Stone Stories: Canada’s Cancer Nurse

I first learned about René M. Caisse by chance during a visit to downtown Bracebridge, Ontario. The restaurant I had planned to visit with my Mom was closed, as was most of the downtown core, because it was Easter Monday. Only one place was open, and it just so happened to be across the street from a statue of René M. Caisse.

After reading the plaque, I pulled out my phone and did a quick search to discover that she was the woman behind the herbal remedy known as ESSIAC.

I had never heard of Caisse before, or ESSIAC, for that matter. The more I read, the more I had to know.

What exactly was ESSIAC, and how did this small-town nurse end up known around the world? A little more searching revealed that her final resting place was also in Bracebridge, so I added a stop to our trip to pay our respects. By the end of the day, I would find myself standing beside her gravestone, reflecting on how one small discovery downtown had turned into a much larger story.

René M. Caisse

René M. Caisse was born on August 11, 1888, in Bracebridge.1 Trained as a nurse, she developed an herbal formula for patients that she later named “ESSIAC”, her last name spelled backwards.2 The formula included roots, bark, and leaves of plants such as burdock root, sheep sorrel, slippery elm, and rhubarb root.3

In her manuscript, I Was “Canada’s Cancer Nurse”: The Story of ESSIAC, Caisse described how she first learned about the herbs that would later shape her life’s work. In the mid-1920s, while serving as head nurse at the Sisters of Providence Hospital in northern Ontario, she encountered an elderly patient who had once been diagnosed with advanced cancer.4 According to Caisse, the woman told her that decades earlier, a local Indigenous medicine man had offered her an herbal remedy. The woman chose to follow his instructions, preparing a daily tea from the specific plants he identified in the region. When Caisse met her nearly thirty years later, she seemed to be in remission.4

Caisse wrote that at the time, a cancer diagnosis often felt like a death sentence.4 The patient’s story stayed with her. She recorded the names of the herbs and later began refining the formula, eventually combining several plants into what would become known as ESSIAC.4

Caisse maintained that she never claimed to have discovered a guaranteed cure for cancer, explaining that her goal was to control the disease and pain relief.4

A bronze statue in the Bracebridge downtown core honours her work. The sculpture, created by Huntsville artist Brenda Wainman-Goulet, stands on a stone base near where her clinic once operated.5 During the 1930s and early 1940s, thousands of patients travelled to the Muskoka region hoping to visit her clinic.2

But, along with the attention came controversy.

The medical establishment questioned the effectiveness of her remedy, and government reviews in Canada concluded there was no clinical evidence to support ESSIAC as a treatment for cancer.5 Some studies even indicated it could cause possible harm.3 Caisse, for her part, believed powerful interests stood in the way of broader acceptance. She wrote that it would make established research foundations “look pretty silly if an obscure Canadian nurse discovered an effective treatment for cancer.”4

Even so, people still seek out ESSIAC, drawn by word of mouth and the hope that this herbal blend might offer relief when other options feel limited. Her legacy remains visible in Bracebridge and beyond, through her statue, a theatre named in her honour, and through the many stories of those who came to her clinic in search of help.5

Beyond Caisse’s time, the remedy has been commercialized and repackaged. For example, the company ESSIAC®, through ESSIAC Canada International, touts its herbal blend as “trusted since 1922,” with marketing of powdered, capsule, and liquid extract forms.6 Meanwhile, Resperin Canada Limited claims to prepare “Resperin’s Original Caisse Formula Tea” using Caisse’s original herbal recipe.7

Even with all the marketing around it today, independent sources still say there’s no reliable evidence that ESSIAC works as a cancer treatment.3

Months after our trip to Bracebridge, the story followed me home. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my local natural food store carries a version of ESSIAC. Standing in the aisle and seeing her name and likeness on a bottle nearly a century later made the story feel less like history and more like something still unfolding.

Curious, I asked what forms they carried and ended up purchasing a small sample of the four main herbs that make up ESSIAC. The store sells it as loose herbs, herbal powder, in capsule form, and as a pre-mixed blend packaged in a large bag. The clerk told me ESSIAC is popular and they always keep it in stock. She mentioned that sales tend to come in waves, and that often people who have just received a cancer diagnosis come in looking for it.

It’s interesting to see how Caisse’s legacy still lives on the shelves of health shops nearly a century later, with people continuing to turn to it in moments of uncertainty. Whatever conclusions science has reached, the hope attached to her name has clearly endured.

René M. Caisse McGaughey suffered a broken leg after a fall at her home, from which she never recovered.8 Five weeks later, on December 26, 1978, she passed away at the age of 90.8 Although she received tempting offers to establish clinics in the United States, she chose to remain in Canada. In her writings, she explained that her ancestors had come to Canada from France in the 1700s and that she was determined to prove the merit of ESSIAC in Canada so the country would receive the credit.4 Not far from the statue that first caught my eye, Caisse now rests in Saint Joseph’s Roman Catholic Cemetery in Bracebridge.

Finding her grave felt like the final piece of the story. From spotting the statue downtown, to learning about her work, to standing at her grave, the story had come full circle. Her gravestone, which acknowledges her as the “Discoverer of ESSIAC” is simple yet powerful.

