Where I'll Go

The Pleasant Valley Cemetery is at the bottom of Deane Road. It is where I want to be buried – knowing this land and mountain which is so dear to my heart will be near me forever is of great comfort. My mother and father, and Aunt Ginnie are there. I sit with them periodically throughout the year. And even when I don’t stop and walk in, I say a few things to them as I drive by.  The cemetery has old, old stones. The land was first deeded by the Shanley family in 1813. Some are in good condition, others have not stood the test of time so well. There is community there – Helen Casavant, who came up the mountain to cook for my grandparents,  Margaret Forgan, our neighbor and my grandparents’ dear friend, Jennifer Vaughn, who babysat us and likely many other neighbors  who signed our guestbook at the Pleasant Valley Workers’ Association Annual Picnic on July 24, 1938.  The names are familiar...people I never met, but their stories are intertwined with my family’s stories. This cemetery defines for me the meaning of home and connection. The land, this place, the people who came before me and those who will come after, are my home. I couldn’t imagine a more fitting place to go when my time is done. The last stanza of a poem I wrote years ago, “Where I’m From,” runs through my brain:

I am from graves that sleep, under the shadow of my mountain,

No, not where I’m from,

But where I’ll go.