IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN

I grew up in a family with deep connections to Necessity, a community located in southeastern Stephens County. When I was growing up, a big event in Necessity was the graveyard working. More refined folks called it the cemetery working. The Necessity Cemetery is the largest rural cemetery in Stephens County. My parents, maternal and paternal grandparents, brother, sister-in-law, and many aunts, uncles, and cousins are buried there. The workdays are held the first Saturday in May and September. In earlier days, if a family member moved away and could only come home occasionally, they came the first Saturday in May for the cemetery working. It was like a homecoming. The parking area and the roadway overflowed with cars. My parents always attended when I was a child. People brought their hoes and rakes and cleaned the cemetery. While the adults worked, the children played. Children could play around the graves but were not allowed to walk or play on graves.

Work was followed by “dinner on the ground.” There was a tabernacle in the cemetery. Wide boards were stored in the rafters. The boards were placed on sawhorses and loaded with food each family had brought. In those days a barrel was placed atop an open fire to make coffee. When I saw the fire going for the coffee, I knew this meant that food would soon be coming out of the baskets and boxes. This was a great time for children. It meant all of the fried chicken and chocolate cake we could eat.

When I married, I told Ken I wanted to visit my family on the weekend of the graveyard working. He asked, “For the what?” He soon fell into the custom. When we had children, they became accustomed to going to Necessity. Our youngest son had trouble with the terminology. He raised more than a few eyebrows when he was two or three years old and told people he was going “to the grave digging.” On another occasion, the children were puzzled by an old expression. We arrived on the given Saturday and were soon surrounded by relatives greeting us. There was a new grave near where we parked. Ken asked my brother if it was anyone we knew. My brother answered that it was a new arrival to the area and he “went to Fort Worth and got knocked in the head.” The children’s eyes widened. I knew they did not know what happened to the poor fellow. I explained to them that it was an old fashioned expression meaning he got hit over the head and killed.

The crowds have dwindled. A few people still attend if possible. There is now an association that hires a caretaker to mow and clean several times a year. The old arbor has been replaced with a nice covered pavilion. Visitors renew friendships, reminisce, and get caught up on local events.