Rides X

Merrimac had no church or cemeteries. For worship community members would have to go to Mt Ayr, Green Mound or one of the churches in Trenton. All of the churches in the area did use the easy river access at Merrimac for immersion baptisms from time to time. As our ride heads east we go up a long gradual hill. It is mostly made of sand deposited there over thousands of years.

A few miles down the road we come to Green Mound. The church is on the north side of the road and the cemetery is on the other. The white country church is a little larger than most and, I believe still has services. Dad has a three-ring notebook full of stories and history of all the old churches in the area.

Sometimes we stop here and walk through the cemetery just looking at stones and talking about the people who were there. My grandparents, Wilburn and Anna Ross are buried there along with uncles and one aunt. I am sure there are lots of cousins there, too.

One of our ancestors, John Stout, is buried here, too. It’s a simple small stone in the back of the cemetery. It’s significant because he is one of the very few Revolutionary solders buried in Henry County. The Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) approached us at one time about the females of the family joining since they qualified but don’t think Loretta or Nancy ever did. I guess our daughters and granddaughters could join if they ever wanted too. It was a status symbol at one time to be a member but I haven’t heard much about them for along time.

This is where the boy, David Zear, is buried. He was the one who died in the horrible accident in the mill at Merrimac. We stop at his broken stone and think of what horror he must have felt in those last moments. We send up a prayer for his soul and move on.

We pass the graves of the small children who were victims of diphtheria and wonder how things might have been different had they survived. We pass the graves of the children from the family that allegedly was cursed by the Merrimac Witch and think of how superstitious people can be.

It seems like Dad has known many of the people here. I ask him if he would want to be buried here and to my surprise he says no. He says all of his friends are in Mt. Pleasant and besides him and Mom have already paid for a spot there. Then he says he’d rather not think about stuff like that, anyway.

We walk back to the car and head east toward Trenton. Just west of town he points to a small grove of trees on the right and says that’s Ben’s thicket. It was much larger years ago. Dad says it was a congregating spot years ago for many of the men of Trenton. It is where they went to smoke, drink and gamble. He has many stories about that spot although he says he was never personally there.

Trenton is the next stop.