Over five years ago, I first traveled to that cemetery. I had to rely heavily on the road map. I knew I was close when I say the sign for Engle. As I turned and drove on towards Praha, the view of the Saint Mary’s Church of the Assumption with its high steeple reassured me that I was on the right road. I will never forget the great boles of the Live Oaks along the road.

Although there is a grave or two that predates the American Civil War in the Robstown Cemetery (where most all of my South Texas relatives are buried) most markers bear dates after the turn of the last century. The cemeteries of South Texas are most all “perpetual care” ones with expanses of green grass and few live plants except for trees aligned neatly in rows along the drives. So, my first view of the Assumption Cemetery in Praha was somewhat startling. I was used to fences, but the arched gateway, tall obelisks and iron markers, and curbing were things that I had never seen before. As the gravel crunched beneath my feet, I gradually traversed the whole cemetery and was awed by the shear number of graves way out there in the middle of nothing but farm land. The town of Praha is now little more than a village so, it was baffling to think that so many people once lived and died there. My interest was further tweaked because there were so many Czech names and inscriptions.

At that time, I was fascinated with the orderly rows and curbing. It appeared to me that the earliest graves were laid out by year of death while the newer ones seemed to be arranged in family plots. Time and time again, I was drawn to the wrought iron markers. I studied their design and ran my fingers over the “punched” inscriptions. They were so unusual to me but still familiar because I come from a family of iron workers and grew up watching my Dad turn steel into knives, trailers, signs, porch supports, replacement engine parts, and much more. While in the Praha Cemetery, I discovered that there were glass-top boxes on some of the graves. I had never seen such beauty as I did in those delicately-wrought iron funerary wreaths. Each leaf had been individually worked and then joined to make an intricate and precise metal replica of a greenery wreath. Later, I learned that strands of hair from the dead person were often worked into the wreaths. I found one wreath box that had been broken open and the wreath taken. I was appalled. Further on, I found a wreath box in which the glass had been cracked and, over the years, rain water had seeped in and rusted parts of the wreath away. I was saddened.

My first impression was that the Assumption Cemetery at Praha was all grey and lifeless; but, as I walked it, I saw a profusion of color and plant life. It was spring time and there were blue bonnets blooming on some graves. Old roses adorned other graves while mounds of Asparagus Fern filled the curbing of others. Blue and yellow irises forced aside the ever present gravel and bloomed in mass. There was plant life everywhere but it was all low to the ground. You had to focus below the markers to see how much was really there.

I had come to the Praha Cemetery because I had been told that the first of my Ermis ancestors was buried there. I had a general description of the location of the grave and, eventually, I found it. It was one of the tall stone obelisk markers surrounded by an individual curbing that was filled with gravel. So many years had past since it was erected and the lettering had eroded so that it was difficult to read the inscription. Eventually, by tracing my fingers through the indentions, I could make out what was written. I always carry a notebook when I visit cemeteries and I annotate locations, inscriptions, and notes of interest. I still have that notebook and the notes I made about that grave. That evening when I returned home, I called my eldest sister and asked her to help interpret what was written on the marker. As the lettering was fancy (and eroded) and written in Czech, it took us a while to figure it out. I had found the grave of my great-great grandmother, Marie Hermis. This was the first link I ever had to the name “Hermis” and my mother’s surname “Ermis.”

Over the years, it was the cemetery itself that stayed in my mind. In particular, it was a woman that I had met there to whom my thoughts would turn to from time to time. She was there tending graves. Down on her knees, she pulled weeds and placed them in a basket. She moved between several graves during the time that I explored the cemetery. Eventually, she and I came together and greeted each other. I in my fully-American voice and she with the sweet lilt of Moravian-Czech softening her English. She told me that she spent more and more time each week tending graves because there were fewer and fewer people to do so. Some caretakers were old and unable to come any longer while others had died. She also told me that most all of the young people had moved to the cities for better jobs so there was not a new local generation to care for the graves. I was comforted by the fact that she, at least, was still there. So strong were the impressions of that day, I would eventually write a short story about it. Praha had become “my” heritage cemetery.

Some years later, I read the paper, Czechs in Texas, Gypsies in Czech, that is reprinted in this issue of the Český hlas. Although I found the historical information presented by the author, Eva Eckert, to be true and accurate, I was upset by her assertions that there were no Moravian Texans left to read the grave markers. While it was true that I, personally, cannot read the markers, all I had to do was ask my sister. Also, I thought back to the lady tending graves in the Praha Cemetery and knew that the Texas Moravians were indeed still here.

In the years since my first visit to the Assumption Cemetery, I have studied not only the histories of my Czech families but also the cultural aspects of cemeteries. I came to realize that the Assumption Cemetery was originally laid out in a manner similar to the one used in early German-Texas cemeteries. It is my guess that the close proximity of the European roots of these two groups led to this shared design. In traditional German-Texas cemeteries, the cemetery is planned around a central walkway, structure, or statue with the rows of graves facing that central point. This arrangement is evidenced in the oldest part of the Praha Cemetery. Here the rows face the center of the cemetery whereas in most modern cemeteries, the rows face east. Evidence indicates that this east-facing alignment is often chosen because by doing so, the dead face east and are symbolically ready for the resurrection. The concrete curbing and gravel-covering of graves are also found in many traditional German-Texas cemeteries. In many traditional Anglo-Texas cemeteries, the graves are also curbed but instead of being gravel-covered, they are scraped clean of all growth with the excess soil often mounded along the central axis of the grave. But, be it a German-Texas, Anglo-Texas, or Czech-Texas folk cemetery, it is considered a sign of disrespect to allow grass and/or weeds to grow on a grave. Flowering and evergreen plants, however, hold a very positive and significant position in the folk cemeteries. Please note that it is only in the old, traditional “folk” cemeteries that grass (and weeds) prohibition exists. In many newer cemeteries, I bet one would be severely chastised for clearing the grass from a grave.

