The Herb Garden Mystery: Stumbling Upon Lakewood's Lost Souls

We've all driven or walked past a piece of history and felt a sudden, inexplicable tug of curiosity. For me, that moment happened right outside the Oldest Stone House Museum in Lakewood Park.

I was exploring the grounds, admiring the rugged sandstone of Lakewood's oldest standing structure, when I stepped into the quiet herb garden behind the house. There, tucked away in the greenery, my eyes caught something unexpected: an entire collection of old, heavily weathered 19th-century headstones.

But what completely amazed me — and honestly made me stop in my tracks — was looking closer at the inscriptions.

These weren't the markers of elderly pioneers who had lived long, full lives. They belonged to little children. Names like Carrie Mabel and Sherwin Day were carved into the fading stone. Carrie had passed away as an infant in 1870; her brother Sherwin died in 1876 at just five years old.

Standing there in the quiet garden, looking down at these small markers, a chilling and somber certainty washed over me. I am standing over a grave, I thought. These poor children are buried right here under the garden soil. It felt like a peaceful, if tragic, final resting place for them.

Except, they aren't there at all.

When I dug into the history to confirm my theory, I realized I was completely wrong. The truth pulled back the curtain on a wild, forgotten chapter of Northeast Ohio history — one involving a pioneer house that refused to die, a graveyard paved over for a parking lot, and a city that almost forgot its own founders.

A House of Many Faces (and Two Locations)

To understand how those headstones ended up in a museum garden, you first have to understand the nomadic life of the Oldest Stone House itself.

Built in 1834 by a Scottish immigrant named John Honam, the home was constructed using massive blocks of solid sandstone hauled from local quarries. Back then, this area wasn't the bustling, trendy suburb of Lakewood we know today. It was a rugged, heavily forested wilderness known as Rockport Township (later renamed East Rockport in 1871).

Honam lived there for nearly four decades, but after he left in 1870, the house became the ultimate community chameleon. It didn't just sit there as a monument; it worked for a living. For the next 80 years, it was rented out to an eclectic rotation of local characters and businesses. Over its long life, the building served as:

  • The area's early Post Office
  • A bustling General Store and Grocery
  • A Doctor's Office
  • A Shoe Repair Shop
  • An Upholstery and Furniture Repair Shop

But the house's biggest adventure happened in 1952. Originally located over on Detroit Avenue (near St. Charles Avenue), the aging stone structure was directly in the path of modern commercial development. It was slated for the wrecking ball.

In a heroic rescue mission, a local historian named Margaret Manor Butler rallied the community, founded the Lakewood Historical Society, and did the unthinkable: they physically picked up the entire, multi-ton stone house and moved it down the road to its current resting place in Lakewood Park.

Paved Over for Progress

So, if the children were never buried at the Stone House, where are they?

Their original resting place was the historic Wagar Cemetery, which sat near the house's original location back on Detroit Avenue. The children rested peacefully in that small pioneer cemetery for nearly a century. But by the mid-1950s, modern progress came knocking.

Lakewood Hospital needed to expand, and the old Wagar Cemetery stood right in the way. In October 1957, the city bought the land and excavated the graveyard to pave it over for a municipal parking lot. Workers recovered the skeletal remains of 84 pioneers — including little Carrie and Sherwin.

The remains of those 84 early settlers were packed up and quietly moved to a mass grave at Lakewood Park Cemetery in nearby Rocky River. They rest there today under a single, flat marble monument.

Saved From the Scrap Heap

But while the children's remains went to Rocky River, their headstones were left behind — and they almost vanished entirely.

For over twenty years, the historic markers were shuffled through various city storage lots. By the late 1970s, someone made a shocking discovery: the headstones of Carrie, Sherwin, and several other pioneers were found lying face down in the dirt behind the Lakewood City Hall service garage, discarded alongside broken sewer pipes and cracked sidewalk concrete.

Horrified by the disrespect to the city's founders, the Lakewood Historical Society stepped in once again. They rescued the surviving stones and brought them to the Oldest Stone House, placing them gently in the rear herb garden to ensure they would be permanently protected and displayed for the public.

The Whole Shebang

My initial assumption that I was standing over a historic gravesite wasn't true, but the reality tells a much larger story about post-WWII urban development, forgotten childhoods, and a community's fight to preserve its own memory.

 

The next time you walk past the Oldest Stone House, take a moment to step into the garden and look at those markers. They aren't graves, but they are something just as powerful: survivors. They are a physical reminder of an era when Lakewood was a landscape of dirt roads and fruit trees, a tribute to the fragile families who built this community, and a monument to the dedicated historians who refused to let Lakewood's past be completely paved over by a parking lot.