I am sure I am not the only one who takes walks in graveyards. It is usually very quiet, excellent for thinking and comptemplating. And far from being depressing, to me it is a celebration of life. Everyone will end this part of the journey the same. They all had hopes and dreams, loves and heartaches. They knew joy and pain, laughter and tears. They held and touched, loved and caressed. Just as we all do. I cannot help but wonder, who these people were.
There is one person that has intrigued me for years. His stone sits mainly by itself in the old part of the cemetery. I have tried to track down some history on him, but to no avail. It was suggested that I try the local Later Day Saints as they have a library of local genealogy. That will be the next step.
He wrote his own poem. Where there other poems, other stories, from this one I would think so? I would hope so. From the hills around Monterey, the fog will come in and look like waves, at time completely obscuring the town from view. . .
1860 - Edward Thompson Nelson - 1886
Sometimes in the morning, we would stand
And mark the mimic ocean at our feet
The silent sea-fog that in silence beat
On unresounding silences of land-
Such joyless wastes of weariness, we thought
Lie all about him who doth dare despond-
Full well we knew the valley lay beyond,
For on the moment hung the morning, caught
Upon the summit of a mountain peak
And all the east with molten gold did reek,
The sea-fog heaved, the town before concealed
Gleamed out from roof and spire, the valley
lay revealed.
E.T.N.
Only 26 years old, Who did he stand with on that mountain, the waves of fog mirroring the ocean waves, those many years ago, a lover, a friend, a wife? Was he born here? His is the only Nelson marker, so was he an adventurer from the east, or English, seeking his fame and fortune. A new beginning? Did he die alone, or have the comfort of friends in the great passing. He is us in so many ways.
