May 20, 2025 • 12 mins
This week, I went through a whirlwind of emotions—yes, whirlwind. That’s the word. It captures the highs and lows, the unpredictable moments, the shared grief, reflection, and the surprising grace that shaped these past few days. All these feelings—they live in pictures.Picture this: an artist gifted in creating larger-than-life floral and celebratory installations-roses, sunflowers, and even huge gift boxes with perfect bows. I found one of her creations buried among the thousands of photos on my phone. I went searching for it after hearing she died—suddenly—of a heart attack. She was in her mid-forties. I’d only seen her two or three times, but every encounter was vibrant. She was joyful, always present, always tweaking one last detail so others would want to take a picture beside her work. Her name was Mary. She made an impact. I look at that photo and smile, remembering her smile.This loss was sudden. Mary was very close to a friend of mine. Mary was central to my friend’s community. When your friend grieves someone central to their world, you grieve with them. And in that shared sorrow, something happens. You become deeply grateful—not just for what you have, but for the very fact that your people are still here. You reflect. You look at your own life, and the things you were grumbling about five minutes ago suddenly don’t matter so much. Perspective shows up, kicks you in the pants—uninvited, but necessary.Then, another picture: a fire. Not just any fire—the one that consumed Nottoway Plantation, the largest antebellum plantation that was still standing in the United States. A place layered with contradictions, history, and pain. The blaze left it gutted. I studied the photos—before, during, and after. I watched the memes—because TikTok, Threads, and Instagram are unmatched when it comes to irony and reaction. Beyond the satire, there is truth.No one died in the fire. But that doesn’t erase the deaths that still haunt that land—the men, women, and children who lived, labored, and died under a brutal system of forced servitude. Some say Nottoway is haunted. It should be. The owners memorialized the slave drivers' quarters. I like to think the spirits of the enslaved were there, too, watching the flames, bearing witness as the restored “Massa’s house” turned to ash.Nottoway was a tourist site, a wedding venue, a workplace, a symbol. People will be out of work. The state will take an economic hit. These are facts. But there is a deeper truth that sits beside those facts: Nottoway was a sugar plantation. And sugar plantations were among the worst of all plantation systems.I know this because of the research I did for Sister Mother Warrior and Island Queen. The facts still haunt me:* The death rate on sugar plantations in the Caribbean and southern states was three to four times higher than on cotton plantations.* Enslaved people on U.S. cotton plantations had a life expectancy of 30–35 years. On sugar plantations, it was often 10 years or less.* The work was brutal—cutting cane, operating machinery, surviving the suffocating heat of the boiler houses.* If you were sentenced to work the boiling vats, it was basically a death sentence. Dehydration, exhaustion, and the relentless heat killed faster than the whip. And that doesn't count the beatings, the rapes, and the starvation.I made a post about the fire on Instagram. Most of the responses were respectful. But some fixated on the "grandeur" lost—as if it were Notre Dame. Others insisted I should “get over it.” That all the perpetrators are dead. That the world should move on. Let’s put in pin in this moving notion. I’ll circle back.Another disturbing image circulating came from still of Nottoway’s scripted tours praising the "humanity" of the plantation, claiming it trained a nurse and built a hospital for the enslaved. That is a lie. There was no formal training. They likely identified a woman who showed skill with herbs and healing and used her ancestorial knowledge. The hospital was not about care—it was about profit. It was cheaper to repair a broken body than to buy a new one. These “hospitals” weren’t acts of mercy. They were maintenance hubs for human chattel.One of the worst stories I came across still wakes me up at night. A method of execution used on some sugar plantations: the “sugar death.” An enslaved person would be buried up to the neck in sand. Then, boiling sugar syrup was poured over their exposed skin—usually the head. The syrup burned and blistered, but that wasn’t the end. The spilled sugar attracted the ants.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:06):
Welcome to the Rite of Passage with Vanessa Riley, the
podcast where storytelling meets passion in every page turns into
a new adventure. I'm your host, Vanessa Riley, and together
we'll dive deep into untold histories, reflect on current events
through a historical lands, share behind the scenes writing insights,
(00:29):
and explore the ups and downs of the author's journey
from rich historical novels to unforgettable characters to pop culture's
intrusion on the written word. Hey, we're going to explore
it all. So grab your pen, your notebook, and let's
begin our journey through the written word. Let's start your
(00:54):
right of passage, fire rolic the fragile threads of humanity.
