Let us now praise the serviceberry

I don't remember coming across serviceberry trees or shrubs when I was growing up in northeastern Ohio. But I have come to love them more and more each year--the trees and their fruit--since moving to Iowa where I discovered them. 

We have three serviceberry trees on our property: 

• one about 20 feet tall alongside the alley--it was there when we moved in
• one about 10 feet tall in the front that the landscaper put in about 3 years ago
• a small one, about 6 feet tall behind the garden--it was a leftover from one of the many post-derecho free tree giveaways. I figured I could easily work another serviceberry tree in!

Normally understory and edge trees/shrubs, they have a beautiful open and airy growth pattern when pruned into trees. Here's our biggest one, along the west side of the house. 

You might be able to see the wren house hanging in the tree!

Here are some of the reasons I love serviceberry trees:

They are a native plant. Around here, we grow Amelanchier Arborea, the Downy Serviceberry, which is native to this area. In the wild, it forms a tall, multi-stemmed shrub, but it can be pruned into a one-stem tree. Various other species of serviceberries grow wild across the US, mostly in the north. They grow at the edges of woods, or as an understory tree/shrub. They don't need rich soil, and they do fine in sun or part shade. I like how they are not fussy. 

They bloom early. Small, white blossoms appear on the serviceberry tree really early. The flowers don't last long, and they're not particularly showy, but there are always a lot of them! 

When the petals fall off, they look like confetti

The berries attract lots of birds. Because they bloom early, they also fruit early, forming beautiful clusters on the trees that attract many birds at a time of year when there isn't much else in the way of fruit available to eat.

Almost all the berries are gone from our tree, but our neighbor's tree still has plenty!

Here's a list of the birds I've seen eating the fruits:

• Robins
• Catbirds
• Starlings
• House sparrows
• House finches
• Cedar Waxwings

I saw the Cedar Waxwings doing their courtship dance with the serviceberries this spring. This is how the dance went: they were sitting side by side on a branch, and one would pass the berry to the other. That bird would hop away on the branch, then hop back and pass the berry back. Then the first bird would hop away, hop back and pass the berry. This went on for several turns, just like in this video!

Although their house is in our serviceberry tree, wrens don't eat serviceberries; wrens are insect-eaters. Avian visitors to the tree don't bother the wrens too much, but when squirrels climb the trees to get berries (squirrels love them too!), the wrens scold and dive-bomb: "Stay away from our nest!"

The fruits are delicious. People can eat serviceberries, too! They are one of the first fruits that can be foraged in the spring. Lucky me, I can forage them in our yard! They can be picked as soon as they start to turn reddish-purple, but if you wait until they're deep blueish purple, they're super sweet. But if you wait too long, the birds will get them all!  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I usually make serviceberry muffins from them every year. (It's a blueberry muffin recipe; I swap in serviceberries.) And they are amazing on yogurt. 

Serviceberries and local strawberries on my yogurt

The berries have a few tiny seeds in them that give them a delicious texture. Chew those seeds well; they give the berries a slight almond flavor. 

Beautiful color in the fall. The serviceberry's elegant oval leaves turn bright orange in the fall, adding a pop of color to our yard--and anywhere they grow. Even when the leaves fall, the trees have handsome gray bark to add a bit of texture and color to the winter landscape.

They are tough trees. I found out the hard way that deer will eat serviceberry bark in winter: they peeled a long strip of bark off the front yard tree last winter before I got it protected with a fence. The alley tree has a bark injury, too: we think the paper delivery person ran into it with their car! 

But both trees are still doing fine. They seem to have created scar tissue over the injuries, and they carry on. You have to love that in a tree.

I hear that Robin Wall Kimmerer has a book coming out in November called The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World. I look forward to reading it and finding out why she loves them!

The books and birds of 2023

 

I don't usually do end-of the-year retrospectives, but I decided to do a couple this year!

10 Books I loved in 2023

I read a lot: in 2023 I read 46 books, almost all signed out from the public library. I write down titles, authors in my reading journal, and I always include 1-2 sentences about them to jog my memory if I go back to look at the list. 

My mom's reading journal, on the far left, inspired me to start keeping one in 2003. I have filled 2 blank books and started on the third last year.

Here are the top 10 books I read and loved this year with my short descriptions. They’re not in any particular order.

1. Doomsday Book, Connie Willis (1992): a time-traveling Oxford history student mistakenly ends up visiting England during the Plague while her colleagues live through a pandemic in 2054. Gift from Lisa!

2. The Windfall Diksha Baku (2017): Indian couple moves from a crowded apartment building where they’ve lived for years to the posh side of town. Delightful comedy of manners.

