For this month’s book review, I want to share Graves of the Great & Famous. I actually received this book as a Christmas gift from my nephew last year, and I have to say, it was a perfect gift! It’s the kind of book that immediately made me want to start flipping through the pages.
The book, written by Alastair Horne and published in 2022, is a fairly recent release. It’s a fresh addition to any collection for those who enjoy exploring history through graves.
“From Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, and Princess Diana to Napoleon Bonaparte, Eva Peron, and John Gotti, this book provides a guide to the graves of some of the most renowned figures (good and bad) throughout history. Some, such as communist leaders Ho Chi Minh and Vladimir Lenin, are interred in great mausoleums, where they are visited by millions each year; others are buried in little-known country graveyards.”
One of the first things that stood out to me about this book is just how beautiful it is. It’s filled with full-colour photographs of graves from around the world, making it as much fun to flip through as it is to sit down and read.
It’s a fairly compact guide, but it manages to pack in a lot of detail without ever feeling overwhelming. The only thing I didn’t love was the way it breaks up the main entries with small grave highlights, which sometimes meant flipping back and forth between sections. Not a huge issue, but a bit distracting at times.
Overall, I found it to be a quick and engaging read. It’s one of those books you can pick up for a few minutes and still feel like you’ve learned something new. The stories themselves are fascinating! Some are scandalous or mysterious, while others are deeply heartfelt. One that really stayed with me was the story of Diane Fossey, the primatologist who dedicated her life to studying mountain gorillas. She’s buried in the graveyard she established for the gorillas she worked so closely with, which feels both moving and fitting. The book is filled with stories like that. Some you may already know, and others you might never have heard before.
I think anyone curious about where famous people are buried would really enjoy this book. Cemetery enthusiasts, history buffs, or even casual readers who love a good grave story will find something to appreciate here. For me, it’s the kind of book I know I’ll return to again, to flip through the photos and rediscover the stories.
Have you read Graves of the Great & Famous? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
Thanks for reading!
I am always on the hunt for cemetery-related book recommendations. If you are an author and have a cemetery-related book you would like me to review, please reach out at hello@chantallarochelle.ca. I would love to hear from you!
With spooky season creeping up, you’re probably seeing more buzz about local cemetery happenings—ghost walks, guided tours, and seasonal events popping up in town newsletters and social feeds.
It’s not just about thrills!
Cemetery tourism is quietly becoming a meaningful way to explore history, art, and community all in one place.
What is Cemetery Tourism?
Cemetery tourism is the growing practice of visiting burial grounds for more than just remembrance. They are places to explore history, architecture, storytelling, and culture. As I wrote in a previous post, the pandemic reminded us that cemeteries can be quiet green spaces where people could safely wander and reflect. I think this sparked a renewed appreciation for cemeteries as more than somber places. I have always said that they are open-air museums, rich with stories and art!
Of course, there are mixed opinions. Some argue that cemetery tours and events can feel disrespectful, but many see them as a way to honour the past and keep history alive.
There are different ways to enjoy cemetery tourism—lantern-lit ghost walks, daytime history tours, and seasonal events—each offering something unique.
Ghost Walks
If you’ve never been on a ghost walk, they are guided evening tours that mix local legends, folklore, and real history. Although they usually don’t only take place in cemeteries, you can often find a cemetery or two on the walking route.
While they became especially popular in the 1990s, the idea goes all the way back to the Victorian era, when people were fascinated by spiritualism and mourning traditions. Today, ghost walks let us enjoy spooky storytelling while also learning about the past.
This fall, several Canadian cities are offering atmospheric ghost walks. In Ottawa, The Haunted Walk is running its Tales from the Mausoleum at Beechwood Cemetery, which takes visitors through the cemetery and into its grand mausoleum. In Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ghost Walks share eerie tales in one of Canada’s most haunted towns. Out west, Ghostly Walks in Victoria lead visitors through narrow streets and historic cemeteries filled with legends.
