We were so proud and excited to see K get baptized. K has autism, and a moderately severe form of it. But the awesome part is how much he is growing and maturing and learning how to communicate. My brother told me how K was even able to answer all the baptism questions during his interview--albeit in his own way, with my brother (who was present) translating and reforming the questions and answers. We don't know what is going on in K's head, but it is clear through his actions and (very occasional) words that he understands a lot, even if he can't communicate with the rest of us.
After the baptism, we went back to my brother's house for pizza and treats. The kids had a ball--my other brother David and his new bride Autumn (yay Autumn! Haven't written the story of their wedding yet, but I will) had driven down with the three kids, and there was much running around, jumping on the trampoline, playing four-square, and shouting to be had.
I had another task in mind down in Utah's Dixie, so eventually we peeled out kids away and said our good-byes. We drove out to the Santa Clara Cemetery. Santa Clara is a small-ish town just northwest of St. George. (It's actually quite a bit bigger than it used to be, has become a bedroom community, and is nearly connected to St. George now.)
Santa Clara was settled by Jacob Hamblin and a handful of Swiss saints back in 1854. Among those saints were several branches of my ancestral family tree. I can only imagine what it was like to go from gorgeous Appenzell Switzerland (at the base of the Alps, dairy country) to dry, dusty, red, treeless Santa Clara.
And yet they truly did work to make the desert blossom as the rose. The Tobler family (and the Stahelis, and the Kreises, and all the others) stuck it out, and made a beautiful place. They lived there and were buried in the red sand of the remote cemetery high on a bluff, overlooking the Virgin River.
Before my father died in 2006, we were talking about the gravestones of these family members. He had been taking care of the graves of his grandparents, Ernest and Cecilia Tobler, since his father had become unable due to age. I told him I would take care of them from then on.
We don't make it down that way as often, since Mema moved up here, but fortunately my brother Samuel got a job as a professor at Dixie State University, and he is keeping a good eye on the graves now. But since we were down there, I went out, with shovel and garden gloves, to take care of a dead tree right behind the gravestone.
It was a warm spring day on Saturday, but the breeze was cool and clouds kept the sun mostly at bay. The kids roamed around the historic part of the cemetery, playing hide-and-go seek and treasure hunting and tag. I felt ridiculously proud of myself for removing the dead bush/tree and getting the area ready for a new tree (I've arranged with the sexton of the cemetery for a new tree to be planted--we'll pay for it, but they'll place it, and hopefully keep it alive). I also dug up the pesky spring weeds, and reset some of the basalt rocks ringing the site.
Grandpa Ernest and Grandma Cecilia's headstone
The empty circle of rocks to the left is where the old tree was, and the new tree will go.
After I was done--and my kids were done loooooong before me, thank heavens for daddy and a/c in the van with a movie!--I walked over to Ernest's father's grave (my great-great-grandfather Jakob Tobler), and discovered that the previously well-kept site had fallen into some disrepair. I wonder if whichever cousin or great aunt/uncle had been taking care of it all these years had moved or passed away. At any rate, I took a few moments and pulled weeds, picked up trash, and reset some rocks. I need to remember to keep an eye on this one, as well.
Jacob (or Jakob) Tobler headstone, with his four wives (only three at time, though!)
I love the Santa Clara Cemetery. It is so lonely and austere, and has remained that way even with the new housing development just north. But it has a remote kind of beauty that feels more appropriate for a cemetery--especially a pioneer one--than a lush green one in the middle of a bustling city. (Although I will admit that the lush green type has an appeal all of its own.) The Santa Clara Cemetery is rugged, hard, dusty, and oddly faithful--just like the pioneers buried there.
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