The Bingham Hill Cemetery rests at the end of a footpath that is tucked between two working farms in Bellvue, CO. I have driven by the entrance at least 100 times and never knew it was there as there are no signs, no parking lot, and no large monuments that can be seen from the road. It's as though it has a magical invisibility cloak around it. I found it only because I was Googling places to shoot this week. Apparently Google can pierce through the magic. My visit today was sublime! The glorious fall colors were still ablaze. The gusty winds were stirring the fallen leaves like a witches brew. The ghost stories in this mysterious place that I had read earlier today were fresh in my mind, creating a subtle excitement and palpable tension as I trekked alone down the narrow path into a spine-tingling burial site.
While I don't think I encountered any ghosts, there was evidence of human visitors here. Still, it seems that the wildlife are more likely to frequent this little plot of land that stands as a testament to the pioneers of Colorado than ghosts or long lost relatives.
This particular grave had both the original marker and a newly erected one to replace the fallen cracked stone. There were many stones that were weathered so much, they could no longer be read. There is also a large granite memorial that lists the names of all the people known to be buried in the cemetery. It is thought that there may be as many as 300 graves here although only around 150 have been identified by a local historian, Rose L. Brinks. Since no burial records were ever kept, those who lie under the unmarked stones will never be known.
I am starting to feel the inward reflection of my own mortality beginning to happen as this theme is only on day two. I am curious where this will take me this week. Interesting that it's also my birthday this week. The paradox is welcome.
