Platypus of Truth

This is the grave of Reverend Jedidiah Mills and his wife, Abigail. Revered Mills served for 32 years as "the first and faithful minister of the Gospel of Christ at Ripton" until his death at the age of 79 in the year 1776.  Though the graveyard Reverend Mills and his wife are buried in is now adjacent to Saint Paul's Episcopal Church, Mills was a Congregationalist and served at the Puritan church that once occupied the spot where the gas station now stands until it was removed to the Victorian Gothic structure across the Green.  Mrs. Mills' epitaph as "the amiable consort" of her husband is darkened by the addition that she died "a lingering and painful death".  Though the final portion of the stone is obscured by weeds, it gives assurance to the reader that the "happy pair" are now united in heaven. I helped lead a group of seniors on a trip to Italy a few years back and we visited one of the catacombs in Rome.  We were with two o...

Things are made to endure in the Shire, passing from one generation to the next.  There has always been a Baggins at Bag End and there always will be. This is a memorial plaque dedicated to the Bulkley Family.  It stands in the same cemetery as the graves of Lewis, Minerva, and Nancy Shelton and Annie J. Hinman.  The Bulkleys and the Sheltons intertwined at numerous points of their respective family trees and the name "Nancy Shelton" recurs several times (though none of them are Lewis and Minerva's daughter).  The plaque is an testimony to the aristocracy or "old bloods" of New England.  These are the sorts of lineages that mics like my family and other new arrivals were measured against.  This is what it means to have "roots" in the community.  What can drifters like us throw in the balance against almost 400 years on this side of the Atlantic and another 800 on the other side?  We may be descended from Brian Boru, but isn't every Irish-Ameri...

There are many beautiful places in the world.  I've stood in San Marcos in Venice, Saint Peter's in Rome, Saint Patrick's and Trinity in New York, Westminster Abbey, Salisbury Cathedral, and heard Easter service in London's Saint Paul's.  If you asked me, however, where I've felt the sublime, it would be as the evening sunlight is falling over the farms of White Hills.  This little baptist church is tucked away there on a small side road.  It hasn't been in use for a hundred years.  The burial ground is still active, however, and an association of families keeps the church in good repair and allows it to be used for weddings and other special occasions.  It's rather unremarkable, and one of the most beautiful things I've seen. I suppose a Baptist church didn't stand much chance in a town like Shelton.  The first Sheltons were staunch members of the Church of England and Patriarch of the Family, Lieutenant Daniel Shelton, was a loyalist during...

 One of the Shelton plots that are ubiquitous in the town that bears their name as well as across the water in Derby.  The central monument is a modified obelisk with funerary urn and laurel wreath, signifying the race well run.  Below the laurel wreath is the Masonic compass and square indicating that Lewis Shelton (d. 1875 ae. 79 years) was a member of that society.  He is buried with his wife, Minerva Pierce Shelton, who also lived a full life for the time period (d. 1866 ae. 66 years).  From a distance, this monument exudes quiet, and genteel affluence, position, respect.  Now let us look to the right. This is the grave of Nancy M. Shelton, daughter of Lewis and Minerva.  She died in 1859 at age fifteen.  The lily over her name symbolizes purity.  There is an inscription at the bottom of the stone, but I can't read it or find a transcription in the cemetery database.  How did she die?  During this period, Consumption kille...

While walking through old cemeteries in New England, I can't help but notice that the larger stones often have a flock of little markers nestling in their shadow.  Sometimes, closer inspection reveals these to be old markers that the larger stone has replaced.  Other times, they mark the graves of infants, still clinging shyly to mother's skirt in death. This tiny stone stood by itself at the far end of the cemetery.  If Mother and Father were about, I could not find them.  The care they lavished on "little Artie's grave" tells me that they aren't neglectful.  They'll come by and by. Arthur Peck Somers, died May 13, 1862 aged 2 years 9 months 

 If there is fear in a handful of dust, then there is truth in tombstones.  Dust and tombstones are both considered unsightly in modern America.  In California, that most cosmetic state, the Lawn Cemetery is king, with its rows of unobtrusive, ground level stones hiding the unpleasant reality of Man's mortality from all but the most curious of eyes.  But the stones are still there, and with them the truth that they tell. When I was a child, adults always spoke to me as if certain things were my right by simple virtue of being human.  They didn't say "if you get married," they said "when."  They didn't say "if you have children," they said "when."  We were to "live our dreams" and remember that  we could "do anything we wanted" because we were "special."  To cap it all off, it was an unquestioned assumption that we'd have some seventy to eighty years to do it all in.  Tombstones tell a different st...

Another one from my college days.  This is a pastel sketch I did of one of John Howe's early Tolkien paintings.  The original by John Howe can be found in the collection Myth and Magic .

Concept art from a Charles Williams-esque novel that has spent several years in edit Purgatory (with help from many indulgent friends).

Peter Jackson's Hobbit movies were almost worth it for the glimpses they gave us of Dwarven culture.  In that spirit, here are a few paltry takes at the Battle of Azanulbizar.