View from the Pier

Your assumptions are your windows on the world.
Scrub them off every once in a while,
or the light won’t come in.
- Alan Alda, 1936-

Monticello, Virginia

It can sometimes take a bucket of soapy water and some elbow grease for me to appreciate sweetness and light.

I had been a home owner for quite some time before realizing that day upon day of dust, grime and sea salt carried by the northeasterly breeze had accumulated so gradually, I didn’t notice how murky the view out my windows had become.  Even once I had, I still endured frustrating and futile hours spent sitting in a perennial twilight before being ready to relinquish my refrain of “I don’t do windows.”

Eventually, the annoyance became more monumental than my inertia and complacency. Only then was I ready to take a deep breath, turn on the tap, and start to scrub. Amazingly, the whole world seemed to go from grainy black and white to Technicolor, flooded with brilliant new clarity.

Lately my metaphysical panes have undergone some serious power-washing in an attempt to hose down the handiwork of longstanding resident evil twins. Perfectionism and people-pleasing have run amok in the dangerous neighborhood of my mind since I was a kid. Apparently, eons ago I must have resigned myself to the fact they were part of the scenery and here to stay. It didn’t occur to me I could banish this disruptive duo to the basement and enjoy anew my surroundings with a different pair of eyes.

Thomas Jefferson’s home of Monticello embodies for me the concept of seeing familiar territory in a different light. The estate is a place I have visited periodically over the years, as my mother lives in Charlottesville, where it is located. Each time I make an excursion to the plantation, I see a new facet of the property, and the man who shaped its creation and that of our country.

Last May when visiting my mother, my husband Tom and I made a spontaneous decision to peek in on Monticello again. We drove along the winding, wooded road up to the “little mountain,” as the plantation’s name is known in Italian.

In addition to being the principal author of the Declaration of Independence and our third President, Jefferson was a scientist, credited with inventing a type of plough, a coding machine, sundial, and portable copying press. A gentleman farmer, he was also an epicurean who served continental cuisine to guests, a taste he acquired while living in Paris as trade commissioner.

Although I regularly take refuge in my own garden, I had never visited Jefferson’s. Tom and I took stairs from the main grounds down to the vegetable garden, a 1,000-foot long terrace carved into the hillside and extending out and away from the house. In the golden light of a glorious late afternoon, we admired the vista above grape arbors and orchards and across the rolling hills of the Piedmont countryside. The undulating contours of the countryside made it easy to understand why one of Jefferson’s visitors remarked on the dramatic “sea view.”

We noticed with great curiosity that about midway along the garden’s perimeter, a tiny structure was perched on the crest of the hilltop, resembling a brick gazebo of sorts. Its façade was graced with massive arched windows that extended from floor to ceiling. As we approached, we saw a single wooden chair nestled in the shadows of one of its corners, the only shady spot in the sun-drenched space. I pulled the chair out into the center of the room and sat down, soaking up the sunlight and the serene atmosphere of the quirky and charming spot.

I learned the building is called the “pavilion,” and was used by Jefferson as a quiet retreat where he could read in the evening. Initially, I was incredulous at the incongruity of a past president, diplomat and architect of a 5,000-acre estate sneaking into the vegetable patch for a few moments of peace. Yet later I discovered another face of Jefferson that I felt illuminated the appeal of this humble sanctuary for him.

The distinguished statesman is said to a life-long sensitivity to criticism, something with which I can readily identify. Perhaps Jefferson and I had shared the same chair in more ways than one. If one of our founding fathers can struggle with perfectionism, then I guess can give myself a break. While not always self-evident to me, we are all indeed created equal, each of us blessed and challenged with the human condition.

For more Charlottesville area images, see Travel Photos.

For more information on Jefferson’s garden, see http://www.monticello.org/gardens/vegetable/site.html