As I approached the end of the row I rapidly found myself drawn to one grave in particular. It stood isolated and behind it was a huge oak tree looming that had basked the grave in shadow and shade. The grave’s headstone had been intricately carved out of white marble and had angel inlays impressed into it. The name engraved on it read, Magdalena Scovell, with the dates 1773-1790. I imagined about her life and how cool it must have been that this girl had been alive during the time when our country was just being forged from a small group of revolutionists that didn’t want to deal with a King’s bullshit anymore.