Unlike ghost walks, cemetery tours are usually held during the day and focus more on the history, art, and people buried there. Sometimes these walks will also feature actors who portray the people buried in the cemetery, bringing the stories to life.
You could speculate that this tradition dates back to the 19th century, when garden cemeteries like Mount Auburn in Massachusetts or Père Lachaise in Paris were popular Sunday destinations. People picnicked, strolled, and learned from the monuments. A mix of education, leisure, and remembrance.
That spirit continues today in Canada. In Hamilton, The Cemetery Chronicles series at Hamilton Cemetery offers free themed walks from May through November, led by knowledgeable volunteers. Toronto Cemetery Tours offers rich daytime walks throughout the year at Mount Pleasant Cemetery, the Toronto Necropolis, and Prospect Cemetery.
Cemetery events can include a variety of activities, but usually combine storytelling with seasonal or cultural themes, often blending heritage and atmosphere. They’re especially popular around Halloween time, but it’s possible to find events happening year-round in more and more communities.
This year, Ruthven Park National Historic Site in Cayuga, Ontario, is holding Mansion in Mourning. This event, happening in October, recreates Victorian mourning traditions before ending with a lantern-lit cemetery walk.
Not because we’re haunted by ghosts, but because we’re drawn to the rich stories and connections cemeteries offer. Whether you’re up for a ghostly evening, a curious stroll, or an interactive event, there’s something for everyone to explore.
For your next adventure, check to see what’s happening at a cemetery near you—you might be surprised at what you’ll find!
I rarely stop to think about where our drinking water comes from, let alone whether it’s safe.
In May 2000, the small town of Walkerton, Ontario, faced one of Canada’s worst public health disasters. Contaminated water led to the deaths of seven people and made more than 2,300 people sick.1
Walkerton is about a four-hour drive from where I live, and this year marks the 25th anniversary of that tragedy. In June, my mother and I took a road trip there to visit some of the sites connected to the outbreak and to pay our respects to the lives that were lost.
You might remember hearing about this on the news. Walkerton’s drinking water became contaminated with E.coli.1 The source of the contamination was traced back to Well #5, where runoff from a nearby farm had entered the groundwater. Heavy rainfall in early May 2000 carried manure into the well, and the danger was made worse by human error and poor safety practices at the time.1
For days, residents kept drinking the water, completely unaware of the risk. Once it was realized what was happening, it was too late. Within weeks, seven people had died and more than 2,300 others became seriously ill.1 Many survivors continue to live with lasting health problems even today.
The Walkerton Inquiry, led by the Honourable Dennis R. O’Connor, later showed that this wasn’t just one bad well—but a series of failures. Training was inadequate, oversight was weak, and protocols weren’t followed the way they should have been. Out of this tragedy came stricter water safety regulations for Ontario, which eventually shaped how drinking water is managed across Canada.2
Visiting Walkerton
When we arrived in Walkerton, our first stop was the Walkerton Clean Water Centre. It first opened in 2004, and since then has trained over 23,000 water system operators.3 The new state-of-the-art building, which we visited, was opened in 2010. It features a demonstration water distribution system for hands-on training, more room to host seminars, and space to conduct research.3
In May of this year, they offered tours of the facility, close to the anniversary of the tragedy. The timing didn’t work out for us to take a tour, but I still wanted to take a look at the building.
It’s a modern building, with a lovely koi pond just outside its main doors. The large windows have a nice view of the pond, and let in a lot of natural light. There is also a small pond across from the entrance, overgrown with tall grass and cattails, that is surrounded by a little trail loop. I imagine the staff take advantage of that little walking trail on their lunch breaks. I think the water features, while also being pretty, act as little reminders of how important water is to our ecosystem and us.
Our next stop brought us to a small cemetery that wasn’t connected to the tragedy. I am not one to pass up a cemetery visit though, so we made our way to visit. It just so happened to be very close to the Walkerton water tower. After that, we decided to visit a few more cemeteries, the last one of the day being Calvary Cemetery.
