There’s a small, old, overgrown cemetery in my South Knoxville neighborhood that I bushwhack into from time to time when I’m feeling morbid. A sign by the road reads Historic Grave Site: Relatives of Sam Houston.
I don’t know what its story is. Maybe some of our readers do. There’s no owner indicated on KGIS. The only thing I’ve been able to find online identifies it as Coker Cemetery and lists a few names of folks buried there, including patriarch Charles Coker Sr. (1744–1799). I guess Sam Houston (1793–1863), who served as the sixth governor of Tennessee and the seventh governor of Texas, was related somehow?
There are at least two dozen graves in all, most marked only by crude rock slabs. Two or three names are sort of legible, like Eliza Moore (1816–1865). Vines and brush are everywhere. One of the two wrought-iron fenced sections has a whole tree fallen across it.
Given enough time, we’re all likely to be forgotten, I suppose. Still, seeing such neglected graves is unsettling on some sort of existential level. Even just last week, on a warm sunny day when I stopped by during a walk, I could feel the frustration, tinged with sadness, rising up in me. This cemetery is nearly as old as the United States itself. What happened here? How does something like this just slip out of sight?…