Walking among the rows of gravestones, I reflected on how her story is deeply rooted in this place. She is remembered not only because she lived and worked in Bracebridge, but because the community continues to honour her in visible and lasting ways.

In many ways, this visit brought together local history, public memory, and my own curiosity, all meeting at her final resting place.

René Caisse’s life offers a fascinating mix of determination, controversy, and local remembrance. She stands out as a woman from a small town who believed in an herbal remedy, faced bureaucracy, and left a legacy that is still visible today.

While the scientific verdict on ESSIAC is still debated, the story of its creator remains part of Canadian medical history.3

Visiting her statue in downtown Bracebridge, noticing her name on a product shelf, and standing beside her grave reminded me that remembrance takes many forms. Sometimes it’s cast in bronze, sometimes printed on packaging, and sometimes it’s etched in stone, just waiting for someone to notice.

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. Timeline of Essiac History | Rene Caisse Revolutionary Nurse & Holistic Pioneer
  2. Who was Rene Caisse? | ESSIAC Info
  3. Questionable Cancer Therapies | Quackwatch
  4. I Was “Canada’s Cancer Nurse”: The Story of ESSIAC by René M. Caisse, R.N. | Manuscript
  5. Honoured in Bracebridge | ESSIAC Info
  6. ESSIAC Rene Caisse | ESSIAC Canada International
  7. The 4 Herbs in René Caisse’s Formula | Resperin Canada Limited
  8. René M. Caisse McGaughey | Find a Grave

Cemetery Book Review: A State of Wonder and Serenity

I first heard about A State of Wonder and Serenity: Mount Pleasant Cemetery in February when Norman S. Track reached out to me last year via email. He asked if I’d like to review his new book. I was happy to say yes, not only because Mount Pleasant is a beautiful cemetery, but also because I have visited it myself.

It was so fun to see some of the headstones I recognized covered in snow. That made the winter scenes feel even more special and personal.

Here is a bit about the book, from Track himself, from Blurb:

“Mount Pleasant Cemetery is a Toronto landscaped cemetery with an arboretum. H.A. Engelhardt’s design followed Loudon’s concept that the atmosphere of a cemetery should be solemn, uplifting and educational. The cemetery opened 4 November 1876…Early February, the cemetery was transformed into a winter wonderland. Fresh snow, bare trees, and a clear blue sky produced a quiet, ethereal atmosphere. The sun being lower in the winter sky created long, dramatic shadows. After a heavy snow, time seemed to be wrapped in a white silence.

I listened to the silence and peered deeply into the shadows—I had entered Glenn Gould’s State of Wonder and Serenity at Mount Pleasant Cemetery in February.”

Norman S. Track is a photographer and writer who really knows how to capture the quiet beauty of cemeteries. This is one of his new works, published in 2025.

A State of Wonder and Serenity takes you through Mount Pleasant Cemetery in Toronto, which has an arboretum and was opened in 1876. Track explores the cemetery in February, highlighting the fresh snow, clear blue skies, and Victorian monuments casting long shadows. His photos beautifully capture the calm and quiet of the cemetery.

I read a PDF version of the book, which I think took a little away from the joy of experiencing this book. Some photos span multiple pages, and that didn’t translate as well on a screen. I think the physical book would make a much bigger impact.

Even in PDF form, though, I loved the photos that Track includes. He shows different sections of the cemetery, each with its own character. Seeing headstones I recognize in those snowy scenes made it feel more personal and special. Because it’s a photography book, it’s very easy to pick up and reflect on, so it’s perfect to look at slowly or come back to in sections.

It’s a beautiful look at cemeteries in the winter, especially for someone like me who tends to stay indoors during the colder months. Being able to experience the lovely winter views while staying cozy was a lot of fun.

I would recommend this book to anyone who loves cemeteries, photography, or quiet places to think. Track’s photos and words make it easy to feel like you are walking through Mount Pleasant, even if you’ve never been there. It’s a great book for photographers, history lovers, or anyone who enjoys peaceful winter scenes.

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!

Cemetery Stories: The Oro African Church & Cemetery

Some of the most meaningful burial places are also the easiest to overlook. Sometimes they appear as nothing more than a quiet patch of land, easy to pass by if you do not know what you are looking at. The land beside historic churches often holds space for final resting places, even when there are no stones to signal them.

The Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church and Cemetery was the first cemetery I have visited where there are no visible gravestones. At first glance, there is little to suggest a burial ground is even here. Just open grass and quiet trees.

Standing there, it quickly becomes clear that this is not a forgotten place. It is a deeply significant one. The lack of grave markers does not mean a lack of stories.

Instead, it invites you to look closer and ask questions. In many ways, it makes the stories feel weightier and even more important to share.

The Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church

The Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church was built between 1846 and 1849, by members of the Oro African community.1 Many of them were Black veterans of the War of 1812 and their families, who had been granted land in Oro Township by the British government.1 These families were building new lives here, often under difficult circumstances, and the church quickly became a cornerstone of that effort.2

For these families, the church became more than a place of worship. It served as a central gathering place for worship, education, and community life, especially at a time when Black settlers faced widespread discrimination and exclusion elsewhere in Upper Canada.3 The African Methodist Episcopal faith offered a space of autonomy, spiritual support, and leadership within the community.3

The church itself is a modest wooden structure, but its historical importance is immense. Its simplicity makes it easy to underestimate at first. For years, local folklore suggested that Oro may have been a terminus of the Underground Railroad.4 Later research clarified that many of the earliest Black settlers were retired soldiers from Captain Robert Runcie’s Coloured Corps or free Black individuals from the northern United States.4

It is one of the oldest surviving African Methodist Episcopal churches in Canada and is recognized as a designated heritage site at both the provincial and federal levels.3 That recognition helps ensure the stories tied to this place are not lost, even as the surrounding landscape continues to change.

The adjacent cemetery is believed to contain the graves of early members of the Oro African community, including church founders, families, and descendants of the original settlers.5 Contemporary accounts recall several burials taking place here, with the last known burial being that of James Thompson around 1950.4 The exact number of graves remains unknown.4

Today, no individual graves are visibly marked, but the burial ground itself remains protected and acknowledged as sacred space.

The Cemetery

While the church often receives the most attention, the cemetery is just as historically important. The Oro African Methodist Episcopal Cemetery quietly holds the same story of community, faith, and perseverance.4 The burial ground developed alongside the church and served the Oro African community for decades.4 Those buried here are believed to include Black settlers, War of 1812 veterans and their families, and later members of the congregation who remained connected to the site even as the community dispersed over time.4

Early burials were likely marked with wood rather than stone, a common practice in the mid-19th century, especially in rural and marginalized communities.4 As years passed and markers weathered away, the cemetery slowly returned to the landscape around it.

The absence of headstones does not mean the site was forgotten. In fact, the continued care of the land tells a story of respect and remembrance in its own way. The cemetery is formally recognized as part of the historic church property and is protected as a heritage site.3 This protection helps ensure that the land is treated with care, even when individual names are no longer visible. Preserving the space acknowledges both the individuals buried there and the broader history of Black settlement in Oro Township.3, 5

This was my first time visiting a cemetery with no visible headstones. The absence of stones gave the place a sombre feeling, and the forested area behind the church presented a mystery. How far does the burial ground go? I found myself looking closely at the landscape and noticing little details like yellow daffodils in bloom. Could they be marking a grave?

This is a place of history, and that carries its own weight. The cairns, historic plaques, and information at the site make it very clear that these stories have not been forgotten. One sign even had a QR code, but for whatever reason, we could not access the website. That only encouraged us to really take in our surroundings, including the cairns, the beautiful historic building, and the quiet field in front of us.

I left wishing we could have peeked inside the church. Even from the outside, it was easy to feel the presence of the community that built this place, the generations who worshipped here, and the lives that rest quietly in the field beyond the building.

Visiting a cemetery without traditional headstones really changes how you experience the space. There are no rows of stones with carved names or dates. But that does not mean the stories are missing. The stone cairn lists the surnames of the families buried here, almost like a quiet roll call of the community. A historic plaque nearby shares a short version of the church’s importance and the role it played in the lives of Black settlers in Oro Township.

Remembrance here feels different. Instead of focusing on individual graves, you find yourself looking at the land as a whole. The trees. The open field. The quiet. You slow down without even meaning to. You think about the people connected to this place, even if you cannot stand in front of a stone with their name on it.

The lack of headstones does not take away the meaning. It simply invites you to remember in another way.

The Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church and Cemetery stands as a reminder of resilience, faith, and community in the face of systemic barriers. It encourages visitors to slow down, to notice the land beneath their feet, and to recognize the lives that shaped this place even when their names are no longer etched in stone.

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church | Township of Oro Medonte
  2. Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church National Historic Site of Canada | Historic Places
  3. The Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church | County of Simcoe
  4. The Oro African Church: A History of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, edited by Tim Crawford, Published by The Township of Oro-Medonte | Book
  5. Oro African Methodist Episcopal Church | Carleton University

A Collection of Hearts

Hearts have a way of catching your eye on a gravestone, and with Valentine’s Day weekend here, what better time to take a closer look at them as a cemetery symbol.

Maybe it’s the shape we all associate with love, or the way it reminds us that cemeteries aren’t just about endings, but also about connection.

Over the years, I’ve noticed hearts appearing in all kinds of designs, from simple carvings to detailed symbols, each one quietly telling a story about love, devotion, and memory.

According to Understanding Cemetery Symbols by Tui Snider, hearts are one of the most easily recognized and commonly used symbols in cemeteries. But hearts, like hand symbolism, often hold more meaning than meets the eye.

In Colonial-era cemeteries, hearts were often used to represent a blissful or peaceful soul, with more emphasis on spiritual contentment than romance. By the Victorian era and into today, the heart took on a more familiar meaning, becoming a symbol of romantic love, emotional connection, and affection.

On some Catholic graves, you’ll see a heart surrounded by thorns and topped with a cross. This Sacred Heart is a reminder of Christ’s sacrifice and devotion, showing love and faith in a very visual way.

