Loon Lake Cemetery was active for just fifty years, but a single myth reshaped its memory. We trace the records, names, and lives behind the legend.
episode summary
episode summary
tales from the iowa great lakes
A quiet burial ground in southern Minnesota became the subject of one of the region's most persistent legends. But as we explore in this episode, the truth is quieter - and more complicated - than the stories suggest.
For more than 70 years, teenagers from southern Minnesota and northern Iowa have made late-night trips up the hill to see the site for themselves. Since at least the 1950s, the cemetery has been a local dare, a place to test your bravery, or tempt fate.
In case you don't know, here's the basic story: a young woman named Mary Jane in Lakefield, Minnesota, had supernatural powers. She was accused of being a witch. The townsfolk hung her, but before she died, she vowed her revenge on the community that killed her and placed a curse on her grave. If you go to the cemetery and jump over her grave or cross her grave three separate times, she will appear, and you'll die within 3 number of hours, days, what have you.
Long before the cemetery gained notoriety, it served as the final resting place for members of the Jackson County community, with burials dating from the 1870s to 1926. Over time, that community disappeared. Myths of beheaded witches, metal music, and vandalism took the place of memory.
We begin with a photo of the cemetery as it appears today, followed by the original deed, granted to Salmon Dickinson, who buried his son there.
There are a few surviving photographs from the cemetery's early years. But we've included links to the Find-A-Grave pages for several individuals mentioned in our episode:
These are just a handful of the lives that deserve to be remembered.
We've also included materials that help illustrate the cemetery's past: a deed to an individual plot, a photo of the Loon Lake Baptist Church (one of two churches that once cared for the grounds), and—perhaps most revealing—a plot map from 1896.
In the decades that followed, the cemetery fell into neglect. Below, you'll find a clipping from the Jackson County Pilot dated November 27, 1980. The image shows the site strewn with beer cans. The original headstones, removed from the cemetery over time, are now preserved by the Jackson County Historical Society.
But the story doesn't end there.
Thanks to the work of Mary Chonko, the cemetery has undergone partial restoration. Through research and outreach, they've identified many of those buried at Loon Lake and begun reconstructing their stories. It's a project grounded in care and a desire to replace folklore with remembrance.
Dismantling the myth of the Witch's Grave will take time. But that work is rooted in something more enduring than legend: the lives of real people, and the commitment to honor their place in history.
episode info
A quiet burial ground in southern Minnesota became the subject of one of the region's most persistent legends. But as we explore in this episode, the truth is quieter - and more complicated - than the stories suggest.
For more than 70 years, teenagers from southern Minnesota and northern Iowa have made late-night trips up the hill to see the site for themselves. Since at least the 1950s, the cemetery has been a local dare, a place to test your bravery, or tempt fate.
In case you don't know, here's the basic story: a young woman named Mary Jane in Lakefield, Minnesota, had supernatural powers. She was accused of being a witch. The townsfolk hung her, but before she died, she vowed her revenge on the community that killed her and placed a curse on her grave. If you go to the cemetery and jump over her grave or cross her grave three separate times, she will appear, and you'll die within 3 number of hours, days, what have you.
Long before the cemetery gained notoriety, it served as the final resting place for members of the Jackson County community, with burials dating from the 1870s to 1926. Over time, that community disappeared. Myths of beheaded witches, metal music, and vandalism took the place of memory.
We begin with a photo of the cemetery as it appears today, followed by the original deed, granted to Salmon Dickinson, who buried his son there.
There are a few surviving photographs from the cemetery's early years. But we've included links to the Find-A-Grave pages for several individuals mentioned in our episode:
These are just a handful of the lives that deserve to be remembered.
We've also included materials that help illustrate the cemetery's past: a deed to an individual plot, a photo of the Loon Lake Baptist Church (one of two churches that once cared for the grounds), and—perhaps most revealing—a plot map from 1896.
In the decades that followed, the cemetery fell into neglect. Below, you'll find a clipping from the Jackson County Pilot dated November 27, 1980. The image shows the site strewn with beer cans. The original headstones, removed from the cemetery over time, are now preserved by the Jackson County Historical Society.
But the story doesn't end there.
Thanks to the work of Mary Chonko, the cemetery has undergone partial restoration. Through research and outreach, they've identified many of those buried at Loon Lake and begun reconstructing their stories. It's a project grounded in care and a desire to replace folklore with remembrance.
Dismantling the myth of the Witch's Grave will take time. But that work is rooted in something more enduring than legend: the lives of real people, and the commitment to honor their place in history.
Make a donation to the JCHS to power their incredible historical research.
Here's a beautiful feature about Mary Chonko and the restoration at The Loon Lake Cemetery from The Globe.
Here's a link to a live performance of Megadeth's Mary Jane in 1988, when the song was recently released.
Even in the 2020s, the ghost hunting and witch hunting remains strong. Here's a Jackson County Pilot article about a paranormal documentary shot at the Loon Lake Cemetery.