I had often passed through it before – either as a shortcut in my haste, a search for campus figures both famous and infamous, or a fulfillment of a dare - but today was the first time it left me breathless.

It’s a small plot of land, half a dozen acres at best, and the men and women that form the heart of my fair university find it a place of peace and rest. At the time, the elite nature of the place scared me away. Or it may have been its location off the beaten path that led me to pay it no attention. But that was then.

It may have simply been boredom that persuaded me to go inside, or perhaps it was the slow, southern summer pace of our usually bustling town that convinced me I was worthy to enter the gates. When I did, I boldly trod across the field the long way, with not a bit of timidity in my spirit. I stopped briefly to examine those baking in the heat of the day, some of whom I recognized. They were exchanging philosophy and information with one another, and I felt fortunate to eavesdrop. Their common topic was what they considered most important in the world, and I was glad to find that even among these of great privilege, true love, family, and diligence were foremost.

The sacred dust began to creep between my sandaled toes as I continued walking, bound for the far gate. The breeze was blowing softly and the sweet smell of summer flowers lingered in the air. I lingered too, taking in the surroundings, noticing the grand trees with brilliant green leaves, so tall and broad they were certainly old enough to have provided shade during the War Between the States and even the Revolutionary War before it. Like these trees, the whole field had a spirit of ancient majesty, despite the fact that the grass was slightly higher than I remembered, and the paths not nearly as neat as they could have been.

Even though I knew I would never be formally invited to spend my time there, I felt a sense of outrage. “This place is special! They need to take better care of it!” I was ready to petition for more attentive grounds work, but then I looked around and noticed that I was the only one complaining. No one else seemed to mind, so I decided not to sweat it either.

Albeit short, it was a fun visit. I’ll certainly return, but the next time I go to the Old Chapel Hill Cemetery, I’ll have to remember to bring some flowers.