Calvary Cemetery is on the outskirts, just south of the town. This cemetery visit was important for our journey, as it is the final resting place of two people who died in the water tragedy.
Edith Pearson, a mother of five and a grandmother of 13, passed away at the age of 82.4 Not far from her rests Lenore Al, a retired part-time librarian, who passed away at the London Health Sciences Centre at the age of 66.4 Their memorial services were held both during the same week.5
It was a very reflective visit, as my mother and I walked the rows searching for these specific graves. It was a scary thought to think what could happen by just drinking a glass of water. Standing in front of their graves also made their story real, bringing it off the page and into reality.
After that somber visit, I thought it might be a good idea to visit something a little more hopeful. The Walkerton Heritage Water Garden features a waterfall that gushes out from a crack in a large rock formation. It’s inspired by the biblical story of Moses, who struck a rock in the desert to bring water to the Israelites.6 It represents water as a positive symbol of life, healing and renewal. The waterfall pours into a small pond that is surrounded by a larger walking trail. There are benches and small clusters of flowers and tall grass that dot the path that leads you back to the memorial fountain.
It was a hot day when we visited, so the occasional cool spray from the waterfall was very welcome. It was a nice little spot for a small walk, but the constant running water made it hard to forget why it was there.
Our first day in Walkerton was a long one. Shortly after our walk, we found something to eat and then settled in to our motel for the night. We had one more site we had to visit.
The next morning, after a good breakfast, I wanted to find Well #5.
Sometimes while planning and researching, it can be tricky to find exact locations, even in this digital age. But I thought we have to give it a try. So with only a street name in my GPS we headed out.
Slowly driving down the dirt road, we kept our eyes peeled for signs of the well. I was getting worried as we reached the end of the road, but I caught the glimmer of what looked like a silver plaque.
We found the well, which has since been capped off, tucked in behind a small building on the edge of a farmer’s field. Today, it’s just a large cement pad with a small silver plaque. If you didn’t know what you were looking at, you may think nothing of it, but the plaque tells the whole story.
“Well 5 Memorial / This plaque marks the location of Walkerton’s former Well 5 / which supplied a portion of the town’s drinking water from / 1978 into the spring of 2000. In mid May of the year 2000, / extremely heavy rains washed a toxic blend of biological / pathogens through the soils and into the vulnerable shaft of / Well 5 and ultimately into Walkerton’s Municipal drinking / water system. The resulting contamination of the town’s / drinking water system lead to the deaths of seven people and / caused thousands of others to fall ill. It is hoped that all those / who visit this location will reflect upon the multiple causes of / this tragedy and will be filled with a renewed reverence for the / comprehensive stewardship of the waters that sustain us all.”
Finding the well was a moving moment, and as the plaque suggested, my mother and I took some time to reflect as we looked into the farmer’s field and at the old well.
The story of Walkerton didn’t end in 2000. For many survivors, the contamination left behind long-term health complications that they will carry for the rest of their lives. One of those people was Robbie Schnurr, who became seriously ill during the outbreak.7 The illness damaged his kidneys and digestive system, leaving him to cope with constant pain and health struggles for nearly two decades.7
In May of 2018, Robbie made the heartbreaking decision to end his life through Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID).7 He was just 51 years old. The illness caused by Walkerton’s poisoned water was just too heavy a toll.7 Robbie’s story is a reminder that the impact of what happened in Walkerton wasn’t confined to the weeks of the outbreak. It rippled out for years, forever altering lives and families.
Moving Forward
One of the outcomes of the Walkerton Inquiry was a complete overhaul of Ontario’s drinking water regulations. New laws were brought in to ensure public accountability, proper testing, and better training for those operating municipal water systems—all with the goal of making sure something like this never happens again.2
And yet, even in 2025, not every community in Canada can count on that promise. Some First Nation reserves continue to struggle with unsafe drinking water, some living under boil-water advisories that have lasted for years.8
It’s a frustrating and heartbreaking reality. Safe drinking water should be a basic human right, not a privilege.
