I write this not at the end of each day of my vacation, but after the conclusion of the trip. I was too busy experiencing everything—or organizing my photos from the trip, or simply falling asleep at the end of the day from exhaustion—to write in anything like real time. Still, I thought my faithful readers wouldn’t mind some sort of personal record of what I saw.
On my first vacation in two years, I found myself with less time than I wanted. I had had so little time to spend researching lodging and itineraries that I needed a day at the start simply to take care of this, along with other important logistics such as going to the bank and—crucially—having my car checked before the long ride from New Jersey to across the Mason-Dixon Line.
The first leg of my drive took me to Northern Virginia—specifically, Alexandria. Before setting out, I had planned to circle back to the region, on the return leg of the trip—this time, to Arlington, where I hoped to take public transportation into D.C.—but I had not figured on The Beltway.
No wonder Washington’s politicians are so fouled up: If they (and their staff members) ever use The Beltway to commute back and forth to Capitol Hill, they’re already in a foul mood before the day begins. And partisan thickets must seem nothing after D.C. denizens have made their way through the vehicular ganglia surrounding the nation’s capital.
I took off for D.C. a little later than I wanted on my first day, but I really lost time on the drive down. Two different sets of directions—seemingly okay on the surface, but actually contradictory—ended up losing me anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour.
The next day wasn’t better—actually, it was even worse—leaving me unexpectedly open to a later suggestion that I cancel the Arlington-bound penultimate leg of my trip. (More on that in a later post.)
But there were four reasons to celebrate that first day and a half:
1) My stay at an Alexandria bed-and-breakfast called Yesteryear’s Treasures. The neighborhood was good—a five-minute walk to DC’s mass transit rail system, the Metro; and the B&B proprietor, Ms. Moina Radford, was the soul of graciousness and helpfulness.
2) Alexandria’s trolley system, which takes you for free back and forth on King Street, one of the city’s major commercial thoroughfares. I’m not saying everything was completely okay with this system of transportation, mind you (one of the two trolley drivers was not simply uncommunicative, but downright surly). But recorded messages provided some nice little bits of trivia along the way (e.g., the largest slave auction firm in America has now been converted, triumphantly, into the Northern Virginia chapter of the Urban League). Moreover, these little trips where you see a mass of humanity sometimes startle you. In the trolley in which I rode, for instance, I saw what appeared at first too be look-alikes for Liz Smith and Glenn Beck. (Though a second look convinced me that the latter individual couldn’t be the same person as the Fox News commentator: he looked tired but not bug-eyed--and, by definition, nobody can be Glenn Beck if his eyeballs don't look as if they'll fly toward Jupiter on the slightest pretext.)
3) The beautiful weather. If you’re going to travel a long way, it helps if your windshield isn’t filling up with rain or snow. That was one consolation about my longer-than-expected drive around the Beltway. Temperatures in Virginia were warmer than the last time I visited, in the Charlottesville area, four Novembers before, when I stepped out a couple of mornings to find snow on the ground. The higher temperatures this time (in the 60s) meant that the leaves were still on the trees, and still mostly turning color.
4) Old Town Alexandria. Ms. Ratliff noted proudly that Alexandria was older than D.C. (established in 1749, nearly a half century before our nation’s capital), and I could see vestiges of its Revolutionary and Federal past in the cobblestone streets and Georgian architecture of Old Alexandria. Even though it was twilight by the time I made it downtown, I could still sense the electricity of this community in the abundant coffeeshops (a must for government workers and those lobbyists who work to influence them!), restaurants (I ate at an especially nice seafood restaurant on King Street, not far from the waterfront) and art galleries (an especially unique example of the latter—closed, alas, by late afternoon, when I made it down to the waterfront-- was the Torpedo Factory Arts Center, a former WWI munitions plant saved from the wrecking ball in 1969).
Mount Vernon: The Autobiography Washington Never Wrote
But the reason why I visited Alexandria--George Washington’s estate, Mount Vernon--pleasantly surprised me with its changes. From a prior visit 10 to 15 years before, I recalled a shrine familiar to most Americans--but a place that didn’t take more than an hour to tour.
On my first vacation in two years, I found myself with less time than I wanted. I had had so little time to spend researching lodging and itineraries that I needed a day at the start simply to take care of this, along with other important logistics such as going to the bank and—crucially—having my car checked before the long ride from New Jersey to across the Mason-Dixon Line.