This week I went through a whirlwind of emotions. Yes,
world wind, that's the word. It's the highs and lows,
the unpredictable moments, the shared grief, reflection, and the surprising
(01:20):
grace that shape these past few days. All these feelings
they live in pictures. Picture this an artist gifted in
creating larger than life floral and celebratory installations. You know, roses, sunflowers,
(01:41):
and even huge gift boxes with perfect foes. I found
one of her creations buried among the thousands of photos
on my phone. I went searching for it after I
heard she died suddenly of a heart attack. She was
in her mid forties and only seen her two or
(02:04):
three times, but every encounter was vibrant. She was joyful,
always present, always tweaking one last detail so that others
would take a picture beside her work. Her name was Mary.
She made an impact. I looked at the photos and smiled,
(02:27):
remembering her smile. This loss was sudden. Mary was a
close friend to a friend of mine. Mary was central
to my friend's community. When your friend grieved someone central
to their world, you grieve with them, and in that
(02:51):
shared sorrow something happens. You become deeply grateful, not just
for what you have before, the very fact that your
people are still here. You reflect, You look at your
own life, and the things you were grumbling about five
(03:14):
minutes ago suddenly don't matter so much. Perspective shows up,
kicks you in the pants, uninvited but necessary. Then I
see another picture. A fire, not just any fire, the
(03:35):
one that consume not Away Plantation, the largest Antebellum plantation
that was still standing in the United States, a place
layered with contradictions, history and pain. The blaze left and gutted.
(03:55):
I studied the photos, the before, during, and after. I
watched the memes because TikTok, threads and Instagram are unmatched
when it comes to irony and reaction. Beyond the satire,
there is truth. No one died in the fire, but
(04:17):
that doesn't erase the death that still haunt that land,
the men, women and children who lived, labored and died
under a brutal system of forced servitude. Some say not
Away is haunted, It should be the owners memorialize the
(04:37):
slave drivers quarters. I like to think the spirits of
the enslaved were there too, watching the flames, bearing witness
as the restored Massa's house turned to ash. Not Away
was a tourist site, a wedding venue, a workplace, a symbol.
(05:02):
People will be out of work, the state will take
an economic hit. These are facts, but there's a deeper
truth that sits beside those facts. Not a Way was
a sugar plantation, and sugar plantations were among the worst
(05:23):
of all plantation systems. I know this because I researched
this when I did System of the Warrior and Island
Queen the facts still haunt me. The death rate on
sugar plantations in the Caribbean and Southern States was three
(05:46):
to four times higher than on a cotton plantation. Enslaved
people on US cotton plantations had a life of expectancy
of about thirty years. On sugar plantations was less than ten.
The work was brutal, cutting cane, operating machinery, surviving the
(06:06):
suffocating heat of the boiler houses. If you were sentenced
to work the boiling bats, it was basically a death sentence. Dehydration, exhaustion,
and the relentless heat killed faster than the whip. That
doesn't count the beatings, the rapes, and the starvation prevalent
(06:31):
on these places. I made a post about the fire
on Instagram. Most responses were respectful, but some fixated on
the grandeur lost, as if this were Notre dame. Others
insisted I should get over it, that all the perpetrators
(06:51):
are dead, that the world should move on. Let's put
a pin in this moving on notion. I'll circle back.
Another disturbing image circulating came from stills of not Away's
scripted tours, praising the humanity of the plantation, claiming it
(07:15):
trained a nurse and built a hospital for the enslaved.
That's a lie. There was no formal training. They likely
identified a woman who showed skill with herbs and healing
and used her ancestral knowledge. The hospital was not about care,
it was about profit. It was cheaper to repair a
(07:38):
broken body than buy a new one. These hospitals weren't
acts of mercy. They were maintenance hubs for human chattel.
One of the worst stories I came across still wakes
me up at night. A method of execution used on
some sugar plantations. It's called the sugar depth, and a
(08:03):
slave person would be buried up to their neck and sand.
Then boiling sugar syrup was poured over their exposed skin,
usually their head. The syrup burned and blistered, but that
wasn't the end. The spilled sugar attracted the ants. The
(08:25):
person would slowly die in excruciating pain as ants devoured
them alive. It was sadism, a spectacle, a warning, a lesson,
a horror. How exactly do you get over that? How
do you erase the knowledge that human beings chose to
(08:48):
do that to others and passed it on generation after generation?
How do you get over, knowing that given the chance,
there are people today who would do the same. But
then I saw a final image. This one saved my
writing week. It was a photo of frolic. Two black women,
(09:11):
one in a sleek column dress, the other in a
romantic floy one running joyfully through a green field in
Vatican City. The sun is shining. I imagine the smell
of olives in the air and the promise of wine
at sunset. Gail King and Oprah radiant, laughing free. That
(09:33):
image brought me back to smiling Mary, not because it
was glamorous, because it reminded me of joy, personal joy.