As my family history research progressed, I made a good contact and learned that my great-great grandfather, Frantisék Hermis was also buried in the Assumption Cemetery. In September of this year, we had our Rektořík Reunion at St. Mary’s near Schulenburg. After attending that reunion, I drove out to Praha to visit the cemetery and find all the family graves. It was a pleasantly cool afternoon with rain showers moving through the region. With the knowledge I had gained about folk cemeteries, I was truly looking forward to seeing the cemetery again.

I parked my car, picked up my tattered notebook, and headed toward a small side entry to the cemetery. This time I knew that the arched gateway was actually called a “lichgate” or “corpse gate” and was traditionally used only when funeral processions entered the cemetery. Some believe that the lichgate symbolizes the departure from the world of the living. I also knew that it as in the European tradition that there were rows of small markers in the old part of the cemetery. The graves there were placed by year of death; and, in those years, epidemics had claimed many children. The markers of these children frequently included a statue of a reposed lamb or of an angel. The lamb representing innocence.

This time, as I walked the rows of markers, I became aware of changes. And, they were not good ones. Although a lawn mower been run through the old part of the cemetery, there was a profusion of knee-high weeds in many curbed places too narrow for the lawn mower to enter. In addition, the cut weeds were piled up against markers and often hid the curbing. In one part of the old cemetery, I found myself standing in a patch of burrs. The burr bushes were over eight-inches tall. Burrs clung to my skirt and attacked my feet as they fell into my shoes. This patch was almost twenty-foot diameter, very thick, and still expanding. There were still many well-tended markers; however, there were so many that were not attended at all. The change was sadly remarkable.

It was at this point that I realized that I had not seen any of the covered boxes that contained the metal funerary wreaths. I then conducted a systematic search. Row by row I went, I pulled asides weeds and burrs, but I still could not find a single box. They are all gone. Collectors…grave robbers have taken them all.

And where was the lady with the lilting Czech accent who had been there tending graves five years ago? I knew it was not reasonable to expect her to be there but I had thought so often of her. This time I was alone in the cemetery and the only sounds to be heard were the bangs and clangs of railroad cars being attached (or detached) from a nearby train.

At this point, I realized that I had not found the family graves which I came to see and it was getting late. I had to overcome a great deal of dismay to refocus on finding my family markers. I did soon find the ones for my great-great grandfather and one of his daughters and saw that they were in a fairly good state although grass did grow within the curbing. I then hurried over to the grave of my great-great grandmother and found that a low-growing weed was covering part of the gravel. I pulled it out, rearranged the gravel, and carried the weed across the cemetery to a trash bin. “What are we to do?” I thought. It was a long and solemn drive back to South Texas. Not even the sight of the huge thunderheads, cloud-to-cloud lightening, and dark rain moving over the vast and open prairie could lift my heart.

Years of drought followed by several seasons of heavy rains are in great part responsible for the overgrowth of weeds and burrs in the cemetery. Sadly, the years of drought caused many of the blooming plants to become stunted or even to die out while the weeds survived quite well. When the heavy rains came, the weeds and burrs were set to flourish.

I want to make it very clear that I do not blame the folks at the Church of Saint Mary’s Assumption for the condition of the cemetery at the time of this visit. In fact there was evidence even then that they were trying to do something about the situation. In fact, since the visit I have just described, two men of the Assumption Parish have put tremendous effort into cleaning the Cemetery. In addition, other people have come in and cleaned plots in preparation for All Soul’s and All Saint’s Days. When my daughter and I visited the Cemetery on Sunday, October 21^st, I was amazed at the change. But, much work still needs to be done.

I recently spoke to Father Bartsch, Pastor of St. Mary’s, and he assured me that the men of his Parish would eventual clean all the graves that are not maintained by someone. At the same time, he welcomed me and everyone else to come and clean and maintain the graves of their ancestors.

I imagine that almost every one of us has an ancestor buried in that cemetery. And, even if we do not, those people buried there are our foundation in Texas. They were among the first to come. They came to Texas for a better life and, because of them, we have the opportunities which we have today. Do we not owe them much more than just thanks? Is it not our duty and responsibility to tend their graves?

The descendents of Frantisík and Mariana (Marie) Hermis will ensure that those markers are maintained properly. I will also “adopt” one of the old plots for whom there is no longer a caregiver. But what of the rest of the cemetery? Although those two gentlemen of the Parish do an admirable job, I still maintain that others have a responsibility for the upkeep of graves in that cemetery. It has always been the responsibility of the family to tend the actual graves in traditional folk cemeteries…and, the Assumption Cemetery is one of our most significant Texas Czech folk cemeteries. As the old adage goes, “Where there is a Czech, there is a connection!” We are the extended family of those buried in that cemetery. It is our right and responsibility to ensure that it is maintained in a respectful manner.

Traditionally, there were Cemetery “workdays” when the community came together and cleaned the cemetery and made repairs. This was a time of unity. There were often picnics right in the cemeteries. Although we are spread out throughout the State of Texas and the Country, we still can come, if only on a yearly basis, to maintain the graves of our ancestors.

The Assumption Cemetery is one of our most significant heritage cemeteries. With honor and pride, we should all help maintain it.

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