A menorah on a Jewish gravestone traditionally represents faith and the light of Judaism. When it appears carved inside a heart, it seems to add another layer of meaning, possibly highlighting a deep love for faith, family, and tradition.

The heart in a hand is a symbol often found on Odd Fellows graves. It represents giving from the heart, showing love, kindness, and helping others. It’s a visual reminder of the values the group shares.

The Unified Heart emblem can be found on Leonard Cohen’s grave. It first appeared in his 1984 book Book of Mercy and is made up of two interlocking hearts, one pointing up and one pointing down. People often see it as a symbol of bringing opposites together, like spirit and matter, or connecting the self with something larger than ourselves.

While it’s not a traditional grave symbol, it echoes many of the same themes of love, balance, and connection found in cemetery hearts.

Since it’s Valentine’s weekend, I’d love to know what your favourite heart symbol is? Is there one you’ve spotted that really caught your eye?

Thanks for reading!


References:

  • Understanding Cemetery Symbols: A Field Guide for Historic Graveyards by Tui Snider | Book
  • Stories in Stone: The Complete Guide to Cemetery Symbolism by Douglas Keister | Book
  • Gravestone Symbols and Their Meanings | The Catholic Cemeteries
  • Odd Symbolism | Half Moon Bay Odd Fellows

A Collection of Bingo Cards

One of my favourite things about wandering through cemeteries is coming across gravestone symbols. Over the years, I’ve noticed that certain themes appear again and again. I’ve also noticed that symbolism is evolving, that modern grave symbols are starting to reflect everyday life rather than religion or tradition. These symbols often say the most about a person, quietly hinting at what mattered to them beyond their name and dates.

Today, I want to take a closer look at bingo cards as a gravestone symbol.

I’ve photographed many of these symbols over the years, and each one has its own take on the same idea. It’s interesting to see how the simple card design is depicted and sometimes filled in. Seeing this symbol appear in different cemeteries really highlights how a shared love of a game can become a lasting part of someone’s story.

A Brief History of Bingo

Bingo’s roots stretch back several centuries. The game can be traced all the way back to 16th-century Italy, where a lottery-style game called Il Gioco del Lotto d’Italia became popular with the public.1 From there, variations of the game spread across Europe, including a version played in France in the 1700s that used cards with numbered grids, something that will feel very familiar to modern bingo players.¹

The modern game of bingo took shape in the United States in the early 20th century. Before it was called bingo, it was known as “beano,” a carnival game where players used dried beans to mark numbers on cards and shouted “Beano!” when they won.¹ In 1929, New York toy salesman Edwin S. Lowe encountered the game at a carnival near Atlanta, Georgia, and immediately saw its potential.¹

According to popular accounts, the name changed after Lowe overheard a player accidentally yell “Bingo!” instead, and the new name stuck.¹

Lowe helped turn bingo into the organized game we recognize today. He hired Columbia University mathematician Carl Leffler to create thousands of unique bingo card combinations, reducing the chances of ties and repeated number patterns.¹ By 1930, Leffler had designed 6,000 different cards.¹ Lowe’s company went on to produce bingo cards nationwide, helping the game spread through churches, community halls, and social clubs.²

Bingo quickly became known not just as a game of chance, but as a social activity rooted in routine, friendship, and shared time together.²

As bingo grew into a familiar part of everyday life, its also found its way into cemetery symbolism.

Bingo cards are a relatively modern gravestone symbol, especially when compared to traditional imagery like crosses, flowers, or angels. Their appearance reflects a broader shift in cemetery symbolism, where markers are becoming more personal and more closely tied to everyday life. For some visitors, a bingo card carved into stone might come as a surprise. It is not a symbol most people expect to see in a cemetery!

For those who knew the person, though, the meaning is often immediately clear. Bingo is a social game, tied to routine, friendship, and shared experiences. An engraved bingo card can represent a deep love for the game, but it can also point to a wider social circle and a sense of community. These stones quietly celebrate connection, showing that even simple joys can leave a lasting mark.

Bingo card gravestones are a reminder that memorials do not have to be solemn to be meaningful. They can reflect laughter, routine, and the small joys that shaped a life. Every time I come across one, I am reminded that cemeteries are full of stories, not just of how people died, but of how they lived.

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. Bingo: History of the Game | Thought Co.
  2. History and Evolution of Bingo | Longmont Bingo Alley

Cemetery Recipes: Easy Potato Rolls

Some recipes are passed down through families, tucked into old cookbooks or written on well-worn recipe cards. Others show up in much more unexpected places. When I came across this one engraved on a gravestone, it immediately caught my attention, and January felt like the perfect time to try a recipe so closely tied to warmth, comfort, and family meals.

This month’s cemetery recipe comes from the gravestone of Isabella Margaret Carlson, who passed away on January 24, 2016. Her headstone is located in Ponto Lake Cemetery in Cass County, Minnesota, where her Easy Potato Rolls recipe is engraved directly into the stone. It’s a lasting and very personal memorial, and a reminder that food can be just as meaningful a legacy as words or photographs.¹

Isabella “Ise” Margaret Shamp Carlson was born on February 6, 1947, and her obituary reflects a life centered on family and close relationships. While it doesn’t specifically mention baking, the presence of this recipe on her gravestone makes me think that cooking played an important role in her daily life. As a mother, and grandmother, it’s easy to imagine her kitchen as a place where people gathered, food was shared, and traditions were quietly passed along.¹

I think the choice to memorialize Ise with a recipe means that these potato rolls were especially well-loved. Including them on her gravestone allows visitors to take something tangible with them, a recipe meant to be tried, shared, and enjoyed, rather than simply read.

