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I love ghost towns. Old graveyards. Old buildings. Just old, yester-century things.

This love affair with history began from the start: my earliest memories are of my dad and I cruising up into the Rockies to explore old, abandoned mining towns. Bobbing in my car seat as we drove rocky, 4-wheel drive roads, these “ghost towning” adventures gave me the history bug. As my dad propped me in front of an old storefront for pictures, I wondered:  Who had lived here? What did they do? Even at such a young age, I found myself genuinely curious about the history and people of the places we visited: Central City, Tin Cup, Buckskin Joe, Wild Irishman, etc., are just a few examples.

Call me strange, but I especially liked, and still love, visiting old, often abandoned cemeteries. Graveyards never frightened me, even as a toddler. My dad instilled in me that cemeteries were not scary, bad places as other kids my age perceived them. Instead, he emphasized that the individuals resting there had been people just like us, who had lived their lives, and had known triumph and tragedy: in other words, cemeteries were and are to be treated with utter respect. His words are essentially about reflection, as one cannot help but question, when reading headstone inscriptions: Who was this individual? What was their life like? And so often a constant question when visiting older cemeteries: Why and how did they die so young?

I realized it had been quite a while since I’d visited any ghost towns, so up I-70 I went and soon found myself wandering the several cemeteries of Central City. And yes, true “ghost towners” will critique me here in that this town is not a ghost, far from it. Since casinos and gambling took root here in 1991, the area is thriving, albeit in a different manner. As Philip Varney describes in his book Ghost Towns of Colorado, “A ghost town has two characteristics: the population has decreased markedly, and the initial reason for its settlement (such as a mine or a railroad) no longer keeps people there.” Popular though the town may be with tourists and gamblers, it is no longer mining that attracts people to the area. In fact, prior to 1991, Central City and environs was closer to a true “ghost.”

Driving through town, many impressive stone and brick buildings still line the streets, as do restored Victorian “doll house” residences. But seeking the solitude and somber aura of the cemeteries, I drove up the dirt road to where the graveyards lie west of town. Divided into several separate cemeteries, I visited the Catholic, I.O.O.F. Knights of Pythias, and Red Man Lodge plots. Not surprisingly, in the Catholic plot are those of Italian and Irish descent. As with the I.O.O.F and Red Man Lodge plots, these graveyards are the most open with their meadow location. Knights of Pythias, however, is the most eerie, nearly hidden amongst aspens. Visiting in the summer, this plot is stunningly beautiful. But with the trees leafless today, this area had an intense feeling of nostalgia and melancholy.

As with all older graveyards, there are so many children’s and infants graves. In the Catholic plot was a single headstone for three children, siblings aged six years and younger. They all perished 1918; I speculate from the great influenza pandemic, but who knows? Families often had not one, but multiple child deaths. And sometimes accompanying these tiny graves, were the graves of the mothers who died in childbirth.

These cemeteries are still in use today. Newer gravestones are present and are often adorned with flowers and mementoes. But it touched my soul to observe several child and adolescent graves decorated with flowers and stuffed animals. These individuals, who died well over a hundred years ago, are still remembered.

Observing the faint inscriptions and designs on these Victoria era headstones, my favorite aspect I saw was a small hand pointing upward to heaven. I understood the significance: focus not below where the body lies but look up to where to the soul resides.

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After my solemn sojourn, I drove southward to Nevadaville. A true ghost town, Nevadaville is a far cry from the bustling place it once was. For a short period in the mid-1800s, the town’s population was bigger than Denver at the time! But eventually the mines closed, residents left, and buildings fell into ruin. On Nevadaville’s Main Street stand several impressive brick buildings, such as the Bald Mountain Trading Post and 1879 Masonic Lodge, both of which are still in use today. For a few minutes I wandered along the street, peering through the windows as all the buildings were closed for the day. Though a few people live in the area, I did not see a single soul: Nevadaville confirms its status as a true “ghost.”

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My final stop was Lookout Mountain, to visit Buffalo Bill’s gravesite. The last time I visited was 2004, so this time I was able to drive there myself. I drove down I-70 and took an exit near the Mother Cabrini Shrine. Winding my way up, I reached the top and first took in the dramatic views from the parking lot: Denver and it’s urban sprawl, and to the north, the Flat Irons. To the west, the Continental Divide beckoned, the snow coloring the peaks with an almost surreal glow. I then walked the short, paved path to the final resting place of William F. Cody, better known as Buffalo Bill. The centennial anniversary of his death was January 2017, and I mused how that is not all that long ago.

One of my favorite idols growing up was Annie Oakley, the female sharpshooter who toured with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. Impressed with her sheer talent, Cody hired her and the two remained friends until his death. Recently I re-read Oakley’s tribute to Buffalo Bill written upon his passing and was quite touched by the amount of respect she held for him. Both these individuals were celebrities in their time, and I couldn’t help but think (rather bemusedly) from a millennial viewpoint, that they would’ve had quite the social media following had such media platforms existed then.

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My step into the past was brief, but enjoyable. Exploring historic places is one of my all-time favorite things to do. The worries of today fall away as you realize just how rough living conditions were, even one hundred years ago. Yet you gain a sense of appreciation and respect for those who lived long ago, for their tenacity and dedication. If I could time travel, I would. And yet I wonder…if someone from the past visited our time period, what would they think? Ah, the ruminations of a history freak are endless…

Until my next historical adventure,

~LMC