Declarations in July

One thing I dearly love about Monticello is the relentlessness with which Thomas Jefferson pursued knowledge.  Visitors cannot help but feel this burning pursuit in the design of his home, his broadly curated collections, the forward-thinking gadgets he invented for each room, and the careful preservation and experimentation he conducted involving seeds and plants in his gardens.

I've toured Monticello enough to have a favorite feature:  the crafty method Jefferson employed to magnify the limited sunlight provided to his electricity-free dwelling by placing large mirrors in direct opposition to windows and even painting his dining room an 18-century equivalent of safety yellow.

Florescent paint plus unrefrigerated vittles and homemade moonshine--well, that particular combo sums up patriot courage, folks.

The most impressive sight is his personal room, which includes an odd niche bed and rows upon rows of leather bound books. Ahhh, they are quite magnificent.  He read in seven languages and occupied himself with every range and substantial topic imaginable.

"A mind always employed is always happy,"  he was known to say.

Upon consideration of Jefferson's July 4th claim to fame, The Declaration of Independence, plus my fifth (yes, fifth.  I basically lugged five infants and/or my pregnant self through this place. Mercifully the policy is "age two and under are free.") visit to Monticello has inspired four personal July resolutions, or "declarations," if you will:

• Declaration #1:  I pledge to be more curious about the world.  I might not organize heirloom seed collections, but I promise to purchase other flavors of Goldfish than cheddar cheese, plunge my bare hands into murky pool skimmer baskets without hesitation, and actually examine the frog species presented to me before screaming.

• Declaration #2:  I will arrange and re-arrange my home with an eye for function above all, yet still with the goal of beauty.  This declaration is not limited to preserving years of personal collecting by tethering up the towering Christmas tree with clear fishing line anchored to wall studs.  Why such lengths?  Only what's necessary to prevent middle-of-the-night collapses from all manner of sports balls that batter my favorite decorations.  (You know, those irreplaceable Baccarat ones dating to 1984.)

• Declaration #3:  I will surround myself with books that I've held off reading because of the wee ones in hopes that I can catch a page or two each day.  "I cannot live without books," TJ would high-handedly tell you.  Currently stacked on my nightstand are Sacred Rhythms by Ruth Haley Barton, Wordsmithy by Douglas Wilson, and One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by the slightly-creepy Dr. Seuss.  I also am kicking around the idea of reading everything assigned to my seventh grader this year, who will be entering an Omnibus class on early medieval literature.  Hey, Jefferson would be proud!

• Declaration #4:  I will go to great personal sacrifice for my flowers to bloom beautifully.  That is, I promise to stand in fifty percent humidity under the sweltering Southern sun to water my pots, whisky barrels, and urns containing blooms from Home Depot that the salesperson may or may not have begged me not to buy.  I pledge a sister commitment to not disclose to even my husband when those browned, arid flower stalks are thrown in the trash bin and replaced by their fresh, dewy-faced twins. (Shhhhh.)

Goodbye for this year, Monticello. Thanks for your annual inspiration, and I'll catch you again when I'm twelve months older, much less gray, ten pounds lighter, have conquered new intellectual challenges and can claim to be significantly more well-read.....

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 *All photo creds to Madeleine Roberts.  Alas, I was too busy chasing down a dropped binky, searching for a missing green Croc, and lugging around a fussy toddler to do much thoughtful photography.  

My most sincere apologies to anyone visiting on the 4:10pm tour that day.