A Quiet Place

I am a firm believer in a gentle hand that guides us.  Some call it fate, or your plan.  Some call it coincidence.  I've written about these things before.  Finding yourself in the right spot at the right time, driving down a street you rarely use only to be able to save a dog in peril, heading into a store you never shop in for the first time and meeting someone in it you haven't seen in years. 

This principle has been shown to me once again this past week.  Here is the story.  You decide.

On a particular trying day after a series of almost trying days, I visited my son.  I had thrown my camera in the car in case photo opportunities presented themselves, as I hadn't really shot a single photo in three or four days.  But my mind wasn't really focused on getting any shots of anyone or any thing.

After my visit I headed back home on a back road I've taken countless times.  It's the artery between me and what remains of my family living in this area.  Forty minutes to my Mom's house, thirty minutes to my son's house, thirty minutes to my stepson's house, etc.

There is a tiny little cemetery on Mt. Zion Road that looks to have some historic headstones, and though I have always thought about stopping there and taking a walk, I had not yet taken the time to investigate.  On this day, wanting to enjoy the fall-like weather, I parked the car in the church yard, crossed the street and walked the grounds. 

I love cemeteries.  I love reading the history of the headstones, seeing how many family members are together, looking at the oldest stones and seeing how well they've stood the test of time.  I grabbed this photo.

The leaves have already begun to fall from the few cold nights we've experienced.

I stayed about 30 minutes in the quiet of this place and looked at my watch, deciding I needed to get home and make some dinner.

I really did not take that many photos here.  Just wandered and enjoyed the solitude.

More back roads took me past some of my favorite spots on Route 92.  When I was younger, we used to go for lobster dinners at Emma's On The Trail, long since washed away in the flooding of the Susquehanna River.

My favorite aunt and uncle had a house along this route, where I spent many a summer day swimming in the pool or helping with the farm garden, when my uncle was still planting produce.  I was a witness to a major accident on this road at the tender age of 17.  I was the only one driving not in the accident and very afraid to exit my car and walk up to the other cars, most specifically because no one was moving from them at the time.  But I did, and that is a memory I don't like to see.

This is also the road on which the great Kehoe estate is located.  I have loved this house and that property all of my life, and I have looked up and read the history of the great Kehoe family.  Just before the Kehoe estate is another cemetery.  Mountain View.  Even though I was thinking of getting home, I was drawn to stop there as well.  I haven't ever driven up into this cemetery, although I have driven a dirt road next to it when we used to fish off the banks of the Susquehanna River.  There is a good fishing hole down from that road.

So up into Moutain View cemetery I drive, not really knowing where I'm going to go, but letting my car pick the place where I will park.  I grabbed my camera from the back seat once again and saw something flash out of the corner of my eye to my left.  The sun was making odd shadows in the late afternoon as it fell lower in the sky.  But I was pretty sure that the flash I had noticed was now materializing into a balloon, and as I walked toward the spot where I thought I had seen the reflection, sure enough it wasn't just one balloon, but an entire bunch of balloons.  Yellow and blue balloons hooked to a stand that had fallen over, probably in the winds of the past few days.  I was sure I heard music.  Country music to be exact, but I didn't know where it was coming from.

I put my camera down on the ground and picked up the stand, anchoring it securely into the ground.  The balloons danced into the sky.

I looked around me for a headstone, but there was none.  I then began to notice other things.  There were stuffed animals in plastic storage containers.  The music was coming from a radio in a plastic zip lock bag.  There was a license plate staked in the ground from Colorado. A Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, and other drinks were lined up.  A perpetual candle was lit in the midst of the items.

I followed the trail to a tree, and below this tree I found a marker.  The tree was adorned with blue lights, that may have been solar, I'm not really sure. There were ornaments on the tree.  Not Christmas ornaments, although there may have been some of those as well, but note cards, remembrances, small items of friendship.  There was also a small plaque of a dog.

"A life that touches the hearts of others goes on forever."

Who was the person that graced our earth and was so loved by so many?  Who were the many that left the trail, the music, the balloons?

I was so humbled by what I saw here.  I walked around it a number of times.  I photographed it.  I photographed it somewhat reluctantly, not sure what I would do with the photos, or if I could retell this story because I didn't really know much more than what I was seeing, and I was seeing so much.

I did find a nickname.  Just a nickname.  Not much to go on.

I then walked the rest of the cemetery, including the older historic areas.  There are some very old gravestones there.  I found some very nice photo opportunities near the old trees that shaded the gravestones.

I then headed home.  It wasn't until later in the evening that I decided I might type the nickname into a search engine.

I typed the nickname and the word "obituary."  I found a story almost immediately.

John was a young man when he left us.  Only 22.  He died in a freak motorcycle accident.  He left behind all of these loving friends and family who cared enough to make sure he had music, balloons, stuffed animals, and a plaque of his dog, Noel.  They cared enough to plant him a special tree, with blue lights and ornamental messages.

I'm sure John is smiling somewhere.  Maybe he is with his dog, maybe he is waiting for her.

I read one more thing in that search engine story.  I read how John had died two years ago in the very same week that I was visiting his grave.  I will probably go back to visit it many times.  I may not have known him, but I like him.

 

(To make any of the images larger, simply click on them.)