Ise’s Find a Grave memorial also notes that she preferred using Yukon potatoes when making these rolls, a small detail that adds to the feeling of baking alongside her.²

Here is the recipe, as engraved on the headstone:

Easy Potato Rolls

  • 2 packages (¼ oz. each) active dry yeast
  • 1 ½ cups warm water (110 to 115 degrees), divided
  • ⅔ cup sugar
  • ⅔ cup shortening
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 cup mashed potatoes
  • 2 ½ teaspoons salt
  • 6 to 6 ½ cups all-purpose flour

Directions:

In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in ⅔ cup warm water. In a large bowl, cream sugar and shortening until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, potatoes, salt, yeast mixture, remaining water and 2 cups flour. Beat until smooth.

Add enough remaining flour to form a soft dough ball. Shape into a ball; do not knead. Place in a greased bowl; turning once to grease top. Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.

Punch dough down; divide into thirds. Shape each portion into 15 balls and arrange in three greased 9-inch round baking pans. Cover and let rise until doubled, about 30 minutes. Bake at 375 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from the pans to cool on a wire rack.

Yield: 45 servings

In Loving Memory: Mother; Grandmother; Sister; Friend.

In the Kitchen

This is my first-ever attempt at making bread. The instructions are so detailed on this recipe, that it gave me confidence that I could pull it off, even with no experience.

The ingredients were easy to pull together. I used russet potatoes that I had left over from a previous meal, instead of Yukon potatoes. I’ll admit I was feeling a little lazy and left the skins on when I mashed them. Thankfully, it didn’t affect the taste at all. You can see the little flecks of potato skin throughout the rolls, but I think it adds character.

There are quite a few steps for this recipe, but I found the time between steps helpful, to pause and think about the process and where this recipe comes from. It did also give me some time to worry over it too.

I wasn’t sure about the first rise, as the dough didn’t seem to puff up as much as I expected. After I separated the dough into sections and rolled them into balls, I let them rest for another 30 minutes. This time they did rise a lot more nicely. Trust the process, right?

Because of that slower first rise, I didn’t end up with the full 45 rolls mentioned on the gravestone. I finished with 34 rolls, which is still a pretty good batch.

I baked the rolls for 20 minutes, checked on them, and then rotated the pans on the top rack because the one at the back was getting a little too brown. After another five minutes in the oven, they came out perfectly golden and smelled amazing. The rolls were soft, fluffy, and I think would be a great addition to pretty much any meal. I was happy to share them with my mom and my fiancé, which felt very fitting for a recipe so rooted in family.

Trying Ise’s Easy Potato Rolls felt like more than just baking bread. It felt like taking part in a story that began long before I ever read her name on a gravestone. Recipes like this turn cemeteries into places of connection, not just remembrance, and remind us that legacy can live on through the simplest things, like a shared meal or a well-loved family recipe. I’m grateful for the chance to carry these stories forward, one bake at a time.

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. Isabella Carlson (Obituary) | Brenny Family Funeral Chapel
  2. Isabella Margaret “Ise” Shamp Carlson | Find a Grave

Thoughts on Photographing Cemeteries Respectfully

Cemeteries are places of reflection, history, and, for some, a source of artistic inspiration. After nearly two decades of photographing cemeteries, I often find myself thinking about how to balance documenting these spaces with respecting the people who rest there.

Is it ever inappropriate to photograph a grave? Are there certain cemeteries or gravestones that should be off-limits? These are questions that I, and I’m sure many other cemetery photographers, often think about.

Cemeteries are undeniably beautiful. From intricate gravestones and elaborate monuments to the way nature blends with history, they offer countless opportunities to tell stories through photography. Many photographers, myself included, see this work as a form of preservation. Stone doesn’t last forever, and time can slowly erase names, symbols, and details. Sometimes, a photograph becomes the only lasting record of a gravestone.

But while photography can help preserve history, it’s just as important to remember that cemeteries are sacred places. What feels like a meaningful or artistic image to one person could feel intrusive or disrespectful to someone else.

Are Cemeteries in Ontario Public or Private Spaces?

The first step in thinking about the ethics of cemetery photography is understanding whether a cemetery is public or private. In Ontario, cemeteries are regulated by the Bereavement Authority of Ontario (BAO), which oversees the rules and standards that govern their operation. Many cemeteries, especially older ones, are municipally owned and open to the public. Even so, public access does not always mean unrestricted access. Some cemeteries do have specific rules around photography, so it’s always a good idea to check for posted signage or guidelines before starting to take photos.

