Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs - Shakespeare

This deserted patch of desert and sagebrush was a thriving little town in Utah 100 years ago.  Three sawmills that produced railroad ties and a charcoal kiln were the main source of income. A railroad ran through the community, and Mill Fork General Store kept 250 residents stocked with supplies for their homes.

Today, the only tales and memories of this town are told by the headstones in Mill Fork Cemetery and descendants of former residents who keep the cemetery cleaned up.  See the two white boxes on poles? That is why Megan is sitting on the rock bench at the edge of the cemetery. More on that later.

A rutted dirt road, arched sign with the words "MILL FORK CEMETERY" and an opened gate were enough of an invitation to turn our car around on U.S. Route 6 in Utah as we rushed from Lehi, Utah, toward Aspen, Colorado.

The "Pop! Pop! Pop!" of cicadas sounded like toy guns as we got out of the car and kicked up a little dust in the desert landscape. Man, has Mill Fork ever had rainfall?

The cemetery is on the other side of this foot bridge. You've got to admit, this is an interesting way to enter a cemetery.

Mill Creek Cemetery is inside that closed gate. The cemetery takes up less space than the footprint for most houses, but if it was a house, it would have a lot of residents. Oh the stories - births, still births, injuries, illnesses, a massacre, even a murder-suicide. Were they related? You decide.

Megan was absolutely fascinated by this American Flag painted on a hard surface ... always straight and square, flying at attention and with pride over the cemetery. We stopped at Mill Fork Cemetery in Mid-June and Iris were in bloom on the dusty hillside.

The graves and headstones are put together like jagged teeth. Some are small, some are tall, some are broken apart, some are missing altogether, some are only a names carved into boards.

Whole families are buried inside that chain-link fence, and some died within hours of each other on the same day. Cattle fencing makes a second perimeter around the cemetery, and names carved in boards mark the graves of more than a dozen travelers who were massacred in a raid by Native Americans.

Here are some more of those graves, in no particular order. Some victims of the massacre were buried on top of each other. Keepers of the cemetery are sure Mill Fork Cemetery has more graves that were left unmarked.

The headstones bear testament that life was rugged for both young and old. Death came regardless of age.
This was life before antibiotics and common childhood shots.
Death could come shockingly fast.

Myrtle Elliott (March 26, 1896 - May 31, 1905) apparently had fresh flowers put on her grave earlier this year. Several other members of the Elliott family are buried in Mill Fork Cemetery. The little girl was born on Megan's birthday ... only 57 years earlier.

According to a newspaper's research of the death: In May 1905, 9-year-old Myrtle quietly walked up behind her brother, Ray Elliott, as he unloaded 100 pound sacks of grain from a wagon on his father's ranch. Ray was hard of hearing and was unaware of her presence. He turned from the wagon with a sack of grain in his arms, tripped over his sister and dropped the heavy bag on top of her. She died from her injuries on May 21 and was buried in the Elliott plot on the lonely knoll.
Her father, Edson William Elliott, died three years later in the Castle Gate Mine, when he was struck by a string of empty coal cars running down the narrow rails inside the mine and run over Oct. 6, 1908.
His railroad pocket watch was embedded in his cheek. Even though its crystal had not broken, the watch had stopped at the time of its owner's death. His body was taken to Mill Fork for burial. 

Clara Louisa Elliott (October 1, 1898 - June 25, 1904) was the daughter of Edson William and Mary Ellen Atwood Elliott. (The other major family name in the cemetery is Atwood.) The headstone reads: Clara Louisa, how we miss you, but how sweet, how sweet it will be when we meet you in heaven, where no more we'll hurt with death.

Philex Chadwick (April 19, 1894 - January 11, 1895) was the son of Aaron and Ida Viola Winder Chadwick. This headstone, almost hidden by lilac bushes, has intricate carving for that era.

We're sure your attention is drawn to the footlocker at the edge of the cemetery with four shovels and a rake. But look to the bottom left at the simple headstone, almost flat with the ground. You wouldn't notice it, unless you knew the story, and boy does it have a story to scream.

Part of the riddle is Ida Viola Chadwick Ballard is the sister of Philex Chadwick, the 1-year-old infant above.
The other part of the riddle is Paris Ballard isn't the name of woman, but is the name of Ida Viola's husband.

If you look closely, the couple died on the same day almost 95 years ago. We thought it could have been diphtheria, a house fire or some other illness or accident. But a researcher says it was the result of a murder-suicide with Paris Ballard as the shooter.

