Here’s the thing about being a Find A Grave photo volunteer: nobody prepares you for the weird. They tell you about the basics – how to photograph headstones, upload images, and navigate cemetery records.
But they don’t tell you about the territorial geese, the suspicious groundskeepers, or that moment when you realize you’re talking to headstones like they’re old friends.
After years of climbing trees, crawling through underbrush, and explaining to concerned citizens that no, I’m not a ghost hunter – just a genealogy nerd – I’ve learned a few things.
Here are my confessions from the field, and why every awkward moment is worth it.
1. The “I Promise I’m Not a Vandal” Speech
Look, there’s nothing quite like the moment when a groundskeeper spots you contorting yourself into a human pretzel to get that perfect angle. Trust me.
I’ve perfected the “friendly wave while holding a camera” technique. I now carry my Find A Grave volunteer badge like it’s FBI credentials.
Does it hold any actual authority? Absolutely not. But it makes you feel legit, and that confidence shows.
The real magic happens when you explain what you’re doing. Watch their suspicion turn to curiosity, then interest, then appreciation.
2. The Great Weather Watch Obsession
You think day traders watch market patterns? Please.
We’re out here studying weather apps like we’re meteorologists writing a doctoral thesis. Overcast days are our Super Bowl.
It’s not about the perfect shot – it’s about making sure someone across the world can read their ancestor’s name clearly. I’ve canceled dinner plans because the clouds were “just right.”
My weather app gets more attention than my social media. When that perfect light hits and you know someone’s going to be able to read their great-great-grandmother’s name for the first time – pure magic.
3. The Equipment Evolution
Started with your phone camera. Ended up with a backpack that would make National Geographic photographers jealous.
Each new tool represents another lesson learned, another story preserved. That collapsible ladder helped reunite a family with their great-grandmother’s final resting place.
The LED light panel? Made possible a breakthrough for someone tracing their family tree for thirty years. My car trunk looks like a cross between a photography studio and a gardening shed.
Every piece of gear has a story. Every story starts with a “well, that didn’t work” moment.
4. The First-Timer’s Fumble
Remember your first photo request? Mine was a disaster.
I spent three hours looking for “John Smith” before realizing there were seventeen of them. Should’ve asked for plot numbers.
Now I know to request birth dates, death dates, and plot locations. Sometimes I even ask for their favorite color, just to be sure.
Every rookie mistake teaches you something new. Mine taught me that preparation beats perspiration every time.
5. The Wildlife Encounters
Nobody warned me this hobby would require animal negotiation skills. I’ve faced standoffs with territorial geese (they won) and curious deer (we cool).
That one groundhog who keeps photobombing my shots? He’s teaching me patience.
I’ve learned to pack snacks not just for me, but for my frequent animal visitors. Sometimes making friends with the local wildlife is the key to getting that perfect shot.
The cemetery residents might be quiet, but their guardians sure aren’t. Every squirrel is a critic.
6. The GPS Adventures
Sometimes I think cemetery plot coordinates are actually elaborate pranks. “Section E, Row 12” sounds straightforward until you realize the markers disappeared fifty years ago.
Now it’s just you, your intuition, and questionable map-reading skills. I once spent two hours searching for a headstone that was literally behind me.
The GPS says you’re standing right on top of it? Look up. Really up. Sometimes they’re on hills you didn’t even know existed.
Modern technology meets historical detective work. Usually with hilarious results.
7. The Seasonal Dance
Each season brings its own special brand of chaos to our hobby. Spring means fighting through new growth and allergies.
Summer brings mosquitoes and sunburns in weird places. Fall covers everything in leaves – nature’s camouflage for flat markers.
Winter? Try finding anything under two feet of snow. But we persist because somewhere, someone is waiting for that photo.
Every season has its secrets. Learning to work with them is an art form.
8. The Tech Support Role
Never thought I’d become an amateur photographer AND tech support, but here we are. “Is the image clear enough?” becomes your most-typed phrase.
People request impossible angles like I’ve got a drone handy. Or access to satellites.
The number of times I’ve had to explain why I can’t photograph a stone that’s blocked by a massive bush is astounding. One person asked if I could just “reach around it somehow” – when the bush was bigger than my car.
Sometimes being tech support means being a dream crusher. But usually it means being a miracle worker.
9. The Detective Mode
Every worn inscription becomes a mystery to solve. Every obscured date, a puzzle.
Suddenly you’re Sherlock Holmes with a spray bottle and LED light, trying to decipher if that’s an “8” or a “3” from 1843. Your phone’s camera roll becomes a collection of “maybe” shots.
The satisfaction of cracking a particularly difficult inscription? Better than solving a crossword puzzle.
History doesn’t give up its secrets easily. But that’s what makes the victories so sweet.
The Ultimate Reward
Behind all the mosquito bites and awkward explanations to passing joggers, we’re doing something profound. We’re preserving history.
When someone comments “Thank you, I’ve been looking for this for 20 years,” everything clicks.
This isn’t about photography at all.
It’s about connection. It’s about preservation. It’s about making sure these stories don’t fade away.
Some people chase Pokemon. We chase legacy.
Remember: Every headstone is someone’s ancestor. Every photograph is a potential reunion.
And every weird look from a cemetery caretaker is worth it when you help someone find their way home to their roots.
Thank you for all those sacrifices. Reading about it made me tear up (sadly, that is a deeply imbedded trait).