In the small town of Weld, Maine, population 376, there’s a tradition that’s as unusual as it is heartwarming. Every late August, a curious party unfolds—not at the local fire hall or town green, but in the living room of the cemetery sexton, Sean Minear. The guest list? Folks who’ve already secured their spots in Mountain View Cemetery, a rustic resting place nestled among maple trees and wildflowers just outside the thick Maine forest.
According to NPR, this annual event is more than a social gathering; it’s an opportunity for people to meet their future “eternal neighbors.” The idea might sound a little macabre at first glance, but for those who’ve purchased burial plots at Mountain View, it’s an occasion filled with laughter, stories, and a surprising amount of comfort in the face of mortality.
“This party is basically an opportunity for all of us who own cemetery plots in Mountain View Cemetery to socialize with one another and just get a chance to meet your neighbors through eternity,” said Todd Papalagis, who, along with his late wife, bought their plots about 30 years ago. Papalagis is in his 60s now, but attendees span the generations. The youngest plot holder is just 15 months old, the oldest is in her 90s, according to NPR’s reporting.
What draws people to this small, unassuming cemetery? For some, it’s the simple beauty of the place—lined with a white, split-rail fence, shaded by old maples, and surrounded by a landscape that’s more wild than manicured. The grass is cut, but not fussed over, and wildflowers and ferns spill from the forest edge. For others, it’s a sense of continuity; ancestors lie here, and the next generation will someday join them. Still others are drawn by the sense of community, both among the living and, eventually, the departed.
Plots at Mountain View Cemetery are surprisingly affordable: a plot for four costs $300 for Weld residents and $600 for those from out of town. And ownership comes with an invitation to the annual gathering at Minear’s home—a tradition that’s become a highlight for many. As described by NPR and other local sources, the party isn’t about somber reflection or morbid curiosity. Instead, it’s a chance to share a glass of wine, nibble on baked brie, and, as one local put it, “get to know who you’ll spend eternity with.”
Minear, the cemetery’s sexton, presides over the event with a blend of humor and practical wisdom. At a recent gathering, he regaled guests with tales of sunken graves discovered by the mower—“they start sinking when you goose the mower,” he quipped, noting one grave had already sunk about 20 inches. Minear’s approach to cemetery management is as relaxed as the party atmosphere. Unlike most cemeteries, Mountain View has few rules about how people must be buried.
“My grandfather is buried in his fishing tackle box. And my mother is buried in a cast-iron kettle that she grew flowers in. And my grandmother was buried in a basket, I believe. Families will make a wooden box and put that in and put their family member in that and bury it. It’s up to them,” Minear explained to NPR. The flexibility is part of the cemetery’s charm—people are free to honor their loved ones in ways that feel personal and meaningful.
For some, the connection to their future resting place is more than just practical. Annie Agan, a regular at the cemetery, has made it a Sunday ritual to visit her plot. “Most Sunday mornings I sit on the stone that will mark my grave, drink coffee and journal,” she told NPR. Agan, an artist, finds inspiration in the clouds above her plot, often stretching out to watch the sky and study shapes for her watercolor paintings. “I don’t even think about, this is where I’m going to be when I’m dead. It’s just there,” she said, reflecting a level of comfort with mortality that’s rare in American culture.
Scott and Lisa Isherwood, another couple with plots at Mountain View, are equally enthusiastic about their future address. “It’s beautiful,” Lisa remarked, with Scott adding, “We got a good view. I plan to spend eternity there with that view.” The couple laughed as they described their contentment, not just with the scenery but with the company. “And we like the people we’re going to be with. And we know our neighbors,” Lisa said, echoing a sentiment that seems to unite the group.
The annual party has become a unique fixture in Weld’s social calendar. It’s a gathering where the living can joke about their eventual fate, share a meal, and find solace in the company of others who’ve made the same choice. As Agan put it, “There’s a great big boulder which is my plot. But I’ll have a little plaque on it, and it’s going to say dirt to dirt.” She laughed as she explained her plans to be cremated: “Burn me up.”
Not every community is so open about death and burial, but in Weld, the combination of relaxed rules, beautiful surroundings, and an annual party has fostered a sense of ease. The cemetery’s approach stands in contrast to the often rigid regulations found elsewhere, where burial methods are strictly prescribed and traditions can feel impersonal. Here, families have buried loved ones in everything from baskets to tackle boxes, celebrating individuality even in death.
For those who attend the party, the event is less about the end of life and more about the enduring bonds of community. The gathering at Minear’s home is described by locals as “a chance to get to know who you’ll spend eternity with,” as reported by NPR and other sources. It’s a sentiment that might seem odd to outsiders, but it resonates deeply in this close-knit town.
Mountain View Cemetery’s annual gathering is a testament to Weld’s unique character—a place where life and death are discussed openly, neighbors look out for one another, and even the afterlife comes with a sense of belonging. Whether it’s the view, the people, or the promise of a party every August, the residents of Weld have found a way to make peace with the inevitable, together.
In a world that often shies away from conversations about mortality, Weld’s tradition offers a refreshing perspective: that community can extend far beyond life, and that sometimes, the best way to face eternity is with a glass of wine and a few good friends by your side.