Yes, you do get the sense of spirits when you step inside a vacant home. I look around and think to myself that life was here. You can feel the joy, the sadness, and the hope of those that lived there. I wonder what happened to make them leave, leaving behind rusted out refrigerators, stoves, furniture, hopes, dreams, and laughter. My fertile imagination sees them leaving looking forward to better places, better jobs, and a better life. There is too much sadness in this world of ours to think of bad times and I want only happiness when I imagine. The Harshaw cemetery was so well taken care and it obvious that families did not forget those that went before. On some of the graves were framed histories of the person that reside there. Of course there were the unmarked graves and the only way you know that someone is there is the small mound of stones tucked away in the brush. Someone even started replacing the worn out stones with newer ones but they left behind the remnants of the original stone. I was so impressed with the cemetery. Even though it is an older cemetery there are a couple of newer graves. I especially liked the grave that rests besides a small creek away from all of the other graves.
I love these old towns that are not forgotten, there might not be a lot left but shards of homes and businesses but the spirit of those that lived there are still there. I feel that you leave a part of yourself where ever you go especially if there is a strong emotion attached to it. As you can tell by photos that I love windows and doors because it frames what was seen and what was admired.
A dirt road always tempts me. It could be it is a road that is less traveled or it could be I always lived on a dirt road. For sentimental reasons a dirt road, to me, leads to family. I love to open the window of the car and taste the dust and feel it settle on my skin. It is a blanket and a taste of home. I love to get out of the car and walk. If I close my eyes I can imagine walking down Hermit Hollow’s road, I can hear the creek, and I know I am homeward bound.
3 comments:
This is one of the most precious posts ever. Thank you, Pepper!
This ol' Fart,and Wanderwolf, stopped and spent a little time in Harshaw a few months back. I loved that huge old Oak tree with it's gnarled limbs spread out so far.I sat on the earth at it's base, my back against it's rough bark, closed my eyes, and just "listened" to the quiet of the place.
That grave "outside" the cemetery fence, by the little creek, had me kinda "puzzled". I wondered if perhaps, the guy mighta been an "outcast", and not allowed burial in the "sacred" part of the cemetery?
Wmen I eventually got over to Patagonia, I visited a shop, where I found an old book that had a number of pics and history about Harshaw...wow...it was a pretty "good sized" place at one time...way larger than what the remains of today give any indication of it having been.
Sure is a pretty little Valley there, isn't it?
Many places make me get flashbacks of "Willow Creek" the small village where I spent part of my youth. Of course we lived out in the sticks off old dirt roads so even a dirt road can bring me back home.
Grave sites can be so eerie at times...as if the dead want to tell their stories or reach out and grab a hug. You'd think what with a (chicken shit) I can be that I'd stay away but Oh no...I always have to wonder in. And poor Jordan has been hauled right along with me since he was still a babe.
I suppose he'll be freaky just like me.
xxxJ-
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