We bought our Fishtown Victorian in 1987. We fell in love with the mystery of an old house’s tales and immediately knew we were only her agent for yet another chapter. An 1883 census sparsely recorded that its inhabitants were a family whose head of the household owned a millinery business. The real mysteries lie in the backyard, a large lot adjacent to the property where two other homes once stood with an outhouse in between, but now a garden. Old glass, broken pottery, clay pipes, splinters of metal treasures, and oyster shells remain my garden jewels at every scrape of the earth. These yard shards seem to rise to the top as if to remind us that we can never bury history.