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  • I have lived in this neighborhood for 1.5 years now, and had been visiting my friends here for 5 years before then. I had heard about the old slave graveyard; this land used to be a farm. This weekend, I went and found it. It was 4 minutes away by bicycle.

    Covered with a mid-winter's supply of dead leaves, most of the plots were demarcated only by small, rough, unadorned headstones. Really, just slabs of rock pushed into earth. The pits in the ground only became apparent when the leaves gave way.

    A couple of graves were etched stone markers. All but one was broken. That one commemorated a passing in 1929.

    The families who worked this land on longer live here. Our neighbors are academics, workers, retirees. We work this land when we want to, for pleasure. When our vegetable garden fails (like it did last summer), we ride down to the neighborhood co-op.

    I have traveled the world marveling at the history of other lands, humbled and exhilarated when I returned. It's nice to know the same thrills can be had on a bicycle in my own neighborhood.
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