Visiting Walkerton was an educational and somber experience. Standing at the memorial fountain, walking through the cemetery, and pausing at Well #5 all carried more weight than just stops on a road trip. It was a chance to reflect on a tragedy that forever shaped this small town, and to see how its lessons continue to make Ontario’s communities safer today.
Twenty-five years later, the Walkerton water tragedy remains a powerful reminder of what’s at stake when safety is ignored. It also reminds us of the resilience of a community that continues to honour those lost, while moving forward with a commitment to never forget.
I’ve been reading cemetery-related books for a long time now, so when I spotted this one on Amazon, I was immediately intrigued. The title promised a fascinating dive into graveyards and everything connected to them—a must-read for anyone interested in the eerie, mysterious, and macabre side of cemeteries.
Today, I’m sharing my review of Cemetery Stories: Haunted Graveyards, Embalming Secrets, and the Life of a Corpse After Death by Katherine Ramsland.
Ramsland, a professor of forensic psychology and author, what happens after death—how society deals with it, the process of burial, and what takes place in and around cemeteries. She interviews a range of people in the American death industry, covering topics from embalming and funeral practices to more unusual and supernatural stories.
“Admit it: You’re fascinated by cemeteries. We all die, and for most of us, a cemetery is our final resting place. But how many people really know what goes on inside, around, and beyond them? Enter the world of the dead as Katherine Ramsland talks to mortuary assistants, gravediggers, funeral home owners, and more, and find out about: If you’ve ever scoffed at the high price of burying the dead, or ever wondered how your loved ones are handled when they die, or simply stared at tombstones with morbid fascination, then take a trip with Katherine Ramsland and learn about the booming industry — and strange tales — that surround cemeteries everywhere.”
Despite the title, I found the actual cemetery content surprisingly sparse. The stories and interviews are interesting, but each topic is covered quickly before moving on to the next. The book feels more like a broad overview of the funeral industry, with only a small portion devoted to cemeteries.
If you’re already familiar with the basics of the death industry, you might find it too surface-level to offer anything new. That being said, I think Cemetery Stories would be a good fit for readers who are just starting to explore funeral practices and cemeteries.
One section I struggled with was the final chapter, which discusses necrophilia. In my opinion, it was unnecessarily graphic and didn’t match the tone of the rest of the book. It felt gratuitous and didn’t really add anything meaningful to the overall discussion.
That said, if you’re new to the subject or curious about the behind-the-scenes aspects of death care, this book is a decent introduction. It covers a wide range of topics and provides some memorable glimpses into the industry. Just be aware that it’s not in-depth by any means—and you might want to skip that last chapter if you’d rather avoid reading explicit material.
Thanks for reading!
I am always on the hunt for cemetery-related book recommendations. If you are an author and have a cemetery-related book you would like me to review, please reach out at hello@chantallarochelle.ca. I would love to hear from you!
Tuesday, August 19, is World Photography Day, a day to celebrate the art of photography in all its forms.
Over the years, I’ve dabbled in just about every type of photography—product, food, portrait, weddings—but nothing has ever felt as natural or creatively fulfilling as photographing cemeteries and gravestones.
I find there’s something deeply meaningful about capturing the details of an old tombstone, the way the light filters through the trees, or the quiet beauty of a forgotten graveyard. Cemeteries are full of history, and every stone has a story to tell. But stone doesn’t last forever—inscriptions fade, wooden markers break, and time slowly wears away these pieces of the past.
That’s why I believe cemetery photography is more than just an creative hobby, it’s a way of preserving history.
So today, on World Photography Day, I’m celebrating the quiet art of cemetery photography—the way it connects us to the past, sparks curiosity, and ensures that these stories aren’t lost to time.
If you’ve ever thought about bringing your camera (or even just your phone) to a cemetery, I highly recommend it. You never know what history you might capture.