The first leg of my drive took me to Northern Virginia—specifically, Alexandria. Before setting out, I had planned to circle back to the region, on the return leg of the trip—this time, to Arlington, where I hoped to take public transportation into D.C.—but I had not figured on The Beltway.
No wonder Washington’s politicians are so fouled up: If they (and their staff members) ever use The Beltway to commute back and forth to Capitol Hill, they’re already in a foul mood before the day begins. And partisan thickets must seem nothing after D.C. denizens have made their way through the vehicular ganglia surrounding the nation’s capital.
I took off for D.C. a little later than I wanted on my first day, but I really lost time on the drive down. Two different sets of directions—seemingly okay on the surface, but actually contradictory—ended up losing me anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour.
The next day wasn’t better—actually, it was even worse—leaving me unexpectedly open to a later suggestion that I cancel the Arlington-bound penultimate leg of my trip. (More on that in a later post.)
But there were four reasons to celebrate that first day and a half:
1) My stay at an Alexandria bed-and-breakfast called Yesteryear’s Treasures. The neighborhood was good—a five-minute walk to DC’s mass transit rail system, the Metro; and the B&B proprietor, Ms. Moina Radford, was the soul of graciousness and helpfulness.
2) Alexandria’s trolley system, which takes you for free back and forth on King Street, one of the city’s major commercial thoroughfares. I’m not saying everything was completely okay with this system of transportation, mind you (one of the two trolley drivers was not simply uncommunicative, but downright surly). But recorded messages provided some nice little bits of trivia along the way (e.g., the largest slave auction firm in America has now been converted, triumphantly, into the Northern Virginia chapter of the Urban League). Moreover, these little trips where you see a mass of humanity sometimes startle you. In the trolley in which I rode, for instance, I saw what appeared at first too be look-alikes for Liz Smith and Glenn Beck. (Though a second look convinced me that the latter individual couldn’t be the same person as the Fox News commentator: he looked tired but not bug-eyed--and, by definition, nobody can be Glenn Beck if his eyeballs don't look as if they'll fly toward Jupiter on the slightest pretext.)
3) The beautiful weather. If you’re going to travel a long way, it helps if your windshield isn’t filling up with rain or snow. That was one consolation about my longer-than-expected drive around the Beltway. Temperatures in Virginia were warmer than the last time I visited, in the Charlottesville area, four Novembers before, when I stepped out a couple of mornings to find snow on the ground. The higher temperatures this time (in the 60s) meant that the leaves were still on the trees, and still mostly turning color.
4) Old Town Alexandria. Ms. Ratliff noted proudly that Alexandria was older than D.C. (established in 1749, nearly a half century before our nation’s capital), and I could see vestiges of its Revolutionary and Federal past in the cobblestone streets and Georgian architecture of Old Alexandria. Even though it was twilight by the time I made it downtown, I could still sense the electricity of this community in the abundant coffeeshops (a must for government workers and those lobbyists who work to influence them!), restaurants (I ate at an especially nice seafood restaurant on King Street, not far from the waterfront) and art galleries (an especially unique example of the latter—closed, alas, by late afternoon, when I made it down to the waterfront-- was the Torpedo Factory Arts Center, a former WWI munitions plant saved from the wrecking ball in 1969).
Mount Vernon: The Autobiography Washington Never Wrote
But the reason why I visited Alexandria--George Washington’s estate, Mount Vernon--pleasantly surprised me with its changes. From a prior visit 10 to 15 years before, I recalled a shrine familiar to most Americans--but a place that didn’t take more than an hour to tour.
Before leaving on my trip, I’d caught glimpses of the “new Mount Vernon,” if you will, on C-Span—including a tour of the Conservation Lab that featured, for instance, Martha Washington’s ivory fan and needlepoint shell cushion.
Still, I didn’t realize the impact of all these changes until I saw for myself. Mount Vernon’s Official Guidebook advises devoting at least three hours to the house and grounds. But to do it true justice—or, to be exact, to do true justice to the one person more responsible than any other for bringing this republic into being—you really need to view Mount Vernon over the course of a whole day, much like Colonial Williamsburg.
