Alamos Sonora Mexico

86… There comes a moment when we all say goodbye…

The Alamos cemetery provides an inspired and sacred work place.

There is always work for the grave diggers be it preparing the graves or maintaining the cemetery in a park-like setting for visitors and residents alike.

Another inhabitant will soon join those from the near and distant past.

Hours layer this grave will be occupied. Across town friends and family are preparing for a day all knew would come sooner or later. The earth gives way to the relentless pick.

The maestro's assistant watches another tombstone in progress.

Tombstones are made outdoors across Arroyo La Barranca and Arroyo La Aduana at the foot of Cerro Compana. Words of love and respect are chiseled into stone as stone gives way to the persistent Maestro’s tools.

A time of loss, mourning, memorializing and inner reflection.

The church is ready, the church is always ready. The body has arrived followed by those who wish to say farewell and share with others this sad moment of passing.

Church bells ring out as solemn friends and family approach.

For one the wait is over, for others it is an emotional weight that will slowly pass with time. Today a name will be spoken out loud, in months it will be recalled in mind and soul and whispered to no one but oneself and the universe.
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After church services the procession across town begins as bells ring.

A mass leaves mass and the cobblestones of Alamos bear witness to another passing. There is a path from the church to the cemetery that has been worn smooth by loss and love.

A procession travels through Barrio La Compana as it nears the cemetery.

And they came in numbers day after day, year after year, century after century… it is what humans do. They walk, they talk, they cry and recall moments that were and plans that did not come to be… it is what humans do.

The procession has slowly made its way east from the church.

The fresh grave awaits, clouds line the morning horizon, crows chatter in surrounding trees and barrio dogs go about their barking as the sounds of daily Alamos life echoes off surrounding hills and mountains. For some, at this moment, their world has stopped amidst the world that goes on uninterrupted.

The dead await a new arrival, passing feet kick up dust, little needs to be said.

People travel narrow pathways, cut flowers, in passing, brush against closely place tombs. The street-wide procession through town from church has become a solemn single rank slow marching to the grave.

85… The moment has arrived and we are there…

Away from the burial service the cemetery is quiet as the dead rest in peace.

Patinas of passing time, an unavoidable ornamentation, take over the graves. Here, across the way, a new body has arrived. From this point on they will always be here. At any time they will be available for visits as their great-grand children become great-grand parents.

The new grave joins others that have been here for a long time.

It is another day in the graveyard. Not just another day… but another day. It has been this way since 1794 when this plot of land was deemed the municipal cemetery.

Words are spoken, the moment is being accepted, a journey ends.

The priest in a baseball cap performs in an ancient tongue a ritual that goes back thousands of years. No one needs to understand the words being spoken. The need for these words to be spoken is what is understood. It is hard for most in attendance to hear anything but the thoughts swirling in their minds and pulsing with each heart beat.

Reaching out to touch a departed spirit for one last time.

And they are gone… the last look says so… the last touch confirms… this is a tender moment… this is life… and life leads to one place, death, and here we are this morning…

The service has ended and a beam is placed on top of the casket.

Folks had come from far and wide to attend the services. One can see the deceased’s connections and social standing by attending the graveyard service. For some it is a throng with paid assistants and sub-contractors. For other it is a few friends and, or, family that volunteer to dig the grave and offer their regards in quiet prayer. For the dead the ride is much the same.

All watch silently as the men placed bricks over the casket.

Each brick adds to the finality. For the living this is an opportunity to come together with friends and family. With the passing of a love one they see their own tribe standing shoulder to shoulder. The moment goes beyond the dead and becomes the living, In a way they have come to say that they are alive, “we are here”.

Soon the grave will be covered by flowers and touched by the winds.

And soon the mourners will go their separate ways. They were united once again by the passing of one of their own. They had stopped what they were doing and made the time and way to come together, once again, as one.

After all have taken their leave flowers remain in a temporary respect.

From dust to dust, the world goes on, today becomes another footnote in the wind. The flowers will wilt and dry away under a tropical sun. At some graves there will always be fresh flowers until the day no one is left to bring flowers.

After all these years there is still available ground for graves in the cemetery.

Graveyards are a special place: they are public art, they are public history and they are markers of their own civilization. And another day begins… and somewhere out there someone is dying and somewhere near here someone is being born. In the end it is all about this precious balance we call life.

13 … A place where the Living and Dead and Memories converge…

Can you find the black crows spending their morning perched on crosses?

Existence in the Pantheon, Cemetery, is a many layered thing. November 2, the Day of the Dead, is one of these moments as relatives bearing flowers light candles at their departed’s grave sites. Some of the surnames etched and painted are Almada, Urrea, Salido, Salazar, Ortega, Lopez, Zayas, Ibarra, Santoyo, Palomares, Lara, Acosta and…

Touring the Graveyard is an art experience as a variety of religious icons are repeated in many variations and materials.s.

And the names keep coming: Rosas, Parra, Valenzuela, Esquer, Boors, Ramos, Garcia, Robles, Campoy, Zavala… The earliest dated grave I found was for Antonio Alamada – 8 de Octubre, 1786.

This tarnished Jesus stands as a gatekeeper to the eternal blue skies above.

There was the day I listened from across the graveyard to the piercing wails of a woman and sister who had lost their grown son and brother. And there are the sounds of birds and dogs as countryside meets town, past meets present and the future is there for all to see.

A mourning mother’s deep wails, crows cawing – perched on white crosses…
It is a warm spring day as we explore the “Pantheon” – (Cemetery) on the road to the Sierra Madres, minutes east of the Colonial Center. The ages speak here. Be it ancient mountain sounds or human voices, mourning and celebrating since 1794. All is timeless, and all thoughts are a point on our circle of life. Video…

Journal entries 91 – 100… Alamos horses… Elizabeth Nuzum’s special place-garden… Cobblestone crew… kids playing in streets… the red brick building… View from Tecolote Hill, mining, Mirador, gangs, dump… sweeping streets… restoration and repair… and Easter Sunday in the country…

Journal entries 81 – 90… Taxi ride to Easter Sunday… El Palomar Guest Ranch… inside Bishop Reyes’ Cathedral… Cathedral details… grave diggers and street mourners… Ceremony at the cemetery… Victor digs a cistern… flower details… Border politics… and Galeria de Arte…

Journal entries 71 – 80… Summer rains… four Almada women… Nuzum rooftop garden… Jacoby gardens & tequila… Plaza kiosk-bandstand… traveling hypnotist… anthropocene & human nature… ethnic accounting… Spanish Conquistadors… and Pueblo Magico….