I like writing about places that hide in plain sight, obviously, but some feel like they were meant to disappear. While I was digging into the history of Otterbein Cemetery and the hidden Madison County Infirmary burial ground nearby, I came across a curious mention of Nelson Cemetery. According to local lore, an earlier county home once stood nearby. Apparently, its residents were laid to rest in unmarked graves just west of the site¹. That was all the invitation I needed to start digging deeper.

Some of the pioneer cemeteries I’ve visited are well-known, while others sit tucked deep in the woods or behind cornfields. Still, none hide in plain sight quite like the old Otterbein Cemetery in Chesterfield. Hundreds of people pass it every day on State Road 32! About fifty passengers a day fly over it, too, on their descent towards the Anderson Municipal Airport. Just a football field west of the flight path, the cemetery quietly endures as the world rushes by.

My favorite pioneer cemeteries are the ones hidden away out in the middle of nowhere. In my experience, the more remote the burial ground, the better preserved it tends to be, and the older the graves you’re likely to find. Olive Branch Cemetery in Delaware County’s Washington Township fits that mold perfectly. It’s so far off the beaten path that you have to dip into Grant County just to reach it! 

When I was a kid, someone gave me a couple of those Haunted Indiana books packed with tall tales and creepy folklore. One story was about Batson Cemetery, a lonely plot tucked away in rural Wells County. Aside from the ragged old man who was purported to kill you if you lingered too long, the detail that stuck with me the most was the part about the steps. Supposedly, you’d count thirteen on your way up to the cemetery, but only twelve on your way back down. Armed with nothing but that eerie memory and a full tank of gas, I decided to see Batson Cemetery for myself. 

Many cemeteries are impossible to miss, announcing themselves with grand arches and ornate gates. Those landmarks are great, but the pioneer burial grounds I like to visit tend to slip silently into the landscape. Take the Raysville Friends Cemetery, for example: the place stands just three hundred feet north of the old National Road, but I’d never have known it existed if it hadn’t been for some relatives who rest there. 

A lone marker stands at a corner in Henry County’s Liberty Township. Rising like a strange sentinel from the countryside, it observes the final resting place of Sgt. Christopher Long and his wife, Sarah. The nine-foot monument seems out of place, yet resolutely at home behind a stop sign, almost as if the land itself remembers them.