Day 3 - A Visit To Monticello.

Damn GPS. Mr. Hawthorne and I rely heavily on our Garmin GPS for our travels - or at least he does. I don't trust them and I always have an array of maps and insets in front of me to which I constantly refer. A GPS is good (kinda, sorta) for one thing - finding nearby restaurants and lodging when you're unfamiliar with the area and need to find food and accomodations. Such was the case Thursday night. Thursday morning, we left Front Royal and our GPS successfully directed us to Skyline Caverns, then Luray Caverns. After spelunking around, we decided to get on Skyline Drive, head south, taking in the scenery, then get on 64 E for Charlottesville and a visit to Monticello. We arrived in Charlottesville Thursday evening and I keyed into the GPS for a list of motels. We saw in the list a Comfort Inn Monticello right off 64 that I correctly assumed was near Monticello. So we hit GO and let the nice lady with the dulcet tones inside the Garmin direct us to our destination. "In point five miles bear left." "In point 2 miles turn left, then turn left," she calmly tells us. I'm watching the countdown on the Garmin screen. 400 feet turn left 300 feet turn left 200 feet turn left We're within "point one miles" of our "destination point." Mr. Hawthorne does not follow directions well. He turns left too soon and ends back up on 64. 64 West. He was supposed to take a left, cross the highway, then take another left. Instead he did a uu-ey. As he heads up the ramp for 64 W, I see the Comfort Inn mere yards from me on the right. "Recalculating," Garmin Bitch says. I've come to loathe hearing "recalculating" since it means you-know-who has screwed up yet again. Now, remember we were within "point one miles" of the Comfort Inn seconds ago. Garmin Lady comes on again with: "In 18 miles, turn right, then left." 18 miles!!! Apparently, there are no freakin' off ramps for 18 miles. Mr. Hawthorne is steaming. I tell him to relax. "Shut up!" "Don't tell me to shut up." "Then just shut up." I see sweat beads forming on his brow. He's cursing about the price of gas, wear and tear on the truck, yada, yada, yada. Me: "Well, if you'd listened to what I told you, we'd be there already." Mr. Hawthorne doesn't like it when I say stuff like this. He then remakes history and completely changes the series of events that happened resulting in our misdirections and heading 36 miles out of the way. Of course, I am at fault and he was just trying to listen to Ms. Garmin and I should just shut the hell up. Words are exchanged. About 6 miles into the 18-mile detour, I spy one of those crossover roads from the West-bound lane to the East-bound lane. I yell out. "Left turn. Take it. NOW!" With brakes screaching and gravel flying, Mr. Hawthorne slides into the crossover lane from 64 W to 64 E, encountering a sign reading: "Authorized personnel only." "Oh, crap," he says, looking at the long line of oncoming traffic, just knowing there's going to be a cop somewhere. I'm sweating a bit too here, since if there IS a cop, guess who's going down for that? He asks me, "What do you think they mean by 'authorized personnel'?" I reply, "I hereby authorize you. Proceed." Luckily, there are no cops and we return the 6 miles back to our "DESTINATION POINT," all the time I'm telling him where he went wrong and pointing out his blatant errors in trying to rewrite history. Mr. Hawthorne: "LALALALALALALALAIIIIIIIICAN'THEARRRRRYOUUUUUUUUU!" "AAAHHHHHNNNNGGGGGGGAAHHHHNNNNNGGGGGAAHHHNNNNGGGG!" We finally arrive at Comfort Inn Monticello. Just another vignette in the exciting life of the Hawthornes. Next morning, after another crappy continental breakfast, our Garmin expertly guides us to Monticello.

Monticello - home of Thomas Jefferson. Near Charlottesville, Virginia. The Monticello mountain was the center of a 5000-acre plantation that Jefferson inherited from his father in 1764. It was home not only to Jefferson and his extended family but also to as many as 150 slaves who worked the farms, helped construct the house and outbuildings, and worked in the household. In 1768, Jefferson began leveling the Monticello mountaintop for his home, thus beginning a 40-year period of design, construction, and remodeling. Jefferson designed the neo-classical house and supervised its construction and expansion, envisioning the house as part of an ornamental landscape. Despite his efforts, the plantation was not profitable, and Jefferson died in debt, forcing his family to sell the land, house, contents, and slaves.

While waiting for our 11 o'clock tour of Monticello, we took a tour of the grounds.

The gardens were beautiful. Carved out of the southeast mountainside by slave labor is a 1000 foot long 80-foot wide plateau garden where Jefferson grew over 330 varieties of more than 70 different species of vegetables. Jefferson's gardens were living laboratories for the cultivation of numerous species of trees, fruit, vegetables, and flowers.

This reminds me so much of my own garden, it's absolutely uncanny.

Beautiful views.

At the end of the garden is a vine I recognized since I've grown it before and can't find the seeds I had saved from the seed pods and can't find it in garden centers anymore. It's the hyacinth bean vine. And yes, the flowers smell like hyacinths. I stuffed my pockets with seed pods when no one was watching.

Nice asparagus bed.

Artichokes.

Orchards. Vineyards.

Beans, collards, kale, asparagus, artichoke, peppers, cabbages, rosemary, parsley, basil, thyme, oregano, feverfew, leeks, onions, chives, melons, lettuces. You name it. It was growing.

Next, a trip to the Jefferson Family Graveyard.

Thomas Jefferson's grave. "... all my wishes end, where I hope my days will end, at Monticello." Thomas Jefferson, 1787 Jefferson chose this site in 1773 and wrote the epitaph for his tombstone: "Author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Stature of Virginia for Religious Freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia."

One of the graves I noticed was dated 2006.

Crows eating walnuts near the graveyard. Mr. Hawthorne pocketed a few walnuts to bring home.

This is the view coming back up from the graveyard.

The Monticello Kitchen.

Handwritten recipe for "snow eggs."

This is the south wing where we started our tour of Monticello.

Unfortunately, photography was not allowed inside.

This little cutie was well-behaved although bored throughout Monticello.

View to the north.

Northern wing of Monticello.

Jefferson's sundial. You turn it until there's no shadow and it tells the time.

I've never seen celosia this size.

This is amaranthus (not to be confused with amaranth), also called love-lies-bleeding. I grow it in my own garden.

Rosie, in front of Monticello.

Mr. Hawthorne.

The Hawthornes share a tender moment.

Taking the shuttle bus back to the parking lot, Mr. Hawthorne and I sat in the front seat. I looked up and saw this. Thankfully, it was not used during our brief trip, but I'm still wondering what it might contain.