We need joy, We need moments of frolic in the
middle of pain, of grief, of hard histories. We have
to fight for joy. We must protect it, speak to it,
(09:57):
defend it. Looking is resistance. It's choosing self, choosing family,
choosing rest, choosing humanity. So yes, morn, we reflect. We
carry reverence for the past, the true past. But we
must also touch grass, run bear fruit through a field,
(10:21):
choosing self, friends, and family. To those who are grieving,
I offer this, find one photo, one memory, one moment
that brings you joy, Hold on to it, then look
for more or make more one moment at a time.
(10:42):
Books that can help you focus on joy and history
in meaningful ways are Before I Let Go by Kennedy Ryan.
This is a second chance romance that explores grief, healing,
and black joy. The Warmth of other Sons is a
Bill Wilkerson. This is an epic account of the great mycreation,
(11:05):
deeply researched and emotionally charged. What the Fireflies Knew by
Ky Harris is a coming of age story through the
eyes of a young black girl navigating grief and growing
up in nineteen nineties Michigan. The Heaven and Earth Grocery
Store by James McBride. This is a community of outsiders
in nineteen twenty Pottstown, Pennsylvania. They come together around a
(11:32):
hidden deaf boy. It's tender, it's full of humanity, it's
even funny, and of course, Island Queen. This is a
historical novel based on the real life rise of Dorothy
Kirwin Thomas, a woman who rises from enslavement to become
(11:53):
one of the wealthiest women in the Caribbean. Sister Mother
Warrior and epic saga of Resistant Sisterhood and River is
based on the true story of the women who shaped
the Haitian fight for freedom. Show notes include a list
of books mentioned in the broadcast. This week, I'm highlighting
(12:15):
Hubsdybooks through their website and bookshop dot org. You can
find my notes on substack or on my website venisilly
dot com under the podcast link in the about tab.
If this essay touched you, or let a spark show
some love, hit like and subscribe to write a passage
(12:39):
thank you for listening. Hopefully you'll come again. This is
Vanessa Riley
Welcome to the Rite of Passage with Vanessa Riley, the
podcast where storytelling meets passion in every page turns into
a new adventure. I'm your host, Vanessa Riley, and together
we'll dive deep into untold histories, reflect on current events
through a historical lands, share behind the scenes writing insights,
(00:29):
and explore the ups and downs of the author's journey
from rich historical novels to unforgettable characters to pop culture's
intrusion on the written word. Hey, we're going to explore
it all. So grab your pen, your notebook, and let's
begin our journey through the written word. Let's start your
(00:54):
right of passage, fire rolic the fragile threads of humanity.
This week I went through a whirlwind of emotions. Yes,
world wind, that's the word. It's the highs and lows,
the unpredictable moments, the shared grief, reflection, and the surprising
(01:20):
grace that shape these past few days. All these feelings
they live in pictures. Picture this an artist gifted in
creating larger than life floral and celebratory installations. You know, roses, sunflowers,
(01:41):
and even huge gift boxes with perfect foes. I found
one of her creations buried among the thousands of photos
on my phone. I went searching for it after I
heard she died suddenly of a heart attack. She was
in her mid forties and only seen her two or
(02:04):
three times, but every encounter was vibrant. She was joyful,
always present, always tweaking one last detail so that others
would take a picture beside her work. Her name was Mary.
She made an impact. I looked at the photos and smiled,
(02:27):
remembering her smile. This loss was sudden. Mary was a
close friend to a friend of mine. Mary was central
to my friend's community. When your friend grieved someone central
to their world, you grieve with them, and in that
(02:51):
shared sorrow something happens. You become deeply grateful, not just
for what you have before, the very fact that your
people are still here. You reflect, You look at your
own life, and the things you were grumbling about five
(03:14):
minutes ago suddenly don't matter so much. Perspective shows up,
kicks you in the pants, uninvited but necessary. Then I
see another picture. A fire, not just any fire, the
(03:35):
one that consume not Away Plantation, the largest Antebellum plantation
that was still standing in the United States, a place
layered with contradictions, history and pain. The blaze left and gutted.
(03:55):
I studied the photos, the before, during, and after. I
watched the memes because TikTok, threads and Instagram are unmatched
when it comes to irony and reaction. Beyond the satire,
there is truth. No one died in the fire, but
(04:17):
that doesn't erase the death that still haunt that land,
the men, women and children who lived, labored and died
under a brutal system of forced servitude. Some say not
Away is haunted, It should be the owners memorialize the
(04:37):
slave drivers quarters. I like to think the spirits of
the enslaved were there too, watching the flames, bearing witness
as the restored Massa's house turned to ash. Not Away
was a tourist site, a wedding venue, a workplace, a symbol.