Do you have a favourite cemetery photo you’ve taken? I’d love to see it! Share it with me on Facebook or Instagram and don’t forget to use the tag #WorldPhotographyDay.
Summer is winding down, but everything still feels full of life.
Trees are lush with green leaves, flowers are in full bloom, and the bees are buzzing all around. Cemeteries reflect that same energy. It’s the time of year when nature is at it’s fullest—and in cemeteries, that adds an extra layer of meaning.
Even in these quiet places, there’s life all around. It reminds me that cemeteries aren’t only about endings—they’re also about remembering lives that were full, loved, and meaningful.
Sometimes, it’s not just the greenery that brings cemeteries to life; it’s the wildlife too, and summer can be the best time to spot them.
On a recent visit to Notre-Dame-des-Neiges Cemetery in Montréal, I spotted a couple of groundhogs throughout the cemetery who froze in place when they saw me. Like little furry statues, they stared me down until I had passed by. Moments like that make cemeteries feel even more alive, with nature and memory sharing the same space.
Of course, summer cemetery visits do have their challenges. The noonday sun can be intense, and without shade, it can be easy to overheat. On summer road trips, sunscreen and water are a must! Sometimes I’ll even sit down to rest under a tree—a chance to slow down for a minute and also take it all in.
Another thing I love about graving in the summer—especially here in Northern Ontario—is the longer daylight hours. Around this time of year, the sun usually sets between 8:30 and 9 p.m., which gives me lots of time to explore and take photos.
This post wraps up my series exploring how cemeteries change throughout the seasons. If you missed the earlier posts, you can still read about cemeteries in the Fall, Winter, and Spring. Each season really does bring its own mood.
What’s your favourite season to visit cemeteries?
Mine is still Fall. I can’t resist the crunchy leaves, cooler air, and all the moody vibes that come with Halloween season. But honestly, every season has something beautiful to offer, and I’ve enjoyed exploring them all.
It’s that time of year again—time to unplug, unwind, and hit the road!
I’ll be taking a little break to relax, recharge, and of course, do some sightseeing (because let’s be real, I can’t resist a good road trip).
Naturally, the time off will include a few cemetery visits, because what’s a vacation without a little gravestone hunting? I’ve got some exciting road trips planned, and I’m sure they’ll lead to some interesting stories for future blog posts.
While there won’t be any new blog posts during my break, my regular scheduled social media posts will still be going up.
I’ll be back soon with plenty to share, but in the meantime, I hope you all have a great summer!
It’s rare that a book that’s not focused on cemeteries makes its way onto the blog, but after reading A is for Arsenic: An ABC of Victorian Death, I couldn’t resist sharing it with you.
It’s a quirky, informative, and fun look at the moody and fascinating world of Victorian death rituals, with a good dose of dark humour.
A is for Arsenic is written by Chris Woodyard, a self-titled “Fortean”. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, (like I was) Forteans named themselves after Charles Fort, who researched all things strange and unusual.1
The book covers topics like post-mortem photography, embalming, and funeral attire. And yes, it does cover a couple of cemetery-related topics, like white bronze grave markers, and the gates ajar cemetery symbol.
“A is for Arsenic is a guide to the basics of Victorian mourning with “death-initions,” and stories resurrected from 19th-century newspapers, brought back to life through the evocative art of Landis Blair. Each entry includes a pen and ink illustration along with 19th-century anecdotes ranging from macabre stories to jokes from the Victorian press. (Plus sinister little poems in homage to Edward Gorey.)”
A is for Arsenic: An ABC of Victorian Death by
I read the softcover edition and found this little book to be a fun and engaging read. I particularly enjoyed the quirky poems that open each chapter. Their dark, whimsical tone reminded me of Edward Gorey’s work and added a fun layer to the material. Paired with the lovely illustrations by Landis Blair, the poems and the historical content make for a delightful read.