Private cemeteries, which are often operated by religious groups or independent organizations, can enforce stricter rules. Some may require permission, particularly if photos will be used commercially. A few years ago, a proposed bylaw in Waterloo, Ontario, suggested restrictions on cemetery photography in city cemeteries. This sparked a debate among genealogists and historians who rely on photos for research and preservation.1

It’s also important to recognize that cemeteries carry cultural, religious, and spiritual meaning for many people. Over time, I have learned that different cultures have their own unique traditions around death and burial, and those traditions should always be respected. In some cases, photographing certain graves or monuments may be discouraged, or photography itself may be seen as inappropriate. I try to be mindful of these differences when I am visiting and photographing cemeteries, and when I am unsure, I see it as a cue to slow down or ask questions. Being aware of these differences and asking for permission when needed, goes a long way toward practising photography that feels respectful rather than intrusive.

I don’t always get it right, but I try to approach each visit with respect and a willingness to learn. For me, that respect often extends beyond my own photography and into finding ways to help others connect with these places of rest.

Photographing cemeteries isn’t just about capturing beautiful or historic images. It can also be a meaningful way to help others. I’ve been a member of Find a Grave for over 11 years, where photographers volunteer to take photos of gravestones for people who request it. For those who can’t visit a cemetery themselves, these photos can be incredibly important.

If you’ve never considered volunteering as a cemetery photographer, it can be a rewarding way to give back while helping preserve family histories. Find a Grave is a great place to start!

The gratitude I’ve received from people who’ve found photos of their ancestor’s graves through the site has been deeply meaningful. Volunteering in this way can also create a sense of community by helping others access information and preserve legacies they might not otherwise have been able to reach.

Cemetery photography is a deeply personal practice. For some, it’s all about exploring history. For others, it’s about artistic expression. The most important thing is approaching it with care and awareness. If you’re ever unsure whether a photo is appropriate, it helps to pause and imagine how you would feel if it were your loved one’s grave.

I believe in the principle of “taking nothing but pictures, leaving nothing but footprints.” For me, I think ethical cemetery photography comes down to intentions. Are you there to honour, preserve, and respect? If so, I think your work will reflect that naturally.

What do you think? Where do you draw the line between art and respect when it comes to cemetery photography?

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. Waterloo says new cemetery photo bylaw won’t affect historians, family | CBC

Stone Stories: A Skyscraper in the Cemetery

There’s something about the start of a new year that makes me want to jump right in, and what better way to do that than with a stone story.

This one had been on my must-see list for a while, and last summer I finally got to see it in person on a road trip with friends. Tucked away in Aurora Cemetery in Aurora, Ontario, is one of the most unique gravestones I’ve ever come across: a miniature version of the Empire State Building.

John William “Jack” Bowser was born in 1892 in Aurora, Ontario, and went on to become a successful businessman and entrepreneur.1 After moving to New York City, Bowser made his fortune in construction, eventually becoming closely associated with one of the most famous buildings in the world, The Empire State Building.2 Dubbed “Canada’s Greatest Builder,”2 Bowser was deeply involved in the project and served as the construction superintendent, which helps explain why this iconic skyscraper would later appear in such an unexpected place.3

Despite his success in the United States, Bowser maintained strong ties to his hometown. He returned to Canada, and remained active in construction. Bowser owned and operated ABC, Aurora Building Corp. until his death, in 1956.1

A Skyscraper Among the Stones

Bowser’s gravestone is impossible to miss. Carved in the unmistakable shape of the Empire State Building, the monument rises above the surrounding stones, complete with stepped setbacks that mirror the Art Deco design of the real skyscraper.4 Standing roughly 10 feet tall, the stone serves as a tribute not only to Bowser himself, but also to his pride in being part of a project that briefly held the title of the tallest building in the world.5

It’s also a fascinating example of how personal identity and legacy can be captured in stone. Rather than traditional symbols or lengthy inscriptions, this monument tells Bowser’s story at a glance. Even if you didn’t know his name, the shape of the stone immediately sparks curiosity and invites questions.

Aurora Cemetery

Aurora Cemetery is the final resting place for many notable local figures, but Bowser’s grave is by far one of its most talked-about features. The cemetery itself is well-maintained and easy to walk, making it a worthwhile stop even beyond this one monument. That said, it’s easy to see why this gravestone has become something of a local landmark and a favourite stop for cemetery enthusiasts and curious visitors alike.

My friends and I visited during one of those truly hot summer days when the heat seems to cling to you, even when you’re standing still. Despite the temperature, the Empire State Building gravestone was impossible to miss. It towers over the surrounding stones, drawing your eye almost immediately as you approach that section of the cemetery.

We were more than happy to slow down and admire it. The monument sits beneath a small grove of trees, and the shade was very welcome after walking through the cemetery in the full sun. We lingered there for a while, taking in the details of the stone and enjoying the brief break from the heat.

John W. Bowser is laid to rest beside his wife, Adaleine McMillan Bowser, who died suddenly in an accident on September 4, 1948.2

Seeing the gravestone brought back memories of my first trip to New York City in 2010, when I saw the real Empire State Building for the first time. Standing at Bowser’s grave, it was hard not to compare the two. One is a towering steel skyscraper in the middle of a busy city, and the other is a quiet stone monument in a small-town cemetery. Even so, both have a presence that makes you stop and look up.

