No one knows the exact moment when the great tree began its quiet reign at the center of Walker Chapel Historic Cemetery, its sheltering limbs stretched wide, embracing those laid to rest beneath its gentle shade. Perhaps it has stood for fifty years, or maybe closer to a century. Yet, with a little research, I believe I have uncovered its origin—a tender story passed down through the whispers of time. Let me share it with you, and you can decide if it is true and if it touches your heart as it has mine.
On a golden June morning in 1903, a little girl was hurrying out the door. The air was warm and fragrant, as her mother called out from the buggy, urging her along—they were late for the first Sunday service in the new Chapel. Everyone was to gather at the original church, built in 1871, to make the walk together to the new site—a proud structure lovingly crafted by Julian and William Elliot.
As the girl dashed through the kitchen, she grabbed a handful of ripe, black cherries from a bowl, their sweetness too tempting to resist. The horse was eager to depart, and the buggy jolted forward just as her feet left the ground. They joined the congregation—neighbors and friends all in their finest clothes, basking in the joy of this significant day.
But the little girl had a secret—a heart filled with mischief and delight. With a burst of energy, she slipped behind a pokeweed bush, savoring each sweet bite of the cherries. Not wanting to be caught with the evidence on her Sunday dress, she quickly dug a small hole beneath the bush with her heel, dropped the cherry seeds inside, and covered them carefully with earth and moss. Her hands brushed off the dirt, and in a flash, she returned to the others, the seeds already fading from her thoughts.
Years passed, and the little girl grew, as did the seeds she had so innocently planted. From that tiny act of childlike mischief sprouted a majestic black cherry tree—a symbol of life, love, and time’s quiet passage. The tree grew tall, its roots woven deep into the cemetery’s soil, as if in eternal protection of those who rest beneath.
On Easter Sunday in 2024, the congregation gathered again. Pastor Teer Hardy lifted his Bible high to the sky, a prayer offered to the heavens. Above, the clouds parted, and an array of contrails framed the scene below—a sacred moment, with the tree at its heart, standing tall and strong, a quiet witness to decades of love and memory.
This tree is not just a part of the landscape; it is a part of our story, a testament to the innocence of childhood and the enduring strength of faith.
Blessings from the