That’s because there’s simply so much to experience here, including, besides the mansion:
· an orientation center;
· a museum-education center;
· shops and bookstore;
· Washington’s whiskey distillery and gristmill;
· colonial revival gardens;
· a four-acre farm site;
· the tomb of George and Martha; and
· a restaurant and food court (if you don't want to be worn out, you need sustenance!).
Visitors will inevitably focus on two aspects of the museum: a) Washington’s teeth (contrary to myth, the great man's choppers weren’t made of wood, but they did cause him all the discomfort you’ve heard about); and b) simulations of what Washington looked like at different points in his life (at age 19, for instance, he stood six feet two inches, weighed a lean 175 pounds, and possessed red hair—which, combined with equestrian skills that Thomas Jefferson claimed were unrivaled, made him the closest thing the colonial period had to a world-class athlete/matinee idol).
In a way, the growth of this vast historical complex merely mirrors the same evolution of the house and estate itself during Washington’s lifetime. In the 45 years in which he either leased the property (from the widow of half-brother Lawrence) or owned it outright, the estate grew from 2,126 acres to approximately 8,000. A founder of an empire on the North American continent, he was something of an empire builder in private life, owning approximately 50,000 acres of real estate at the time of his death in 1799.
The house—the autobiography that Washington never wrote, according to historian David McCullough—remains an impressive emblem of the status, balance and order that America’s first President valued. No matter how many times I’d seen pictures of its famous façade, I was still struck—and I think you will be, too, in the picture I took—of its classical symmetry, extending not just from the house proper but to the outbuildings radiating away from it.
Nobody bats an eye at the thought that fellow Virginian Thomas Jefferson designed Monticello; after all, he was rivaled perhaps only by Benjamin Franklin as the true Renaissance Man of early America. But it's more of a surprise to learn that Washington himself designed his own beautiful home.
Washington, a guide told me, did so using so-called “pattern books” of the time that provided models. But, as detailed oriented as he was, the future general and president wanted to leave his imprint on the estate. He did so by choosing as his theme what he probably loved the most: agriculture.
I could go on and on about Mount Vernon—and, in future posts, I hope to do so—but I’ll just confine myself, for now, to the issue of slavery.
It’s been my experience, in visiting historic sites associated with more recent Presidents—notably, FDR’s Hyde Park and the JFK Library in Massachusetts—that a note of defensiveness enters into museum exhibits on controversial aspects of their lives and tenures in office. No such squeamishness enters into Mount Vernon’s explanation of slavery in the life of Washington.
Three hundred slaves worked on Mount Vernon at the time of Washington’s death. Exhibits at the museum make no bones about the fact that he was a demanding boss and that slaves possessed no rights whatsoever. A marker not far from the tomb of George and Martha memorialized these men, women and children.
At the same time, historians—including many African-American ones—have concluded that Washington had turned decisively against slavery by the end of his life, and that he was far better than nearly all other Founding Fathers from the South on this issue. He might have been demanding, but he also possessed a hard-headed sense of realism, making him realize that slaves, with no financial stake in their labor, possessed little motivation to work. But the adverse spiritual and emotional effects of slavery—including breaking up families—also bothered him.
Washington’s careful management of his estate meant that, unlike younger members of the Virginian Dynasty such as Jefferson, James Madison and James Monroe, he could arrange to free slaves without worrying about his debts. He provided in his will for the emancipation of slaves he owned (remaining slaves, because of the terms of Martha’s dowry, had to wait for her death three years later), and he arranged for a regular and permanent fund for the elderly and infirm among those freed under the terms of his will. He looked forward, he wrote to a friend, when Virginia’s assembly could gradually abolish slavery.
In how he managed his slaves for the early part of his life, Washington was a man of his time. By the end of his life, he had transcended his age. Not too many Southerners (or, for that matter, residents from many Northern states, some of whom still had elderly slaves at the dawn of the Civil War) could claim the same thing.
As I drove away from Mount Vernon on the George Washington Parkway, I could easily understand how the President could fall in love with his sprawling property along the Potomac—and why he couldn’t wait to come home. Two hundred and fifty years after he took Martha to live on the estate, it remains a notably beautiful spot--especially within the godforsaken automobile nightmare that is the D.C. area.
Still, I didn’t realize the impact of all these changes until I saw for myself. Mount Vernon’s Official Guidebook advises devoting at least three hours to the house and grounds. But to do it true justice—or, to be exact, to do true justice to the one person more responsible than any other for bringing this republic into being—you really need to view Mount Vernon over the course of a whole day, much like Colonial Williamsburg.
