Late in the spring of 2023, a short footnote in a book brought me to the Anne Spencer House & Garden Museum in Lynchburg, Virginia. A librarian and part-time teacher at the segregated Paul Laurence Dunbar High School for nearly 20 years, Spencer was also an activist and published poet who touched on topics of race and feminism. She was the first Black woman to be included in the Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry in 1973.
When I arrived at the museum in early June, Spencer’s granddaughter, Shaun Spencer-Hester, showed me around and shared memories of the woman who knew Marian Anderson, Martin Luther King Jr., W.E.B. Du Bois, Thurgood Marshall, and Langston Hughes, all of whom visited her home. I stood transfixed in front of Spencer’s writing desk, situated in a small stone-and-wood cottage in the middle of her botanical garden, amazed that this tour allowed me to access the creative space of a literary icon. The contents in her office were just as she left them when she died.
Spencer was well known during her lifetime (1882–1975), but in today’s pantheon of hallmark Harlem Renaissance literary figures, her name is rarely mentioned. It was another reminder that if I was willing to take a few minutes to follow my curiosity, I could discover stories and places that are often overlooked.
As a Black writer in the United States, I center the existence of marginalized people, because in most spaces I am a marginalized person. I want to know more about the women, people of color, and LGBTQ folks who have inhabited the places where I currently exist—and how they changed them for the better.
Illustration by Violeta Encarnación
Exploring a location’s lesser-known past requires being observant and being willing to search for clues. Before traveling, it might involve more research about the characters and events mentioned in a story; on road trips, it regularly means I whip a U-turn to look at a marker. When I learn about historical figures or places, I ask several questions:
If this was a powerful person, who made their day-to-day routines possible? What were the social norms of this culture or region? What type of person wouldn’t be welcome here? Who was discouraged—by law or by custom—from writing things down, documenting their experiences, or speaking their minds?
Frequently, I seek historical societies and libraries, as most—whether they are private or public—usually have at least one rotating exhibition on display. One of my favorite haunts (and my former workplace) is the grand New York Society Library on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Founded in 1754, its holdings are vast: Past shows have celebrated everything from the botanical illustrations of 19th-century artist Margaret Armstrong to the effect that librarians Dorothy Porter and Jean Blackwell Hutson had on Black literature written in the city.
Sometimes, if the archivist, docent, or librarian isn’t occupied with other tasks, I take a moment to ask them about the location and its historical context. I often end these conversations with another question: If you could present an exhibition about a local person that you find deserving of recognition, whom would you choose?
When I can, I collect the exhibition catalog, because an introductory essay might introduce new-to-me movements and figures in history. If there’s a gift shop, I acquire locally printed books or informational pamphlets that are difficult to purchase online. I pop into a neighboring independent bookstore to see if someone from the area has written a guidebook that might provide me with information about characters or events that institutions such as libraries, museums, and historical sites might not have the funds, space, or interest to explore.
Traveling with this approach allows me to interact with and actively learn from the past and the choices people made: After all, there’s more to history than memorizing battle dates and the names of those in power. At its core, exploring the world this way means understanding the context, motivations, and consequences of past events and recognizing how they shape who we are as people, citizens, and travelers today.