John W. Bowser’s Empire State Building gravestone is a perfect reminder that cemeteries are full of unexpected stories. Sometimes those stories are told through dates and names, and sometimes they rise straight out of the ground in the shape of a skyscraper.

Starting the year with a stone like this feels fitting, and it’s a good reminder to keep looking closely. You never know what kind of story might be waiting in the next cemetery.

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. John W. Bowser | Wikipedia
  2. John W. Bowser, More About an Auroran Linked to the Empire State Building | Living in Aurora Blog
  3. John W. Bowser’s Empire State Building Grave | Atlas Obscura
  4. Empire State Building Tombstone In The Aurora Cemetery, John W. Bowser | Living in Aurora Blog
  5. Empire State Building brought prominence to Bowser | YorkRegion.com

2025 Year in Review: Graving Reflections

As the year winds down, I always like to slow down and think about where this past year of cemetery wandering has taken me.

This year felt especially full, not just because of how far I travelled, but because of the stories I uncovered, the connections I made, and the ideas still rattling around in my head. From long road trips with friends to shorter day trips with mom, 2025 was another reminder of why I keep visiting cemeteries.

So before we head into a new year, I wanted to take a moment to look back at a few highlights, along with some things I want to carry forward.

One thing that really stood out when I look back on this past year was just how many cemeteries I managed to visit. Even though it was a slightly quieter year overall, I still explored 84 cemeteries I’d never been to before, plus three return visits. This brings my total to 87 cemetery visits in 2025.

That number is a little lower than usual, but I’m honestly okay with that. Each visit added something new to my understanding of local history, memorial traditions, and the quiet beauty found in these spaces. It’s a good reminder that it’s not just about how many cemeteries you visit, but what you take away from them.

One trip that really stayed with me was a visit to Walkerton with my mom, where we spent time learning about the Walkerton Water Tragedy. It was heavy, emotional, and important. It reinforced for me why cemeteries and memorial spaces matter. They give us a place to remember, reflect, and sit with difficult truths.

Another memorable trip took my mom and I to Orillia to visit the OPP Headquarters. Tucked inside their museum is the final resting place of Cloud II, the first Ontario Provincial Police dog killed in the line of duty. That story has stayed with me. I haven’t quite shaped it into a full blog post yet, but it’s one I’m hoping to share in the new year.

This year also saw my friends and I take our longest road trip yet. We dared to make the six-hour drive to London, Ontario, to visit Woodland Cemetery. Known for its deer, famous graves, and beautiful tombstones, it was definitely worth the trip. We made good time getting there, stopped in for lunch at The Early Bird, and then spent a couple of hours exploring the cemetery before heading back home. Yes, another six hours in the car. We were all glad we did it, but we also vowed never do that again!

Not all of this year’s highlights happened inside cemetery gates. One of the most unexpected moments was being interviewed for a Smithsonian Magazine article about gravestone recipes, which still feels a bit surreal to write. I was also mentioned in a Better Homes & Gardens article on the same topic. Seeing such a niche corner of cemetery history reach a wider audience was incredibly validating and reminded me that these stories really do resonate.

I was also invited, once again, to write a guest post for The Haunted Walk. Working with them is always a highlight, and I love having the chance to share my love of cemeteries with their audience.

That said, the year didn’t unfold exactly the way I thought it would. I’d hoped to focus more on experience-based content, and while some of that started to take shape, there’s still a lot I want to try. Instead of seeing that as a failure, I’m choosing to see it as a road map for what comes next.

Looking ahead to 2026, I’m setting a few graving-style New Year’s resolutions!

I want to lean more into hands-on experiences like nighttime cemetery photography, tagging along on a cemetery ghost hunt, or maybe even shadowing someone who cleans gravestones to better understand preservation work. Those story-rich moments feel like a natural next step for me.

For now, though, as the snow settles in and cemetery visits pause, my focus shifts indoors. Winter is my season for research, sharing more stone stories, and finally giving my website portfolio the attention it deserves. I’ll also be spending more time contributing to Find a Grave by doing the quiet, behind-the-scenes work that helps keep those records useful and accessible.

Like most winters, I’ll also be taking a few online courses, with a focus on historic preservation (including cemeteries), as well as grief coaching and end-of-life care. It feels like the right time to explore death and remembrance from a slightly different angle.

As I look forward to the new year, I feel genuinely excited about what’s ahead. There are new ideas I want to explore, new experiences I want to say yes to, and plenty of learning to do while the cemeteries rest under the snow.

I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who reads along, shares posts, sends book recommendations, and reaches out to chat about gravestones, stories, and history.

Thank you for being part of this journey with me. I hope the new year brings you good health, curiosity, and meaningful moments. Wishing you a very happy New Year, and I’ll see you in 2026.

Thanks for reading!

Cemetery Recipes: Grandma Mary’s Fruit Cake

As the holiday season settles in, certain foods start appearing on tables everywhere. Fruit cake is one of those dishes that shows up year after year, especially around Christmas. Love it or hate it, fruit cake has become deeply tied to the season. Because of that, this month’s cemetery recipe feels especially fitting. It’s a recipe connected to family, tradition, and a time of year when food and memories tend to go hand in hand.

