I stood on the hill among tombstones that hid in the tall grass and wildflowers of the old Silver City Cemetery. Helena could be seen in the distance just to the Southeast. Though the streets of Helena were busy with the comings and goings of all kinds of folks, the little town of Silver City wasn’t much more than a name. Had events taken a turn years earlier, she would have won the right of being called the capital of Montana. But that wasn’t to be.
The cemetery was quiet except for the sounds of the mower being pushed by the kind gentleman who was trying to clear the weeds from around the gravestones and markers of those who were buried there with their memories. With my boots on, I walked around and snapped a few pictures of forgotten names and stones that had been so worn away no inscription could be read. Sunken places in the earth whispered stories of those whose remains lay all but forgotten.
As I stood there pondering the tales that would never be told, wondering about the lives of those who had come to this harsh and beautiful land, a van turned up the trail. It slowly made its way to the top hill. A young lady got out of the driver’s seat, walked around to the other side of the van, and opened the door. Out stepped an elderly slightly stooped gentleman with a cap on his head.
He was gently led by the young lady who held his elbow in her palm, her other hand on his arm. He spoke to the man who had turned off the mower, “I just came to put a flower on her grave.” In the elderly man’s hand, he held a purple flower on a single stem.
The lady guided him through the newly chopped clumps of grass and into the weeds yet to be trimmed. “Watch out for rattlesnakes, Grandpa!” They made their way to the grave of his beloved wife. He bent down, pulled a few weeds from the front of the tombstone to reveal her name, then stooped lower to place the purple flower on her headstone.
A warm gentle breeze blew as the yellow wildflowers danced in the magic of the moment. I brushed away a lone tear that slid down my cheek as I turned and slowly walked away.
Note: The Silver City Cemetery is now maintained and has gained a place in the National Register of Historic Places in Montana. One of my great aunts is buried there as well as Old Moss – but that’s another story. You can read some of the history of the cemetery at these web links: