Oh look! A slave cemetery!

There are just some things that grab your attention. Driving down a back-country highway on a long road trip, I heard someone in the car say, “Oh look, a slave cemetery.”

How can you not stop for something like that?

Sue, walking in the pre-Civil War slave cemetery.

My ex-girlfriend and I (back when we were still dating) were on our way back from taking our daughters for a college tour in Virginia. As soon as she saw the sign and mentioned it, I immediately pulled off the road and backed up to where she’d seen the tiny little sign pointing to a tiny, nondescript graveyard on the other side of a field.

The entrance road to get to the graveyard was gated as it was shared with some kind of construction company that was closed.

Our daughters, being good law-abiding citizens, opted to sit in the car and obey the “No Trespassing” sign that hung on the gate.

Sue and I, feeling that the sign applied to the construction company and not to the cemetery, and seeing that the gate was easy to climb under, decided to trespass.

Slave Cemetery

There really wasn’t much to it. The entire cemetery was smaller than the footprint of many suburban homes. Still, I’m so glad we stopped. Compared to the world’s largest can of spinach (which I’ve also stopped for in Arkansas), this was a gem of a roadside attraction.

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