Mary Ann Rapp was someone whose life revolved lovingly around family. Her obituary speaks to a woman who was deeply loved and loved right back through the everyday things that matter most. She was a wife, mother, grandmother, sister, and friend, all roles that shaped much of her life and how she spent her time.1

Food and cooking were part of how Mary Ann showed care for the people around her. Her love of cooking and feeding others lives on with a recipe carved into her gravestone.1 It’s easy to imagine her in the kitchen, preparing meals for family gatherings, holidays, or just regular days when food brought everyone together.

Mary Ann passed away on March 16, 2021, after a courageous battle with metastatic breast cancer.1 She was laid to rest in Shipley Cemetery in Bristol, Tennessee, where her gravestone now shares a piece of her legacy through an engraved recipe.

Here is the recipe, as engraved on here tombstone:

Grandma Mary’s Fruit Cake

8 oz Pineapple wedges
8 oz Red cherries
8 oz Green cherries
1 C Raisins
1 C Walnuts
1 C Pecans
1/2 C Butter soften
3/4 C Brown sugar
3/4 C White sugar
5 Eggs
2 Tsp Dark molasses
1 Tsp Ground cinnamon
1 1/2 C Self rising flour

Mix in large bowl
Mix on low speed for 3 minutes
Spread in a bundt pan. Spray pan
Oven 250 degrees for 1 hour or
Until done
If the middle is brown

In the kitchen

Fruit cake has a surprisingly long history. Versions of fruit-filled cakes can be traced back to ancient times, when dried fruits, nuts, and sweeteners were mixed to create food that would last without refrigeration.2 Over time, these dense cakes have become associated with celebrations and special occasions.2

Fruit cake’s strong connection to Christmas comes from practicality as much as tradition. Dried fruits and nuts were ways to preserve harvests for winter, making fruit cake a natural choice for holiday feasts. Over time, it has become a symbol of abundance, hospitality, and sharing during the Christmas season.3

For me, there is also another special connection to this controversial treat. My mother loves fruit cake, and every Christmas she would receive one as a gift from my sister-in-law’s parents, who joined us every year for our family Christmas dinner. They have both passed on now, and their presence is still missed at our family gatherings. My mother often reminisces about her fruit cake Christmas gift tradition, so I thought bringing one to Christmas dinner this year might make her smile.

Honestly, this recipe is so simple and easy to make that it might become a new yearly addition to our dessert table.

I was a little intimidated at first by the number of ingredients, but that feeling quickly faded once I started mixing everything. I did have to make one substitution, though. After a few unsuccessful searches for green cherries, I finally gave up and doubled up on red cherries instead. I combined everything in the order listed in the recipe, and as I sprinkled in the cinnamon, I couldn’t help but think that it already looked like Christmas in a bowl.

Because the recipe called for mixing on low for three minutes, I pulled out my little hand mixer and followed the instructions exactly. I was a bit worried that the fruit and nuts might get completely pulverized, but they seemed to hold together for the most part. Once the mixing was done, I was left with a lovely caramel-coloured batter that was a bit chunky, but smelled wonderful.

I borrowed the fanciest bundt pan my mother owns for this bake. I did notice that the directions seemed slightly out of order, as they read, “Spread in a bundt pan. Spray pan.” I’m pretty sure the pan should be sprayed first, so that’s what I did before carefully spreading the batter inside. I then used a spatula to smooth out the top and wiped away any drips along the edge of the pan. I then placed it into the oven, which had been preheating since I started putting all the ingredients together.

After one hour in the oven, I took a peek to see how things were going. The kitchen smelled warm and sweet, with hints of cinnamon. The cake had turned a darker brown, but when I looked more closely, I could tell the batter was still a little too soft and still slightly liquid in a few spots. I slid it back into the oven for another five minutes, then another five, then another five. I had to remind myself that patience is part of baking, too.

After letting the cake cool, I flipped it upside down on a plate and gently released it from the pan. Using a fancy bundt pan turned out to be a great decision, as the finished cake looks beautiful with all of its facets clearly defined. The dark brown colour of the cake, combined with the fruit and nuts peeking through, makes it a genuinely pretty dessert. It really is a nice-looking cake, which is always a bonus.

Of course, the real test is the taste. The cake is dense and sweet, and the combination of fruit, nuts, and cinnamon truly does taste like Christmas. It’s the kind of dessert meant to be sliced thin and shared, which feels exactly right for a recipe meant to carry so much history and meaning.

There’s something especially touching about a gravestone recipe when you know how important cooking was to the person it belonged to. Grandma Mary’s fruit cake isn’t just a holiday dessert. It’s a reflection of how she cared for others and how she brought people together.

Baking this recipe to share with my own family feels a little like continuing that tradition. Even years later, Mary Ann’s love of food, family, and togetherness still finds a place at the table, especially during the holidays.

Thanks for reading!


References:

  1. Mary Ann Rapp Obituary | Oakley-Cook Funeral Home and Crematory
  2. The History of Fruitcake | Collin Street Bakery
  3. Why Do We Eat Fruit Cake at Christmas Time? | Christmas Central