“I went to grad school out of spite—to learn how to beat developers at their own game.” From that first thunderclap, author-organizer Ru Colvin takes us on a deeply Detroit journey that stretches from their grandmother’s migration from York, Alabama to the east side blocks of Jefferson Chalmers, where “we grew up around the water” and a school culture that was “very Black—we sang ‘Lift Every Voice’ every morning.” Colvin threads memory and movement: a violin at Cass, Black Planet-era fan fiction, Wayne State in Obama ‘08, then the dissonance of working downtown as foreclosure swept neighborhoods—“they called it a comeback while my family lost our home in 2014.” That rupture births purpose: corporate book clubs turn to street-level facilitation, AmeriCorps in the East Side Solutionaries, and the mantra “our communities are up to us.” They name names—Land Bank tours full of non-Detroiters, bedrock power reshaping blocks—and still insists on possibility, writing a house’s autobiography in Home and imagining “liberation zones” in gardens where a family home once stood. With Khary,they honor teachers like Ms. Green who kept their pen alive. Along the way, Colvin reframes planning as protection, storytelling as strategy, and memory as infrastructure: “Translating what people say into something we can use.”