3. Matrix, Lauren Groff (2021): a fictionalized account of 12th c. Matrix (abbess) Marie de France, her visions and her building of a famous abbey in England.

4. Nothing to see Here, Kevin Wilson (2019): Disillusioned young woman is asked to care for two children who burst into flames when agitated. Funny, and also about the power of parenting and love.

5. Lost Journals of Sacajawea, Debra Magpie Earling (2023): Sacajawea tells her own story in lyrical language. Wonder, community, nature, loss and resilience. 

6. The Librarianist, Patrick DeWitt (2023): A kind, retired introvert encounters a woman with dementia and begins volunteering at the retirement home where she lives. Later, he is surprised to find out who she is.

Nonfiction

7. Fatherland, Burkhart Bilger (2023): A journalist researches what his grandfather did as a Nazi school teacher during the war, and reflects on how it affected his family.

8. Butts: a Backstory, Heather Radtke (2022): intelligent and witty critique of how our culture has viewed women’s backsides over the centuries. 

9. A Line in the World, Dorothe Nors (2022): Danish woman explores the wild western coast of Denmark, reflecting on personal and national history. Gift from Bruce!

10. The Wager, David Grann (2023): Shipwreck after a harrowing voyage leads to castaways trying to survive on an island. They eventually travel in 2 separate groups to where they are rescued, but whose version of the story is true?

Top 5 bird sightings

I also like to walk around and look at birds–and I’ve recently been reporting what I see using the ebird app–I’m doing citizen science! Ebird says I saw 129 species this year.

Top 100 birders in Linn County: I have birded with most of the 10 ahead of me!

Here are my top 5 sightings:

1. Magnolia Warbler: in bushes along the Sac and Fox trail during spring migration

2. Peregrine pair at Cedar Lake: scaring the pigeons, then bathing.

3. Canada Warbler: at Wanatee Park, hanging out with chickadees during fall migration.

4. A common loon at Palo Lake (Pleasant Creek SRA). A loon in Linn County, Iowa!

5. The kingfisher pair that I almost always see along the Sac and Fox trail.

Photos swiped from ebird.org.

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2.	5.
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Greige

 "No one recognizes me now that I've let my hair go gray," said my friend Tricia when we were chatting at a gathering last week. 

Tricia's hair is beautiful: almost completely white, and cut in a short style that compliments its waves. It had been a rich dark brown before the pandemic--and Tricia kept it that way with frequent visits to the salon, she told me. But when the pandemic closed down salons and made her want to practice social distancing, she stopped having it colored. Now she has a whole new look, and it's great. 

Tricia isn't the only woman who went gray during the pandemic. Google "women going gray after the pandemic," and you'll find plenty of essays and articles.

Even before the pandemic, there seemed to be a movement among women "of a certain age" to stop coloring their hair. Lots of articles in magazines gave advice, or describe going gray as "life-changing." In her essay, Susan Choi suddenly came to see dying hair as "a cultural sickness...akin to wearing corsets." 

As a feminist, I resonate with that thought. Why should women have to color their hair anyway? Blond hair naturally darkens, mature hair naturally turns gray. Women should not feel like they have to put chemicals on their hair to make them look younger than they are. 

I'd like to say that I am the kind of person who is beyond that kind of vanity. But I must admit that I am not quite beyond that kind of vanity. 

I've highlighted my hair since my early thirties when its original blonde color started to fade. I didn't like the way my hair looked as the blond faded. Sadly, it did not not turn a rich brunette color, but instead became dull and dark. I didn't want to look dull and dark, or like I'd "let myself go" after my boys were born, even though my hair was just being its natural self.

So, I dutifully visited the salon to brighten up my hair on a regular basis. I found a stylist that made my hair look young and shiny and bright, adding highlights, and later, lowlights. 

Because I opted for highlights and lowlights, the hair-coloring appointments were serious: it took about 2+ hours for my talented stylist, Robin, to mix up the strong-smelling dyes, paint them on sections of my hair, wrap each section carefully in foil, and then wash out the dyes after they'd soaked in long enough. 

Thanks, Wikihow for the photo of highlight foils!

Other than the strong-smelling dyes, I have to admit that I actually kind of enjoyed the process: just sitting in a chair for a couple of hours, letting someone fiddle with my hair turns out to be fairly relaxing. 

Still, as I got older, I began to wonder how much longer I should color my hair. 

On the one hand, there's this (apocryphal?) story of my grandmother, who went gray early (maybe in her 30s?) in the days before respectable women dyed their hair. Supposedly, she said "don't go gray until you feel gray." I certainly haven't felt "gray," if by "gray," you mean "old." I still feel vaguely middle-aged. Maybe 41. (I am 59.)

