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Into the Valley
“It’s a bunch of rocks,” said my husband. “Big deal.”We stood on the quintessential lookout point, eyes pointed toward the horizon, the stars and brightly lit moon illuminating the valley. We chuckled at Jamie’s obviously feigned insouciance.
Yosemite was a quiet, vivid dream I had twenty-two years ago, and I had finally returned to settle some unfinished family business.
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My grandfather, Albert Leopold Jones, was born in Yosemite Valley. His father, a chauffeur, had the esteemed pleasure of transporting the valley’s most esteemed visitor the day of his birth: Prince Albert.
Hence the name.
Albert was a good man. A stoic quaker, he valued peace, kindness, acceptance, and hard work. He was a man of strong constitution.
He died in November of 2010.
When I looked around the dinner table this weekend, I saw his legacy. Three generations of Jonses, gathered together over food and drink in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
I know he was proud of his great-grandchildren, Hannah and Matthew. My cousin Jake said that when he found out he was going to be a father, Albert was the first one he told. I could see that. Albert was, above all, a proud family man who helped raise all of us. He left his imprint on us in ways we can’t even describe.
He was our backbone.
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We returned to the Valley, all of us together, to celebrate a long, meaningful life worth living. My father, aunt, and uncle lay Albert to rest in an unnamed place in the land of his birth.
Life came full circle.