(05:02):
People will be out of work, the state will take
an economic hit. These are facts, but there's a deeper
truth that sits beside those facts. Not a Way was
a sugar plantation, and sugar plantations were among the worst
(05:23):
of all plantation systems. I know this because I researched
this when I did System of the Warrior and Island
Queen the facts still haunt me. The death rate on
sugar plantations in the Caribbean and Southern States was three
(05:46):
to four times higher than on a cotton plantation. Enslaved
people on US cotton plantations had a life of expectancy
of about thirty years. On sugar plantations was less than ten.
The work was brutal, cutting cane, operating machinery, surviving the
(06:06):
suffocating heat of the boiler houses. If you were sentenced
to work the boiling bats, it was basically a death sentence. Dehydration, exhaustion,
and the relentless heat killed faster than the whip. That
doesn't count the beatings, the rapes, and the starvation prevalent
(06:31):
on these places. I made a post about the fire
on Instagram. Most responses were respectful, but some fixated on
the grandeur lost, as if this were Notre dame. Others
insisted I should get over it, that all the perpetrators
(06:51):
are dead, that the world should move on. Let's put
a pin in this moving on notion. I'll circle back.
Another disturbing image circulating came from stills of not Away's
scripted tours, praising the humanity of the plantation, claiming it
(07:15):
trained a nurse and built a hospital for the enslaved.
That's a lie. There was no formal training. They likely
identified a woman who showed skill with herbs and healing
and used her ancestral knowledge. The hospital was not about care,
it was about profit. It was cheaper to repair a
(07:38):
broken body than buy a new one. These hospitals weren't
acts of mercy. They were maintenance hubs for human chattel.
One of the worst stories I came across still wakes
me up at night. A method of execution used on
some sugar plantations. It's called the sugar depth, and a
(08:03):
slave person would be buried up to their neck and sand.
Then boiling sugar syrup was poured over their exposed skin,
usually their head. The syrup burned and blistered, but that
wasn't the end. The spilled sugar attracted the ants. The
(08:25):
person would slowly die in excruciating pain as ants devoured
them alive. It was sadism, a spectacle, a warning, a lesson,
a horror. How exactly do you get over that? How
do you erase the knowledge that human beings chose to
(08:48):
do that to others and passed it on generation after generation?
How do you get over, knowing that given the chance,
there are people today who would do the same. But
then I saw a final image. This one saved my
writing week. It was a photo of frolic. Two black women,
(09:11):
one in a sleek column dress, the other in a
romantic floy one running joyfully through a green field in
Vatican City. The sun is shining. I imagine the smell
of olives in the air and the promise of wine
at sunset. Gail King and Oprah radiant, laughing free. That
(09:33):
image brought me back to smiling Mary, not because it
was glamorous, because it reminded me of joy, personal joy.
We need joy, We need moments of frolic in the
middle of pain, of grief, of hard histories. We have
to fight for joy. We must protect it, speak to it,
(09:57):
defend it. Looking is resistance. It's choosing self, choosing family,
choosing rest, choosing humanity. So yes, morn, we reflect. We
carry reverence for the past, the true past. But we
must also touch grass, run bear fruit through a field,
(10:21):
choosing self, friends, and family. To those who are grieving,
I offer this, find one photo, one memory, one moment
that brings you joy, Hold on to it, then look
for more or make more one moment at a time.
(10:42):
Books that can help you focus on joy and history
in meaningful ways are Before I Let Go by Kennedy Ryan.
This is a second chance romance that explores grief, healing,
and black joy. The Warmth of other Sons is a
Bill Wilkerson. This is an epic account of the great mycreation,
(11:05):
deeply researched and emotionally charged. What the Fireflies Knew by
Ky Harris is a coming of age story through the
eyes of a young black girl navigating grief and growing
up in nineteen nineties Michigan. The Heaven and Earth Grocery
Store by James McBride. This is a community of outsiders
in nineteen twenty Pottstown, Pennsylvania. They come together around a
(11:32):
hidden deaf boy. It's tender, it's full of humanity, it's
even funny, and of course, Island Queen. This is a
historical novel based on the real life rise of Dorothy
Kirwin Thomas, a woman who rises from enslavement to become
(11:53):
one of the wealthiest women in the Caribbean. Sister Mother
Warrior and epic saga of Resistant Sisterhood and River is
based on the true story of the women who shaped
the Haitian fight for freedom. Show notes include a list
of books mentioned in the broadcast. This week, I'm highlighting
(12:15):
Hubsdybooks through their website and bookshop dot org. You can
find my notes on substack or on my website venisilly
dot com under the podcast link in the about tab.
If this essay touched you, or let a spark show
some love, hit like and subscribe to write a passage
(12:39):
thank you for listening. Hopefully you'll come again. This is
Vanessa Riley
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