You might actually recognize Blair’s artwork if you’ve read my very first Gift Guide for Taphophiles—he was one of the 13 artists I featured. It’s wonderful to see his darkly whimsical style bringing Victorian history to life.
The book does also include plenty of serious historical context. Each alphabetical entry is backed up with stories and facts pulled from the headlines of 19th-century newspapers, offering a glimpse into the strange and sometimes sinister happenings surrounding death in the Victorian era.
As I mentioned, it’s not entirely focused on cemeteries, but there are some cemetery-related tidbits throughout the book. Along with topics like post-mortem photography, and the importance of death tokens and mourning fashion—it all ties in to burial customs and practices.
I found this to be a charming little book, that’s both educational and entertaining. While it might not be focused solely on cemeteries, it’s definitely worth the read for anyone interested in the fascinating history of Victorian mourning customs and death rituals.
Thanks for reading!
I am always on the hunt for cemetery-related book recommendations. If you are an author and have a cemetery-related book you would like me to review, please reach out at hello@chantallarochelle.ca. I would love to hear from you!
In 2010, a friend and I visited a place that felt frozen in time—an abandoned prison cemetery hidden deep in the Northern Ontario wilderness. Thirteen years later, we went back.
What we found was both familiar and completely changed.
The Burwash Industrial Prison Farm isn’t just an old correctional centre—it’s a strange and haunting mix of history, decay, and memory. The prison is long closed, the buildings are crumbling, and the cemetery tucked away in the forest has become almost forgotten.
But pieces of the past still linger there, if you know where to look.
The Burwash Industrial Farm opened in 1914, about 30 minutes south of Sudbury, Ontario. It was designed to be a self-sufficient correctional facility—almost like a village tucked away in the forest. At its peak, the property stretched across 35,000 acres and included a farm, a lumber operation and mill, a 20-bed hospital, and even a tailor shop.1
Burwash Industrial Farm housed between 180 and 820 minimum- and medium-security inmates, who typically served sentences of three months to two years, less a day.1 They spent their days working on the prison farm or doing maintenance around the property. The idea was that routine and hard work could help with rehabilitation. Over the years, the prison grew to include three permanent camps, and several temporary ones. It also became home to a small town of staff and their families, with a population between 600 and 1,000 people.1
The prison was remote by design—difficult to escape from, and just as difficult to reach unless you knew where you were going.
Over time, the facility became known as Camp Bison. The name comes from the herd of wood bison that once lived on the property.2 These animals roamed the land while the prison was active, and the nickname stuck even long after both the prison and bison were gone.
At the time Burwash was slated for closure in 1974, it was the largest industrial farm and the second-largest reformatory in Ontario’s correctional system.1 But the facility was considered too expensive to operate. That July, it was announced that Burwash would be shut down to save money.3 The staff were told they had to leave, and the inmates were relocated to other institutions. After that, the province began looking at alternative uses for the remaining buildings and the massive piece of land.3
What’s left today is a patchwork of wilderness, ruins, and stories.
Abandoned
After the prison shut down in 1975, most of the buildings were left to the elements. Over time, nature began to reclaim the site. The once-bustling correctional community turned into a ghost town.
Some structures were demolished, but a few—including the main cell block—were left standing, crumbling slowly in the woods. The site became a magnet for urban explorers, ghost hunters, photographers, and curious hikers.4
When we visited in 2010, it was quiet—eerily so. There were no signs, no official routes, and no other people around. Just long trails, wilderness, and the remains of buildings just barely holding on.
It was very surreal how, after driving through the wilderness on an ATV, the main cell block emerged out from the forest. The cracked windows, peeling paint, and eerie silence gave the place a haunted feel, even in broad daylight.
There was graffiti everywhere. Some of it was creepy, but a lot was just tagging and random vandalism. It was clear the site gets a lot of visitors—who weren’t always careful. Broken glass and porcelain, rusted metal, and signs of fires made it obvious that time, weather, and people had all left their marks.
