One of the loveliest times to be in Poland is on November 1, All Saints’ Day. It is a time of meeting with family, reuniting with old friends, and remember those who have passed away.

The day begins with a trip to the cemetery. Everyone cleans off their grandfather’s, their grandmother’s, their brother’s, their aunt’s grave and leaves behind flowers and candles.

Families clean graves and bring candles.

I walked about with my wife and her family and listened to stories of great-uncles and family friends I’d never met. Every year, it seemed, the family told the same stories, asked the same questions.

Some cemeteries are located in the most beautiful settings. My wife’s mother’s family comes from Zab (which translates to “Tooth”). It is the highest village in all of Poland, located in the Tatra Mountains in the south of the country. A few steps from my wife’s grandfather’s grave reveals this view:

Tatra Mountains

The village where I lived stretched out below Babia Gora, “Lady’s Mountain.”

Other cemeteries are in forests.

Cemetery in Nowy Targ

Mass usually follows. Lucky Poles get to go to lovely churches like this one, in Zab. It’s an entirely wooden church, in the classical southern Polish style.

After Mass, extended families gather together for lunch, followed by a string of house calls, for All Saints’ Day is similar to Thanksgiving in one respect: it’s one time when almost everyone goes back to their roots, and as such, the one chance everyone has to meet with childhood friends.

When the sun sets, everyone returns to the cemeteries for prayers. By then, the cemeteries are otherworldly.

Cemetery in Jablonka

Walking among the graves, one hears the sizzle of candle and the occasional pop! of fracturing glass. It’s so peaceful and calm that it is difficult to leave.

Cemetery in Lipnica Wielka

During my seven years in Poland, I experienced the death of four students. Halina, the first, died of leukemia. She was a freshman, though by age she should have been a junior. With her illness and treatment and weakness, Halina had trouble finishing a school year.

Natalia and Marcela two died right after I’d left Poland the first time, in 1999. They were on a summer trip, loosely organized by the school, and they drowned in the Baltic Sea. Having been a lifeguard, I had a difficult time getting over those deaths, constantly running one thought through my head: “If I’d been there…” I knew it was for naught: no one saw it happen. They were pulled under by an undertow, their bodies found only the next day.

Cemetery in Lipnica Wielka

The fourth, Andrzej, was a young man who’d just graduated. I’d returned to Poland and had had the pleasure of teaching him his senior year. He was a hardworking fellow, often helping his dad (a lumber jack) when he was not in school. They were out in the forest when the accident happened. Andrzej was backing up the family tractor when suddenly the ground shifted and the tractor rolled back into a ravine. The tractor crushed and killed him instantly.

I went to their graves, placed candles on their stones, and thought of the tragic irony that an American can have such an intimate connection to a small-village cemetery in southern Poland.

Cemetery in Jablonka

As I walked about with my cameras, I felt I was almost intruding. I tried to keep a respectful distance from everyone, but I’d already gained the reputation of “that crazy American who wanders around with a camera.”

I became a regular fixture at many of the religious ceremonies. Everyone knew me, and that “fame” both eased and complicated everything.

Cemetery in Lipnica Wielka

It was in Poland that I truly understood that cemeteries are for the living, not the dead. This is never truer than during All Saints’ Day in Poland.