MONTICELLO

By Greg Evans

My young daughter and I were traveling south on the interstate 81 when we decided to take a detour and visit the famous homestead of Thomas Jefferson. We were on our way back to our cabin high in the Great Smoky Mountains, when the urge to deviate from the trip sent me off the exit and nearly off the road into a dense thicket. Oddly enough, while traveling along, I believe route 64 east, there are no signs for the great Monticello. I wasn’t that surprised, nothing in the south surprises me all that much. Very little makes any sense and the more I try to rationalize it all the harder it is for me to find more than three hours of sleep on any given night. After nearly thirty-three minutes of winding mountain roads and out-of-control big rigs, we took an exit for Charlottesville, Virginia, because I knew from looking on a map that Monticello was near the city. City, it was no bigger than a small town. We drove up a hill, bore right and found ourselves practically on the quad at the University of Virginia. It was a beautiful campus but I had no desire to hang around. I have two degrees from two great universities and I wasn’t looking to participate in another, at least not yet. I sped off the campus nearly dissolving the lives of a couple hippy kids, turned right and headed up the narrow road into the heart of Charlottesville which I found to be an ugly little place, except for about forty feet downtown by the statue.

          With the greatest of difficulty we finally found our way onto the spiraling road leading up the mountain to where the immortal house stands. We parked, exited the car into a blanket of humidity and nearly 95 degree heat, purchased two family tour tickets and waited for the shuttle to take us up to the house. Mary was intrigued by the life-size statue of our third president and I took a great picture of her beside him. We reached the grounds with about five minutes to spare before our tour began. We met our guide and a few other families with young kids and the lady began giving us the history of Monticello which I found fascinating. Mary found the large front lawn much more interesting and ran around in circles howling like an Injun. Numerous groups were obviously disturbed and staring at the commotion. Mary then collapsed and lay sprawled out in the lawn, sweating profusely, gasping for breath and singing Beauty and the Beast songs. I was sure we were about to be thrown off the grounds. Instead they ignored my young hyperactive daughter and we entered the house. It was beautiful inside, and the most incredible house I have ever been too. To the left was a collection of Indian artifacts and weapons Lewis and Clark brought back from the Pacific Northwest and presented to Thomas Jefferson as a gift. There walls were covered in maps and beautiful oil paintings of Thomas Jefferson’s famous friends. He had numerous gadgets and instruments, thousands of volumes of literature, antlers, beautiful furniture and secret mechanisms in the house which astounded us. He designed the entire house. They could bring bottles of wine to the dining room from the wine cellar by way of an ingenious pulley system and communicate by an elaborate bell system. The whole house and property intrigued us and at one point Mary wanted me to put her down. I turned my back for a second and glanced over my shoulder in horror as she was rapidly scaling the wall via a 200 plus year-old window. I snatched her from the window like a lizard and hung on to her as she clawed desperately to be released. We entered the library where there was a chair that only Vice Presidents were allowed to sit in and Mary made a beeline for the chair as the room filled with gasps. The tour guide nearly took down a book case trying to cut her off but I was able to sweep her up flailing like a hunted quail and didn't let her down until we were out of the house and back in the yard. The garden was exceptional and I can only imagine what it looked like during Jefferson's lifetime. It was a great side trip and I look forward to returning once Mary gets a little older.