Despite the damage, I found the experience strangely moving. It felt like walking through a lost chapter of history. There was a heaviness to the place, but also a sense that stories were still lingering in the walls.
It’s no surprise that Burwash has picked up a haunted reputation over the years. Visitors have reported strange noises, shadowy figures, and an overwhelming feeling of being watched. A prison guard supposedly haunts the prison, after having hanged himself when he learned that the place was closing. People say you can hear his nightstick tapping the metal bars, especially in the basement.5
Tucked away in the trees, at the edge of Cemetery Lake, is the Burwash Industrial Prison Farm Graveyard. This was the first prison graveyard I had ever visited, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Its the final resting place of inmates who died while serving their prison sentences.
Most of the people buried here were prisoners who had no family to claim their remains. Between 12 to 20 inmates are believed to be buried in the cemetery, their graves marked only by simple wooden crosses.6 When the prison closed in 1975, no attempt was made to move them—the cemetery was simply abandoned.4
Records show that during the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, more than 30 people died at Burwash; including inmates, a nurse sent in from Toronto, and the wife of one prisoner who had come to visit.7 We don’t know for sure if any of these victims were buried in the cemetery, but it’s possible.
When we first visited in 2010, the cemetery was surprisingly accessible, although still hidden. The road was maintained, and I remember we were able to drive right up to it. The grass had been maintained, and though the markers were few, the space felt quietly cared for.
No polished stones or statues. Just plain wooden crosses. A few had small metal plaques. There was no formal cemetery sign, but a small framed sign hung on a tree near the entrance, quietly marking the space.
Thirteen years later, I came back. This time, the road was gone, and the cemetery was nearly unrecognizable.
It’s strange how a place can change so much.
In 2010, I remembered smooth roads and a tidy clearing. But in 2024, the gravel road was now a rugged, overgrown path—winding downhill, with deep ruts carved into the ground.
We parked in a grassy clearing nearby and walked into the forest. The bugs found us instantly, swarming like we were fresh meat. We followed what looked like a path through thick brush and knee-high grass.
Eventually, we reached a small clearing at the edge of the lake, the end of the road. I knew we had arrived—but it didn’t feel like the same place.
The cemetery was completely overgrown. Tall grass had swallowed the crosses whole. Most of the wooden markers were now broken or fallen. Any names or numbers that may have once been visible were long faded. Even the small frame marking the cemetery had been bleached by years of sun and rain, and was now blank.
It felt more like a ghost of a cemetery than a resting place. And yet, standing there, surrounded by wild grass and silence, I was reminded again why places like this matter.
Today, Burwash is a mix of forest, forgotten history, and scattered ruins.
If you’re planning to visit the prison, do your research and be prepared for an adventure. The site is on private land, and trespassers can be prosecuted. That said, Avalon Eco Resort offers a legal way to access the property, via a waiver and a small fee.3
There’s a small parking area near the train tracks, close to the start of a 4.5 km hike to the site. The road is no longer open to vehicles—only foot traffic, bikes, and ATVs. Parts of the trail are flooded, and while ATVs can get through, hikers and cyclists may have to get creative to find “alternative” paths.3
Visiting the cemetery is a different story. It’s not on private land, so there’s no need for special permission. But it’s still easy to miss in the forest, and it’s a bit of a hike.
Today, only fragments of Burwash remain. Most of the buildings are gone, but the land still whispers its stories. The cemetery is especially easy to miss if you don’t know it’s there. But for those who make the trip—who follow the overgrown path and brave the bugs to stand among the fallen crosses—it’s a place that stays with you.
Even in decay, Burwash reminds us how quickly places—and people—can disappear. But it also reminds us that memory lingers—in the rust, the rubble, and the wild grass growing where names once stood.
On a recent trip to Toronto with my fiancé, we found ourselves with a bit of free time to explore—and for me, that usually means a visit to a cemetery.
