Udvar-Hazy

In September, one of my life-long friends (somewhere there is a picture of us standing in front of a kindergarten bus together) came to visit us, and he had only two requests.  One was the USS Barry, but a recent shooting at the Navy Yard had resulted in increased security, removing that option entirely (despite a misleading website which said everything was still open.  But they had some things to deal with, so that's understandable).  The other was the Udvar-Hazy Center.

I'll admit: when he told me he wanted to go, my first response was to look it up and try to figure out what it was.  I knew that the Smithsonian had acquired a space shuttle--heck, I watched it fly over the city--but I wasn't very clear on where it went after it buzzed the Mall.

Turns out Discovery went to Udvar-Hazy.  If the Smithsonian is "America's Attic," then Udvar-Hazy is the garage where America keeps the vintage automobiles.  Aircraft from every single stage of human flight is present here, in person or in replica.  Including at least one from the future, sort of.

The studio model of the alien ship from Close Encounters of the Third Kind was built using spare parts and bits of several model kits, so if you look closely, you can see things that look like railroad signals and farm silos.

You also see things like R2-D2, airplanes, a mailbox, and a graveyard.  Model makers have a good sense of humor.

I was only disappointed because we were limited to the outsides of all the aircraft.  I realize that allowing thousands of eager museum visitors to go stomping through the space shuttle would be a terrible idea for a lot of reasons, but they managed to allow us to go through the SkyLab module at the Air and Space Museum--can't we at least get a peek inside the cockpit of an SR-71?  Pretty please?

I sometimes felt like I do at the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame Museum; that in order to really get a lot out of the experience, you have to be fanatically into the subject before you step through the door.  That's a letdown, because I remember going to museums as a kid and they would get me excited about the exhibits and make me want to learn more about aviation, or science, or natural history.  Then there are museums that are aimed at people who already know everything about the subject, and are only there to revel in the presence of these artifacts.  I feel like there's a lost opportunity there.

On the other hand, it was still interesting to see so much of aviation's history under one roof, to marvel at the things we have accomplished as a species, and to goggle in bewilderment at some of the ridiculous ideas we've had.  My friend and I specifically sought out the Manta Pterodactyl Fledgling, solely because of the fantastic name, to find out what that aircraft was (a record-setting ultralight).  And the thing about him is that he remembers everything, and reads everything, so it was sort of like taking a tour of the museum with an aviation authority.  And it's good just to see him having fun.

Enola Gay

Cribs, with Tommy J

Yes, I know, I missed a couple weeks, but things got very busy here, and when they settled down enough for me to write, I was already dedicated to working on Plan B for  few days.  I'm very excited about Plan B.  If anything ever comes of it, I'll let you know.

When The Girl came to pick me up at the end of my tour of the Shenandoah, the first thing she did was to buy me a burrito.  Perhaps without coincidence, visions of burrito had been dancing in my head the entire previous (27-mile) day.  The second thing she did was to unequivocally state that she was not going to drive six hours round-trip just to buy me a burrito, so we went to Monticello.

Thomas Jefferson's home had two big selling points that morning.  First, it was very close to the end of my hike.  Second, it's not run by the federal government, so it was not affected by the Shutdown.

Some of Tom's grapevines.

I will say this: if you go to Monticello (and if you like history or gardening, you should), go early in the day.  There are several little tours in addition to the main house, and they each offer unique perspectives on the grounds.  Most of them are included in the price of your admission, and a couple are self-guided, but others require better timing.  We only made it through the main house, and a self-guided tour of the grounds and cellar.

Our house tour was scheduled for an hour after our arrival, so we started by wandering around the grounds and gardens.  Jefferson had his own vineyard, and the gardens were expansive.  In Jeffferson's time, there were actually several different gardens, for different purposes.  One was the cook's garden, supplying food to the table each night (or to be stored for later), other gardens produced goods for sale, and slaves had their own gardens to supplement their diet, though they could only work on those after their actual slaving was done (see more cynicism, below).

This enormous creepy alien squash was at least three feet long.  The shadow of my camera is provided for scale.

Photography was not allowed in the house (though it's fine everywhere else), and it's too bad, because there's some pretty cool stuff in there.  One of the first Jeffersonian relics you see is a compass rose on the ceiling of the open front porch; it's connected to a weathervane on the roof, so you can see which way the wind blows without going outside.  Jefferson recorded the weather conditions twice daily whenever he was at Monticello, so he got good use of that gadget.

Good news: the bee is no longer in my bonnet.

Immediately through the porch door is a wide parlor where Jefferson would greet his less-distinguished guests (when you're a big deal like Thomas Jefferson, you get trick-or-treaters year-round, hoping for a handshake and a moment of basking in your glory).  It's decorated with portraits, artifacts from the Lewis and Clark expedition, and a seven-day clock T.J. designed himself.  As the counterweight which powers it sinks, its position on the wall shows you the day of the week.  The only design flaw is in the height of the ceiling: the marker for Saturday is in the basement, past a hole in the floor.

These days, the gardens are rotated seasonally.  The plants displayed are all from Jefferson's days, including hybrids he developed, but are chosen to depict what would flourish in the current season, whatever that season is.  Volunteers and staff members are present everywhere, tending plants, walls, and a small archaeological dig.  They are all eager to tell you that Jefferson wasn't crazy about being a statesman.  He considered it an important duty, but it wasn't what he loved.  In his heart, he was a scientist first.  He observed weather patterns, dabbled in architecture, and spent a lot of time with botany, cultivating and hybridizing various plant species.  While I freely admit that the man was a genius, and certainly a great scientific mind, I feel like they are a little too eager to gloss over the fact that he was only the brains of the operation, and that very little of what he accomplished would have been possible without his vast holding of slaves.  I was a little upset to read a sign that described how the greenhouse, where Jefferson kept his citrus trees and other delicate plants, was protected from cold weather by the slave quarters--meaning that their living space might have been freezing, but at least his oranges and hibiscus were safe.  It reminded me a lot of my visit to Mt. Vernon.

Jefferson wasn't the only architect to call Monticello home.