Stumbling Stones

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed something new on my regular walk with Lucy. Two small brass discs were embedded in the sidewalk of a corner right up the hill from our home. It's a place that we pass all the time, so the new additions were notable, and I stepped over to them curiously. 

"Milly," the first one read. "Once enslaved here. Born before 1770."

"Henry," said the second one. "Once enslaved here. Born ca 1775."

As heartbreaking as it was, it was hardly surprising to be reminded that people were enslaved here; it is Virginia, after all. But when I got home, a little further research revealed that the plantation where Milly, Henry, and several other enslaved people were held captive actually extended to the property that our house is on. 

Discovering that my home was built on the site of such barbarism was gutwrenching. As I continued my research, I found that the commemorative plaques were called stumbling stones, inspired by the German, stolpersteine, which are meant to give passersby the chance to stumble upon local history. 

Personally, I think the name is doubly effective because it also highlights one of our nation's greatest moral stumbles. But maybe stumble is too kind of a word; failure is a much better fit.