. John Boos put together bits and pieces of information about this area. He liked to go to little cemeteries to learn about the people who used to live here. On page 30, he wrote about the Presbyterian cemetery and David Marvin. I was struck by how similar his feeling were to mine. Below is the excerpt from that book:
"There's a little cemetery beside the once brick Presbyterian Church, the meetinghouse in good condition, but now used as a storehouse, it appeared. Woodbine and prickly vines almost as bad as World War 11 barbwire trip you and scratch, but I made my way to the back and found the Sons of the Revolution had been there, the marker holding a fresh flag in front of a slab about 6 feet tall, 2 feet wide and 3 inches thick. David Marvin was in the wrong plot, he having died before the other cemetery was incorporated. He had fought with the Buff and Blue in the Continental line, and was laid to rest at Thea ge of 77 years in December, 1811.
This man witnessed the beginning of the Republic, did his share to defend it, may have stood in the trenches at Saratoga in Abraham Ten Broeck's brigade and might have had the honor to touch the hand of General Washington.
Virginia Creeper and a vine full of briars cover the grave where fresh grass should be, flowers, and a path leading to it, so that wayfarers might come and pay tribute. Honor comes for a moment, fame but a short time and then neglect swallows the glory, the hero, his services forgotten, his record unknown, his sacrifices unappreciated.
Somebody remembers to place a flag there every Decoration Day, and another on the plot of his descendants, but nobody takes the trouble to clear the vines and the brush to make it sightly, and to place a marker near the road, reading A SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION RESTS HERE."
As I read the last paragraph, I realize that after almost 60 years, nothing much has changed with this small cemetery. I sincerely hope that I can be successful in my endeavors so that this little graveyard will finally receive some recognition. I will continue to pressure the town of Northampton to mow and maintain this historical graveyard, but in the meantime, I will try my best to keep the grasses mowed and the vines cut down. Maybe someday I will even have a marker placed by the road so other people will notice this small graveyard and be awed by the sacrifices that people made.
"There's a little cemetery beside the once brick Presbyterian Church, the meetinghouse in good condition, but now used as a storehouse, it appeared. Woodbine and prickly vines almost as bad as World War 11 barbwire trip you and scratch, but I made my way to the back and found the Sons of the Revolution had been there, the marker holding a fresh flag in front of a slab about 6 feet tall, 2 feet wide and 3 inches thick. David Marvin was in the wrong plot, he having died before the other cemetery was incorporated. He had fought with the Buff and Blue in the Continental line, and was laid to rest at Thea ge of 77 years in December, 1811.
This man witnessed the beginning of the Republic, did his share to defend it, may have stood in the trenches at Saratoga in Abraham Ten Broeck's brigade and might have had the honor to touch the hand of General Washington.
Virginia Creeper and a vine full of briars cover the grave where fresh grass should be, flowers, and a path leading to it, so that wayfarers might come and pay tribute. Honor comes for a moment, fame but a short time and then neglect swallows the glory, the hero, his services forgotten, his record unknown, his sacrifices unappreciated.
Somebody remembers to place a flag there every Decoration Day, and another on the plot of his descendants, but nobody takes the trouble to clear the vines and the brush to make it sightly, and to place a marker near the road, reading A SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION RESTS HERE."
As I read the last paragraph, I realize that after almost 60 years, nothing much has changed with this small cemetery. I sincerely hope that I can be successful in my endeavors so that this little graveyard will finally receive some recognition. I will continue to pressure the town of Northampton to mow and maintain this historical graveyard, but in the meantime, I will try my best to keep the grasses mowed and the vines cut down. Maybe someday I will even have a marker placed by the road so other people will notice this small graveyard and be awed by the sacrifices that people made.
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