According to newspaper research: Paris and Viola were raised in Spanish Fork Canyon. The two met, fell in love and married. During the summer of 1919, Paris, who had worked around cattle most of his life, found a job as a range rider for John Dooly on Antelope Island.
The childless couple moved into the back half of a cottage owned by Salt Lake City Police Chief J. Parley White, along with Viola's sister and her two young children.
Apparently Paris believed his wife was extremely beautiful and was the subject of attention from men. They argued about it a lot.
On Friday, Sept. 12, 1919, Paris bought a .38 caliber revolver and some ammunition. He also purchased a pint of whiskey and downed about half before returning to his apartment shortly after noon. 
A neighbor said she heard two quick shots and Viola screamed. Seconds later, two more shots rang out. Then there was silence. 
Paris apparently shot himself in the left side of his chest first, and then put a slug through his head. He died in the hospital eight hours later.
Viola lay on the floor between Paris's feet. The newspaper deduced that her position indicated she had fallen on her knees in front of her husband before receiving a shot to the head and another to the body. She appeared to have died instantly.
The newspaper said: "This murder/suicide was not justifiable, of course, but was Paris's jealousy unfounded? Viola's sister Carrie told the Tribune, 'Jealousy alone, and without cause, was solely responsible for the murder.' However, Viola's last words, 'Oh, please forgive me,' and her apparent position of supplication at the time of her death seem to indicate there may have been some justification for Paris's suspicion.
"Doug Atwood recently said the feelings of the two families regarding the question of Viola's fidelity were divided in 1919, and they remain so today. Regardless of this division of opinion, the families decided to bury Paris and Viola side by side on the secluded hummock in Spanish Fork Canyon."

Lots of infants didn't survive their first year, much less reach 10 years of age. Here's the headstone for Durward Atwood (August 25, 1900 - September 14, 1900), the son of Walter A. and Hannah Ellen Chadwick Atwood. Hannah Ellen Chadwick Atwood died years later of septic arthritis due to an injured knee.

The box on the right contains a two-page history of Mill Fork and the Mill Fork Cemetery. The box with an opened door, which was shut when we found it, included a contact address and ...

... A little spiral bound notebook and pen for visitors to write down their thoughts. Let's look over Megan's shoulder and read a past note: "We came to do the work and clean Elliott's section in this cemetery. The whole place looks so much better. We really are happy to see that everyone has done such a good job on the rest. Thank you! Great granddaughter of Edson (the man who was run over by the coal train), Pat Jones and husband, John."

We read past notes, and ...

... And Megan wrote our thoughts and signed our names.

Let's take one final look out of Mill Fork Cemetery before heading to our car. This is the ghost town that was Mill Fork (1877 - 1930s). The eternal residents will forever have a beautiful view.

And we're off to see what unexpected adventure is literally around the next bend in the road.

Megan and Dwain

“Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;

Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth ...”

William Shakespeare, Richard II

Couch Potato isn't a term that applies to us.

Guess which state we are visiting?

Take a look at the vanity license plate. You only get one guess. And no, Dan Quayle didn't get out of the car.

Here's a second clue: The convertible doesn't have its top down in mid-June, and the mountains across the valley still have snow and ski runs are green.
And the third guess: We're in the Sawtooth Mountains.
Actually, the above picture was taken in Ketchum ...

... And two days later Megan's having lunch at Five Guys Burgers and Fries in Park City. We still see tall mountains, snow and ski runs. But the mountain range has a totally different name - Wasatch Mountains.

And if we're eating a local state delicacy in Idaho, it has to be Idaho potatoes. It's what they do best, and they do it up good.

 

That day, our Idaho potatoes were produced by Thompson Farms in Pingree, Idaho, and sliced by Five Guys Burgers and Fries in Park City, Utah.

According to the Sun Valley Guide: "Since 1928, when Idaho first put the spud on its license plates, Idaho and potato have been synonymous the world over."

Potatoes are serious business in Idaho, and the sign on this building proclaims: Ashton Seed Potato Management Area. That means it controls viruses and fungi.

Isn't this a lovely homestead. I bet your eyes are drawn to the snow covered, jagged mountains. Just like in 1952 when Marilyn Monroe wore a burlap potato bag for "You’d look good even in a potato sack" shoot.

... Rather than the dilapidated sign that reads "tatoes." Darn, my eyes also jump to those mystical mountains.

This is called big business. Farmers grow potatoes in the desert, massive numbers of potatoes, mile-after-mile of neatly planted, straight rows that sometimes bend over the horizon. We can thank this farmer for our Fourth of July Ruffles potato chips.

Going back 100 years, here is a horse-drawn potato planter we found at Wheeler Farm in Salt Lake City, Utah. It was a 2-man operation, with the first man driving the horses, and the second man sitting in this seat and making sure only one potato "eye" is planted in each hill.

We've joined the Sunday church crowd for lunch at Criswell's Trail's End at Ashton, Idaho. Looks like an outdoorsy restaurant, should we order bison or antelope or cantaloupe?

If we're in Idaho, we're eating the specialty of the house: Idaho twice baked potatoes, which came with a salad bar. Yes, that potato is loaded with bacon, cheese, sour cream, chives, butter and other seasonings.

Sorry Spuddy Buddy, I'm afraid I've finished off your friend. We'll leave you here to greet other guests as we hit the highway.

