A Journey by Cris DeHart

Some days are just days. And some days you discover something special leading to a truly memorable experience. My husband and I were coming back from Madera one Sunday when I suggested we head over to Mariposa on a side road out of Raymond. We enjoy adventures and had a few hours, so we turned onto Ben Hur Road and started on what turned out to be a longer journey than either of us expected - a journey back in time.

As we traveled down this road, it narrowed and grew less civilized. We entered a country side breathtakingly peaceful in its simplicity, seeing trees, meadows, creeks, and dirt roads seemingly untouched by anyone over the years. The trees were those of the past; the kind you could almost see a tired cowboy standing under after a long ride, catching a bit of shade for himself and his horse, returning home after taking the herd up to the fresh, longer grasses of the higher Sierra.

The rolling hills where farmers had decided to homestead were civilly divided by miles-long stretches of fieldstone fence, staking claim to the pastures of the West. We looked upon this craggy, snaking line in the golden grass with amazement at the time it must have taken to clear the fields of these stones and to stack them so that they would remain as such for 100 years or more. We thought of the pioneers and their families, working so much harder than we could ever imagine, living for the day, while proudly building the future for their children.

Then we came upon the Pea Ridge Cemetery and stopped to see the names of the people who had been here before us. Erected at random were 15 or so gravestones, some still standing strong, some slightly askew, set by loved ones many years ago. The cemetery sat upon a hill and a slight breeze rustled the branches of the old oak overhead and the grasses underfoot.

I imagined a husband telling his wife as they rested here one day: “Wife, when it is God’s will that I return to His side, rest my earthly body at this spot. When you visit, you will hear my voice in this cool breeze and remember the love we shared.” She followed his wishes.

The tombstones told their stories. Some lived to the age of 87, some were babies, and some foreseers of the future. One stone bore an unforgettable epitaph:
“Remember, Man, as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you shall be.
So prepare for death, and follow me.”

As the breezes picked up, we found our way slowly back to the car, a vehicle out of context in this afternoon of exploring the past. We moved onward to Mariposa, and crept somewhat reluctantly towards 2008 as we journeyed forth, leaving the pioneers back in their peaceful valley. Perhaps we will meet again, somewhere down the road of time.