A little mountain holds a special spot and a lot of solace
Near the end of 1995, my husband, Randy, and I purchased an old farmhouse, situated on almost 15 acres with a little mountain. There was no trail up the mountain, but our optimistic (and younger) selves were determined to investigate what was on top.
As we hiked up, we giddily shared dreams for our new acquisition. With stunning views of the scenic North Carolina mountains all around, we proclaimed that we’d build on top of the mountain one day and rent out the old farmhouse, situated close to the road. Considering that we hadn’t yet moved into the farmhouse, we were dreaming big.
One of the stone markers atop Angel Mountain, which lies on the author’s property. (Photo by Helen Baldwin)
Having reached the top, Randy and I expected to be rewarded with a spectacular long-range view, not remnants of a chain-link fence camouflaged in the entanglement of overgrowth. We pondered what a chain-link fence could’ve contained on top of the mountain. I thought I heard Randy mumble something that sounded like “plastic flowers” when I saw them myself: tattered, faded plastic flowers.
The fence contained a cemetery.
Winter and the cemetery
Moving in the middle of winter wasn’t the greatest timing, but it sparked untold “remember when” stories, and we obviously survived.
Thanks to the blizzard, we learned right off the bat just how ill-prepared we and the old house were for harsh conditions. For some ridiculous reason, the full-glass back door, taking the brunt of the brutal winds and blinding snow, wasn’t an exterior door, nor was it sealed. It snowed so much and so relentlessly that our most expeditious option was duct-taping multiple plastic tablecloths over the door, hoping to reduce the possibility that we’d all freeze to death before spring.
Eventually, winter mercifully fizzled, and Randy and I attempted to further investigate our surprise find on the mountaintop. We removed the chain-link eyesore and whacked the overgrowth until we unearthed the treasure within: an old cemetery with stones as markers.
Some stones were etched, if not legibly; some were not. There are over 30 markers in this spot, though old-timers familiar with the cemetery claim there’d been more at one time. Where they went is anyone’s guess.
The marker of Clara, a baby, in the old cemetery on Angel Mountain. No telling how many of the primitive stones in the cemetery are for babies and children. (Photo by Helen Baldwin)
An actual headstone marks the site for Clara Mae Bare, who was 5 months old when she snagged her wings on Aug. 5, 1921. I couldn’t fathom how parents could endure losing a child at any age, but a baby? I was saddened and curious about what her story might be.
The mountain’s coming significance
About 18 months later, Jeffrey joined his big siblings, Matthew and Katie. We middle-agers hadn’t planned for another baby, but we adjusted impressively, thankful that all three children were healthy.
Alas, our story began unfolding before we realized what was happening. It became official when Jeffrey was diagnosed with SMA type 1 at 2 months old.
I never dreamed we’d soon have a story of our own.
With our heads and hearts on the brink of implosion, Randy and I got busy. I tackled the first task on the agenda, which was easy: promptly mailing letters to everyone we’d ever known, requesting prayers and information about SMA and alternative treatments. Randy drew an excruciating duty on the to-do list from hell: contacting someone to clear a road up to the top of the mountain, where Jeffrey’s resting spot would be.
I was thankful we could designate a special spot for our baby right on our property, where we could visit as often as we wanted. I was beyond heartsick that he needed such a spot.
On Nov. 4, 1997, our little warrior’s earthly assignment ended on a crisp, clear night. His service was held in the afternoon of Nov. 6, a dismal day in all ways. I held myself together remarkably well until I spied the tiny white casket. No one should have to see a tiny casket.
After the service, family and close friends returned to our house. We donned “mud shoes” and proceeded to hike up what we’ve since dubbed Angel Mountain. The plan was to say goodbye to our sweet Jeffrey, although we all knew he was safe in heaven. Because watching a tiny casket being lowered into the ground and then covered is incomprehensible, Randy and I focused instead on the view: a gorgeous panorama of mountains and valleys.
We’d traversed both.
Ah … the mountaintop
Being able to hike up Angel Mountain at will has been a godsend all these years. The expansive view is history now, but I love the sanctuary vibes. The bench at Jeffrey’s spot is a perfect place to reflect, pray, and shed tears (both sad and happy ones!), all of which I’ve felt particularly compelled to do lately. I recently hiked up and simply basked in the tranquility for an hour before tending to the cemetery. We’re so blessed to be where we are.
God’s written quite a story for us, all right. And I’m confident that it’s not over yet.
Note: SMA News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of SMA News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to spinal muscular atrophy.
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