The heat is searing when I step out of the car. There is only the whisper of a slight breeze and the lazy chirping of insects. I turn and look around, and at once I am disappointed. After reading about Grafton ghost town, I had high hopes. But the spoiled Californian inside me, who has placed Bodie up as the ultimate ghost town, has made sure no other ghost town can hold a candle to it.
Grafton was settled by Mormons in the 1860s and was largely a farming community. By the late 1890s most families had left and by the 1920s the town was dead. The last residents left in 1944. There are two buildings which can be entered, and a few more one can see from a distance. I was disappointed that most of the dirt roads were closed off. There wasn’t even the hope of seeing old (farming) machines, something I love discovering and photographing.
Our short visit came to a sudden end when, while I was entranced by the feathery clouds, my husband standing at the gate of the graveyard said we needed to leave right then and there. If we didn’t, I’d have to leave him buried at the cemetery. The heat was about to kill him. I laughed and stepped into the car. It was only in the 90s (around 35°C) and little did he know what kind of heat he’d be experiencing later in the day. He would be in for much higher temperatures!