We're too excited on this vacation to be "Couch Potatoes." We found out later that term was created in 1976 by a cartoonist.

Megan and Dwain

You like potato and I like potahto
You like tomato and I like tomahto
Potato, potahto,
Tomato, tomahto.
Let's call the whole thing off ...
George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin - 1937

Megan flows to the Pacific; Dwain flows to the Atlantic; which direction do you flow?

This is Dwain's favorite picture from our 11-day vacation through Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho and Utah during the middle of June 2014.
Megan looks a little mysterious ... or cold. Ha

Ah, temperatures below freezing earlier that morning encouraged us to snuggle up at 12,000-plus foot tall Independence Pass, an often-visited pass through the Rockies and a welcome rest stop on the Continental Divide.

We'll revisit this mountain-top stop later.
First we had to wake up at Rawlins, Wyoming, and set our GPS for Lander, Wyoming.

We crossed the Continental Divide for the first time near the more than 6,000 foot high Muddy Gap. The mountaintops were powdered with fresh snow left the night before. Burr, thank goodness we used the heater in our rental car.

 

The next notable Continental Divide stop was in Yellowstone National Park.

Are we ever going to get out of this snow? All of the bears must still hibernating. Where are the grizzlies? We keep reading signs that warn us against bears and other wildlife. Huh?

Thank goodness we brought all kinds of clothes. We just brought way to many pairs of shorts and short-sleeve shirts. Shezzz.

Raynolds Pass (Montana) was named for Capt. W.F. Raynolds of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. They went through the Rockies and camped on the Madison River near this point in June 1860.

Capt. Raynolds named the pass Low Pass because, "The Pass is so level it is difficult to mark the exact point at which the water divides. I named it Low Pass and deem it to be one of the most remarkable features of the Rocky Mountains."
Raynolds Pass is a gap in the skyline of the mountains near the Montana/Idaho border and is crossed by the Continental Divide.

Reckon Capt. Raynolds awoke to fresh snow in 1860 because his group also passed through in June? He was led by a trapper and scout guide.

If Megan poured out water at this point, it would drain into the Pacific Ocean. If Dwain also poured out water at this point, it eventually would drain into the Atlantic Ocean.

Cool!!
Look how much we've learned from those rugged people.

We are officially at the top of the Rockies - the sign says. That means we're above the treeline and warned to stay off the fragile tundra ... including dogs.

 

No running water or power lines at this advertised "rest stop" on Highway 82 southeast of Aspen, Colorado.

Why is Dwain holding two large Styrofoam cups with his legs crossed? That won't hasten the person inside. But he can admire the typography painted on the door and realize he is at 12,095 feet.

Cake mixes advise altering baking directions, depending on the altitude.
We don't remember if this "rest stop" had specific high altitude directions, besides the standard: Don't throw trash in toilet. It's hard to remove (probably freezes). Close seat and lid.
Right! 
We just hoped it wouldn't explode, and Megan wouldn't freeze to the seat.

And here's our official picture in front of the big brown and yellow sign that advertises: Independence Pass; Elevation 12,095 feet; Continental Divide.

This time someone offered to take our picture.

So we reciprocated. This man with a heavy German accent has a great photo to take back to his native land as a souvenir. He checked the image before we parted ways. He seemed pleased. Don't you just love his stance and looking into the sun?

We heard several people say: People will ski if they can find a patch of snow. 

We didn't believe them until we came upon this scene of a couple stowing their skis, boots and other apparel on top of a minivan. We saw ski tracks in the snow.

We were looking forward to walking to the top of the world. There's the paved walkway. Stay off the tundra!

Megan is still laughing about an official sign she read on the roadside outside Cody, Wyoming: "Frost Heaves."
What the heck did that mean?
She laughed about the sign for the whole trip and is still laughing.
Can you believe we didn't get a picture of the yellow-and-black warning sign?
Hahahaha!
Megan and Dwain have two entirely different mental pictures of that scenario: Frost Heaves.

But we can't walk to the top of the mountain without going through snow. We're going to recall this moment in the mountain snow when our temperatures are 100 degrees and the air wet as a sauna.

Here we are in our Sound of Music moment, but wearing identical bright red Dickson Street Razorbacks T-shirts. More about those T-shirts later.

 

As we were about to continue our southwest journey to Manitou Springs, Colorado, this fellow was the only biker in his group with a GoPro Hero camera mounted on his helmet.

You can bet he got lots of bright pictures with the sun reflected off the snow.

As the motorcycle riders headed down the mountain ...

... They met a couple of lean, tanned, muscular women riding bicycles up the mountain. Strange, the women were only wearing tank tops and didn't seem to be the least bit cold.

We'll close with this photo, just because it's so pretty.

We don't know the next stop on this adventure.
As Emily Truscott characterized Dwain before she left the Harrison Daily Times: "Let's go --- much as that dog goes, intently haphazard." - Denise Levertov 

Megan and Dwain