I Live in Their House

“Do you have family buried here?”

I stood in front of a row of graves when I heard this.

Such a logical question.

But no. I have no actual family buried here, in this cemetery.

I even have to Google the correct cemetery name whenever I try to write about it. This cemetery belongs to the United Presbyterian Church of New Kensington. However, the church next to it belongs to the Logans Ferry Presbyterian Church of Parnassus. (As I understand it, the United Presbyterian Church originally used this church building, which is why United Presbyterian’s church cemetery is next to this building. After United Presbyterian moved several blocks away, the Logans Ferry church relocated from Logans Ferry into this building.)

The row of graves that I visited last Friday? These graves hold the remains of the first family who lived in my house.

Actually, I live in THEIR house.

Let’s call them the Prime family. My husband Jonathan found John Prime’s name on the house’s first records from the 1890′.  Jonathan later found John Prime Jr.’s name carved with a pen knife in the woodwork in our attic.

Our house sits three blocks away from the United Presbyterian Church’s cemetery. The cemetery and the little white church sit next to the confluence of Puckety Creek and the Allegheny River, 20 miles upriver from Pittsburgh. This is on or near the site of colonial Fort Crawford and all the fort’s urban legends. I heard tales of the unnamed battle once fought here. Of the brass cannon that the militia threw into a well as they fled the fort.  Of the Native American arrow uncovered here. And of the ghosts. Especially the ghosts.

Daily, you can stand in our yard and watch the sun dip behind the hills on the other side of our river. You can also do this from the cemetery. One night Jonathan and I did exactly this from the cemetery. We took a sunset photo walk. We walked for a few moments, then stopped to look around. We stopped randomly.

We stood in front of the graves for the Prime family.

We stood in front of John Prime Sr.’s grave. And those of both of his wives. And also those of all of his children. We found the tombstone for John Prime Jr., who as a boy carved his name into our woodwork.

Actually, THEIR woodwork.

We have tried to be good stewards of the Prime family’s home. It didn’t always turn out the way that we hoped. (You know what wise men say about hell and good intentions and all that, right?)

Two years ago, we hired a contractor to rebuild our front porch. (The Prime’s front porch.) Things didn’t work out the way that we had planned and hoped. Let me just say that the whole experience left me frustrated and disheartened.  And less trusting.

I am still afraid to introduce myself to my new neighbors.

“Hey guys! Nice to meet you! I’m your neighbor with the partially-built porch!”

But last week we were blessed with a sidewalk replacement AND a new roof. And we found a new contractor for the porch!

I hope that this blog entry doesn’t jinx it all.

However, I want the Primes to know that we ARE trying to make their home nicer. Last Friday after I blogged next to People’s Library, I drove home at sunset to find the roofers still roofing. I didn’t want to get into their way.

So I headed for the United Presbyterian Church Cemetery.

I stood in front of the Prime family and looked across the river, watched the sun dip below the ridge.

I told the Primes of the progress on their house.

The woman who lived across the road came over to me.

“Do you have family here?”

“No,” I said.

But then I explained that I do think of the Primes as part of my family. Because I live in their house.

Here are my previous entries about the United Presbyterian Church and the Logans Ferry Presbyterian Church of Parnassus:

Read This

And This

And This

And This