Besides, I wasn't sure my gray hair color would be very flattering. Ex-blonde hair is drab, and I wasn't sure if I was gray enough. It turns out that gray hair is gray because it contains white hairs--those that have lost their pigment because of (usually) age--mixed with your former color. 

This probably isn't much of an issue for those of you with dark hair. In fact, I always looked with envy at the streaks of sparkle in the hair of my dark-haired friends and dark-haired magazine models who embraced their gray as it came in. 

Dark-haired Pinterest lady with sparkling gray streak in her hair. 

That contrast is always so amazing. But I feared my graying strands in my ex-blonde hair would just be drab on drab. I'd gone without highlights for 4 months when we lived in DC in spring 2018, and the result was not striking. My hair just looked slightly dusty.

On the other hand, the pandemic.

In the end, the pandemic made the decision for me. Although Iowa hair salons opened back up in late spring of 2020 after only being closed for a couple of months, I didn't feel comfortable going in to sit there for 2+ hours to get my hair colored. 

I guess I was a little bit curious, too. I decided to see what happened if I didn't color it. Maybe I would be gray enough this time. Maybe it would be life-changing.

It turned out that my hair doesn't really look that much different now from when I used to highlight it There is finally enough gray (i.e. white strands) among the drab ex-blonde strands that overall, my hair still looks light-colored. It almost looks highlighted as a few little ribbons of white streak through the rest of the beige-blond.

Gray or blond? It's greige.

I call the color "greige," a combination of gray and beige. 

No one has seemed confused about who I am since I stopped coloring my hair. No one has even commented on my freedom-embracing gray. 

Is it "life-changing"? Not sure, but perhaps in the last year or so, I've felt more comfortable with the fact that I am no longer young, maybe not even really middle-aged. I've started to think about some of the advantages to being older: so much experience to draw on, patience with the ups and downs of life,  layers of knowledge I've built--and, ok, sometimes can't always seem to access. 

Other advantages: No mortgage. Adult children.

Those white hairs remind me of who I am, what I've been through, where I'm going. So yes, Grandma, I do "feel gray." But that's not bad, really. It's time to embrace it.

Make Do and Mend

I've been stepping up my mending game recently. 

The linings for my beloved summer purse tore, so I replaced them--with bright blue oxford cloth!

How did I do it? I turned the purse inside out, cut away the old linings, and stitched in the new ones. They are sturdier and more cheerful than the old black linings. 

That's not all I mended. My parents went to Japan in 1970 and brought back beautiful cotton kimonos for my sister and me. Mom had to hem up our kimonos about 5 inches for it to fit us (ages 7 and 8 at the time) and they still reached the ground. When I was in college, I rediscovered my old kimono, took out the hem and started using it as a calf-length dressing gown. I've used it ever since! 

When it started to wear out across the shoulders, I took it apart and discovered a bit of extra fabric folded up into the facings. So I used that bit of fabric to patch a couple holes in the shoulders (using my sewing machine's "mending" stitches). I also used a blanket stitch to reinforce the worn front facings.

Kimono on bed with applique quilt made by my grandmother.

When I was a girl, my mom occasionally darned socks. I think she must have shown me how? But I hadn't done it in years: no one does that anymore! But I had a beautiful pair of socks with hummingbirds on them--and a hole in the sole. So I brushed up on my sock-darning skills (thank you, YouTube), and now I can keep wearing them.

I used gray darning cotton, but that's OK--no one will see it!

There's something about mending items I love that makes me feel happy. Part of it is my thrifty, "I-hate-shopping" mentality. Part of it is that flow state that I enter when I work on a sewing project. Part of it is the sense of pride and satisfaction I have when I've fixed something. I'm a mend-and-make-do person.

Make Do and Mend, the title of this post, is a reference to a campaign in WW2-era Britain. The war effort meant supplies, shipping space, and labor for clothing were tight. In June 1941, clothing rationing began--it continued through 1949! Now I understand all the mending, knitting, and "making do" that happens in early Barbara Pym novels! 

I recently found the British government's Make Do and Mend pamphlet online. It was published in 1943, with instructions and encouragement for people who now needed to "get the last possible ounce of wear" out of their clothes. Want to know how to take care of Macintoshes? Keep moths out of your clothes? Mend your corset (just like Harriet Bede in Pym's Some Tame Gazelle!)? check it out.

The more I hear about fast fashion, the more I indulge my urge to mend and make do! I want to resist buying something new when I can just repair the old. 

It seems that Mending and Making Do has enjoyed a bit of a renaissance, as more people have learned about the way fast fashion harms people and the earth. I've seen some really cool new books about mending--my favorite is this one: isn't the title great?

