"Mmmm, Life is Fine"
David Crosby American Singer/Songwriter
"Page 43" (April 1972)
It seemed odd to see a cemetery in a National Park, especially Yosemite. I did not expect it when I stumbled upon it while exploring the “back lots” of Yosemite Village a few years ago. I visit Yosemite to enhance life, not to encounter reminders of death. Then again, I suppose my unplanned visit fit right in with the mishmash of tombstones situated haphazardly in this unassuming cemetery, not to mention the unplanned manner in which death often visits us.
As I ambled amongst the approximately 60 grave markers, their varying character and forms intrigued me. Some of them rested upon the earth in stone, about 14 humbly presented themselves as wood plaques, and one proudly marked the deceased in marble. A few of the engravings on the markers displayed familiar names, such as Galen Clark (1814-1910), who served as “Guardian” of Yosemite National Park for 24 years.
A few may not be so familiar, but their names still carry with them stories of strength, courage, and endurance. For example, the grave of Lucy Brown, if it could speak, could offer up rich but painful details of Yosemite’s 19th-century history. She survived the massacre of the indigenous people living in Yosemite Valley by the Mariposa Battalion led by James Savage in 1851. Lucy resided in Yosemite all of her life. As one of the last native “Ahwahneechee,” she stoutly carried on the strength and endurance of her ancestors. She reportedly lived to be 120 years old although no record of her birth exists. She died in 1920 (although some documents say 1924).
Other grave markers give no indication of the persons buried there. One simply says “a boy.” Another says a “Frenchman.” Two markers of note reveal the cause of death as flavored by the times and landscape of Yosemite from whence the deceased lived. We learn that John Anderson was “killed by a horse on the 5th of July 1867.” The gravestone of Sadie Schaefer shares that she “drowned in the rapids July 7, 1901.”
Such unexpected deaths likely left little time to plan for a memorial, leaving behind untold stories of hopes and dreams and unique experiences. After the passing of so many generations, each speechless plaque and stone must suffice to represent the whole of the person buried there. No matter how much I wish to know about the “boy” whose life ended in Yosemite, my desire will go unfulfilled.
Despite that somber thought, as I walked through the resting place of those 60 individuals, a verse from a song I first heard when I was just “a boy” played in my head. Giving “playing time” to that song while walking through the Yosemite Cemetery will not likely make it onto my gravestone, but the affirmative message has, nevertheless, become a part of my story. I am reminded of this now as I confront the loss of several individuals that I knew who have unexpectedly died much earlier than I would have imagined.
First, I learned that an old friend, whose generosity never failed, succumbed to kidney disease this past month at about 60 years of age. Secondly, the son of a former co-worker whom I have known for 30+ years unexpectedly died in December. I am still finding it hard to comprehend. Thirdly, a former coworker, a member of the team that hired me for my first “real” job, died in November. I knew her for 35 years.
Finally, one recent death punctuated the list of losses I note above. On January 18, 2023, I learned that the singer/songwriter David Crosby died. As an original member of the folk/rock bands the Byrds and of Crosby, Stills, and Nash (CSN), his lyrics, harmonies, and music eased its way into a prominent place in my consciousness.
Specifically, David Crosby produced the piece of music that filled my thoughts while meandering through the Yosemite Cemetery. I first heard the lyrics in the early 1970s shortly after my 14th birthday. One of my older sisters had purchased an album Crosby made with his friend, Graham Nash. For many years, I only remembered one verse from Crosby’s song, “Page 43,” literally seeing it on the lyric page that came with the record.
That verse, always in an unplanned sort of way, found ways to filter up through my consciousness during my twenties, thirties, forties, and even now. It may have been while showering, while working feverishly to complete a project, or, as noted above, while walking amidst gravestones in the Yosemite Cemetery. The affirming lyrics helped me to reprimand disordered thinking I entertained, they coaxed me to negate complacency that had set in, and, they still compel me to shout with thanksgiving with each cherished breath of life I draw.
Crosby sang:
"Pass it round one more time I think I'll have a swallow of wine Mmmm, life is fine Even with the ups and downs And you should have a sip of it Else you'll find It's passed you by"
Even as a 14-year-old listening to Crosby’s proclamation that “life is fine,” I had no need of another to confirm that he had spoken truth. Yes, his sincerity and conviction of tone assisted me in endorsing what I still consider a universal maxim. His words have not left me. They will come to me when needed, reminding me to chart the course ahead in life by grabbing hold of it, not allowing it to pass me by unengaged.
Sadly, however, a few more grave markers will be shaped and formed to represent the recently fallen that I have known. Those markers will in no way suffice to represent the hopes and dreams and unique experiences once possessed by the once-living.
Nevertheless, David Crosby’s words will still be with me as they have for all these years. Maybe I will plan to have his words carved onto my gravestone. Then, when someone stumbles upon my marker, not only will they be reminded of this universal truth, they will also come to know that the essence of my story has been sufficiently told: ‘Mmmm, life is fine’! Even when walking in the Yosemite Cemetery.
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