That’s because there’s simply so much to experience here, including, besides the mansion:
· an orientation center;
· a museum-education center;
· shops and bookstore;
· Washington’s whiskey distillery and gristmill;
· colonial revival gardens;
· a four-acre farm site;
· the tomb of George and Martha; and
· a restaurant and food court (if you don't want to be worn out, you need sustenance!).
Visitors will inevitably focus on two aspects of the museum: a) Washington’s teeth (contrary to myth, the great man's choppers weren’t made of wood, but they did cause him all the discomfort you’ve heard about); and b) simulations of what Washington looked like at different points in his life (at age 19, for instance, he stood six feet two inches, weighed a lean 175 pounds, and possessed red hair—which, combined with equestrian skills that Thomas Jefferson claimed were unrivaled, made him the closest thing the colonial period had to a world-class athlete/matinee idol).
In a way, the growth of this vast historical complex merely mirrors the same evolution of the house and estate itself during Washington’s lifetime. In the 45 years in which he either leased the property (from the widow of half-brother Lawrence) or owned it outright, the estate grew from 2,126 acres to approximately 8,000. A founder of an empire on the North American continent, he was something of an empire builder in private life, owning approximately 50,000 acres of real estate at the time of his death in 1799.
The house—the autobiography that Washington never wrote, according to historian David McCullough—remains an impressive emblem of the status, balance and order that America’s first President valued. No matter how many times I’d seen pictures of its famous façade, I was still struck—and I think you will be, too, in the picture I took—of its classical symmetry, extending not just from the house proper but to the outbuildings radiating away from it.
Nobody bats an eye at the thought that fellow Virginian Thomas Jefferson designed Monticello; after all, he was rivaled perhaps only by Benjamin Franklin as the true Renaissance Man of early America. But it's more of a surprise to learn that Washington himself designed his own beautiful home.
Washington, a guide told me, did so using so-called “pattern books” of the time that provided models. But, as detailed oriented as he was, the future general and president wanted to leave his imprint on the estate. He did so by choosing as his theme what he probably loved the most: agriculture.
I could go on and on about Mount Vernon—and, in future posts, I hope to do so—but I’ll just confine myself, for now, to the issue of slavery.
It’s been my experience, in visiting historic sites associated with more recent Presidents—notably, FDR’s Hyde Park and the JFK Library in Massachusetts—that a note of defensiveness enters into museum exhibits on controversial aspects of their lives and tenures in office. No such squeamishness enters into Mount Vernon’s explanation of slavery in the life of Washington.
Three hundred slaves worked on Mount Vernon at the time of Washington’s death. Exhibits at the museum make no bones about the fact that he was a demanding boss and that slaves possessed no rights whatsoever. A marker not far from the tomb of George and Martha memorialized these men, women and children.
At the same time, historians—including many African-American ones—have concluded that Washington had turned decisively against slavery by the end of his life, and that he was far better than nearly all other Founding Fathers from the South on this issue. He might have been demanding, but he also possessed a hard-headed sense of realism, making him realize that slaves, with no financial stake in their labor, possessed little motivation to work. But the adverse spiritual and emotional effects of slavery—including breaking up families—also bothered him.
Washington’s careful management of his estate meant that, unlike younger members of the Virginian Dynasty such as Jefferson, James Madison and James Monroe, he could arrange to free slaves without worrying about his debts. He provided in his will for the emancipation of slaves he owned (remaining slaves, because of the terms of Martha’s dowry, had to wait for her death three years later), and he arranged for a regular and permanent fund for the elderly and infirm among those freed under the terms of his will. He looked forward, he wrote to a friend, when Virginia’s assembly could gradually abolish slavery.
In how he managed his slaves for the early part of his life, Washington was a man of his time. By the end of his life, he had transcended his age. Not too many Southerners (or, for that matter, residents from many Northern states, some of whom still had elderly slaves at the dawn of the Civil War) could claim the same thing.
As I drove away from Mount Vernon on the George Washington Parkway, I could easily understand how the President could fall in love with his sprawling property along the Potomac—and why he couldn’t wait to come home. Two hundred and fifty years after he took Martha to live on the estate, it remains a notably beautiful spot--especially within the godforsaken automobile nightmare that is the D.C. area.
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