October 26, 2017 – The angels wept

        Last week, my brother and I planned and executed my Mom’s funeral.  Of course, in the height of the well-known New England Fall foliage – it rained all week, only clearing off into bright sunshine and royal blue sky the final day – the day I flew home.

        Arriving at the airport in Rhode Island, my brother drove North to Massachusetts and the misty rain tried its best to clear, yet it stayed dark and cloudy. I did catch welcomed glimpses of the yellow, gold, and red maples and the stunning yellow elms along the way when the sun valiantly tried to peak out between the dark heavy clouds that were skipping across the sky giving us intermittent rain.

But, if the sun had been out – the foliage would have been blinding – a welcomed blinding of the eyes for anyone who compares Fall foliage anywhere they currently live with where they were born and raised.  As usual, I feel New England’s fall foliage, even on off years, always wins out as the best ever show anywhere.

        Berlin is a quaint town and I actually think it will retain its quaintness.   I moved away over 40 years ago and it hasn’t changed very much.  No strip malls in the center of town yet, and Route 62 leads one from Clinton through Berlin and slips off to Hudson after it connects one to Route 495 that runs north and south.

        The common has a huge white clapped board church with green shutters and giant clock.  It is an incredible building built in the early 1800s and is well maintained and often the subject of a quintessential portrait by many who visit the area. Across the street is the General Store, with new tenants this year, which has remained the center of town’s small store for coffee, wicked-good sandwiches, and a convenient pickup of newspapers, milk and bread as it has for the last half century.

        Relating to the rain during the time I was up for my Mom’s funeral, I mentioned to my brother . . . “rain . . . it means the angels are weeping for Mom. Do you remember when Grampa Nixon died?  Gramma Nixon said, “The rain means the angels are weeping.”  I never forgot that moment. [I was 17 at the time.]  All the rest of Grampa’s funeral is a blur, but I never forgot that. And, come to think of it, I’ve been to more rainy funerals than sunny funerals – which is a good thing from where I see it.

        It rained the majority of the week and Mom was interned at The North Cemetery off Highland Street in Berlin, Mass., and now rests alongside her beloved husband of 63 years.

        I inherited many of my Mom’s historical books of the Worcester County, Massachusetts area.  Berlin is famous in the area for the 1812 Powder House Hill where the town’s people kept the gunpowder stores dry during the Revolutionary war.  A sketching of The Power House Hill has often been used on many items depicting Berlin, during my lifetime, and will probably continue to be so.

        I mentioned the “Friends of the Quaker’s cemetery” to my brother when we went back to check on the grave site after the funeral to see that it was “done right” as it should be.  He gave me a queer look and I guessed he didn’t know what I was referring to.

        Wouldn’t you just love to have one of those comic bubbles pop up when you get one of those looks and don’t know what it is . . .then you could just read the bubble and figure out someone’s reaction and move on.  I am still pondering it.  Did he not hear me?  Did he think I was mentally cracked? Or, was that look his, “Why that bit of useless information at this point?”  At the time, I brushed it off.

        When my parents bought the cemetery plot it was a private smile of theirs that they would be buried with the Quakers overlooking an old strawberry field.  I remembered their remarks as Dad drove down to the center of town to get bread, milk, and newspaper and then we drove up Highland Street.  He wanted me to see the new yew shrubs flanking the beautiful Sacred Heart etched pink head stone at the cemetery.  What I remember most that day was the newness of it and the “whispering” of the tall pines as a soft breeze ruffled their needles.  That section is surrounded by a stone wall typical of New England.  I thought it was a perfect setting.  Then, he drove back to the house via Randall Road with us in silent contemplation.

        I knew I wasn’t crazy remembering the Quaker connection and I was really disappointed at my last glance at the cemetery that the sign has “The North Cemetery” with no reference to Quakers – what a shame – some lost history there.

        So, it was delightful today when I was reading an historical book entitled: Towns of the Nashaway Plantation which was prepared by the Lancaster League of Historical Societies 1976, with copyright of 1976. The book traces the beginning of the large tract of Lancaster starting in 1653 and then covers the history of how Harvard, Bolton, Leominster, Sterling, Boxboro, Berlin, Boylston, West Boylston, Clinton and Hudson were carved out of the large tract into separate towns. [This dice-up of land is much like the county I live in now which ran from the Tennessee border to just about Charlotte, North Carolina.]

        Historian Barry W. Eager describes the cemetery connection as follows:

        “In his will, probated in 1867, Amos Wheeler bequeathed a half acre of land to the Bolton Monthly Meeting of Friends (Quakers).  This group counted nearly half of its members from Berlin.  Many of the Wheeler family were buried here.  In 1961, the Town was given title to this small burying ground on the west side of Highland Street near the Bolton line.  Now named the North cemetery, this has been increased in area by the purchase of neighboring land, providing a sizeable cemetery for the future. (4)”

        Footnote 4:  Berlin Town records. [Berlin was carved out of Bolton]

        So, thanks to Mr. Eager – I am not mentally cracked.   And, I can, without any hesitation or guilt, enjoy the quaintness of Mom and Dad both resting peacefully in a once known as Quaker cemetery in quaint Berlin.