This wasn’t a reconstruction, this wasn’t a tourist hotspot; this was abandonment. A handful of cedar poles that should have marked the perimeter of the village leaned like drunks. Weeds choked the fire pit, and the matted sides of two small huts had begun to peel off like burned skin. The living village was an empty coffin. It represented nothing—no past, no present, no future. Nothing.
The real village was abandoned, but there are plans to change that fact.