Our friends we were staying with suggested we take a walk to Prospect Cemetery, one of the larger and more historic burial grounds in Toronto. It was a chilly, grey day for late April, but despite the dreary weather, it was perfect for a quiet stroll.
There’s something extra special about sharing my love of cemeteries with others. I pointed out some grave symbolism along the way, and our friend—who used to bring their daughter here to bike ride—showed us some of their favourite gravestones.
But I also had a bit of a personal mission too: to visit the grave of J.E.H. MacDonald, one of the founding members of The Group of Seven.
Portrait of J.E.H. MacDonald. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
J.E.H. MacDonald
James Edward Hervey MacDonald was born in Durham, England in 1873 and moved to Canada with his family in 1887.1 He trained in commercial art and landed a job at Grip Ltd., a Toronto design firm that turned out to be a creative hot spot for future Group of Seven artists.2
MacDonald mostly painted with oil, a paint that let him build rich textures and bold, expressive brushwork into his landscapes. He had a special talent for using bright, sometimes unnatural colours to set a mood rather than literal realism. His style focused more toward the feelings and spirit of the landscape rather than detailed realism.2
He was especially inspired by the wild landscapes of Algoma and the Rocky Mountains. His 1916 painting The Tangled Garden shows just how much colour and movement played into his work.2 Besides painting, he also taught art and eventually became the principal of the Ontario College of Art in 1929.2 He helped shape not only Canadian art but also the next generation of artists.
The Tangled Garden, 1916, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, Ontario J. E. H. MacDonald, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Controversy
MacDonald made headlines again in late 2023—long after his death—but not for the reasons you’d expect.
The Vancouver Art Gallery had been showing ten oil sketches that were believed to be his work, donated back in 2015. But after some doubts were raised, experts took a closer look—and discovered they were fakes!3
Experts tested the pigments, looked at the brushstrokes, and compared the style to his known works. The materials didn’t match what MacDonald would’ve had during his lifetime, and the way the art was created didn’t quite fit either.4
In a refreshing move, the gallery didn’t just quietly pull the pieces—they created a whole exhibit about the forgery, cleverly called A Tangled Garden.4 The title, a nod to MacDonald’s famous painting, added a bit of irony to the situation.
I respect how the gallery handled it. They used the opportunity to teach people about how art is authenticated and how fakes are detected. In the end, MacDonald’s reputation stayed strong—no copy could ever capture the depth and meaning of his real work.
Prospect Cemetery
J.E.H. MacDonald passed away in 1932 after suffering a stroke. He was only 59. He’s buried in the family plot in Prospect Cemetery in Toronto.5 His grave is simple, tucked away among the rows of headstones. A foot stone with his initials J.E.H.M., and his birth and death dates sits in front of a larger family stone with the MacDonald name. Next to it is another foot stone marked W.H.M. / 1876—1956. I’m not certain, but I believe he might be laid to rest beside his brother, William Henry MacDonald.
There is another foot stone in the MacDonald family plot that is a bit of a mystery. The stone is engraved with the letters J.E.M. and the dates 1920-1926. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to uncover any details about this child’s grave.
Standing in front of MacDonald’s grave felt like another little win in my personal journey to visit the final resting places of all the Group of Seven artists. This was the third grave I’ve visited so far, and I find it fascinating how different each artist’s marker is.
Despite their fame, none of their gravestones are flashy. Like Franklin Carmichael’s grave, MacDonald’s grave didn’t have any grave goods—no paintbrushes, no small stones, no tiny canvases. But there was something powerful about the peacefulness of the spot.
There’s something grounding about visiting the grave of someone whose work you admire. You see where their story ended, but you also carry part of their legacy with you. That day in Prospect, under grey skies and the hum of city life just beyond the trees, felt like the perfect moment to reflect on MacDonald’s impact.
Whether through his bright, expressive paintings or the recent conversations around art authenticity, J.E.H. MacDonald still shapes how we see Canada. His grave may be modest, but his influence on Canadian art is anything but.
Cemetery Photography by Chantal Larochelle 