Although I'm kind of old-school with mending--I usually don't want the mended spot to stand out--I used the author's approach to make mending decorative when I embroidered a little tone-on-tone white lazy daisy flower over a stain on this white sweater. 

At a recent clothing swap event in town--where I heard my former student Emily Stochl give an inspiring talk about resisting fast fashion--I met an event organizer who is hoping to put on a mending workshop. "I would like to lead something like that," I said, and gave her my contact info. 

I hope she contacts me to lead a workshop because I am looking forward to sharing the joys of making do and mending the "imperfect things we love."

Known and Unknown: a sojourner finds community in DC

I'm at the barre in The Washington Ballet School's bright, spacious studio, taking class along with a scattering of other middle-aged students. Caught up in the moment of doing ronds de jambes, I almost don't notice the teacher walking along the students offering corrections.

As he comes to me, he slightly adjusts my arm.

"I like your practice," he says. "I've told you that before."

I don't take ballet looking for praise: I take it because I love it. Which is good, because I'm not really that good!

But to be recognized--and remembered--now that means a lot to me.

***

One of the disorienting things about temporarily living here in DC has been anonymity. When you move to a new place, nobody knows who you are. Instead of being a college professor and writer, a Sunday School teacher and "good listener," a dancer and friend and alto and cat lover, in DC I became, well, Nobody.

And that can be a bit disconcerting.

During my first few weeks--or maybe couple of months--in DC, these lines from an Emily Dickinson poem kept repeating themselves in my mind:

I’m Nobody! Who are you? 

Are you – Nobody – too? 

Without a job and without people who knew me, I was "Nobody" here, with no responsibility to anyone, no attachments, no schedule. 

OK, that can be a very good situation in some ways.  Friends at home would tell me how much they envied my unemployed, uprooted state--especially here in beautiful Washington DC. I could run around and visit museums all day (a very anonymous activity!) without having to worry about work or responsibilities.

Being Nobody, I could fly under the radar. And in those ways, I did love the freedom of being Nobody. 

But at the same time, I also felt unattached, a bit unmoored. It didn't seem to matter what I did here--which can be an odd feeling. I realized that I wanted to do things that DID matter.

It was the experience of being Nobody in DC that made me realize how much community means to me.

***

It's one of the bonding experiences of exercising in public: using locker rooms with other women and engaging in conversations while showering. Reminds me of college.

On this particular day, it's a conversation about the women who are training for a Senior Swim Meet. I see them timing themselves and following workout plans in the lap lanes. I've just mentioned that I'm impressed by their diligence.

"But you swim laps, too, don't you? I see you here a lot," says one of the women to me.

I point out that I do swim laps, but I'm not training for a race. "Too slow!" I laugh.

But inside, I'm pleased that someone has noticed and remembered me. I thought I was anonymous--Nobody--at the pool. But how could I think that? Pauline, who checks people in at the entrance, now waves me through without even looking at my I.D. I'm a regular.

***

In the rest of her poem, Emily Dickinson has some scathing words for people who think they're Somebody.

How dreary – to be – Somebody! 

How public – like a Frog – 

To tell one’s name – the livelong June – 

To an admiring Bog!

I'm not enough of an Emily Dickinson scholar to know if her poem means that she likes being Nobody. She did live a reclusive lifestyle . . . on the other hand, she carefully preserved her poems and shared them with people whose opinions mattered to her. She wanted to be Somebody to them.

How much better to be Somebody by having people remember your name without having to tell it "the livelong June."

***

"Andy's here today again," says Margot as I walk into the Capitol Hill United Methodist Church  kitchen one Tuesday morning, grabbing my dishwashing gloves and pulling an apron off the hook. It's time for community breakfast, and I'm ready to work.

"Hi Jane," calls Andy, who's already busy spraying off cutting boards and stacking them into a rack for the dishwasher.

"Hey Andy. You're already busy!" I say, putting on the apron and pulling on the gloves.

"Yeah, might as well get started. Hey, my wife, Amy, said she met you at the Zambia fundraiser."

"Yes, we were there! We sat by Amy!" I plunge a few pans into the big tub of sudsy water, scrub and then stack them on another rack. Andy and I move comfortably around each other in the dishwashing area. I have a routine; he does, too.

Later, after we've helped serve breakfast to about 40 of our "housed and unhoused neighbors," we head back into the kitchen to start washing up the plates, cups, silverware. One of the men who's often at breakfast, Nathaniel, comes by to drop off his dishes.

"Thanks Nathaniel," I say. "Did you enjoy breakfast?"

He says something, but I can never understand him. I gather he struggles with mental illness. I just listen and smile at him. Eventually, he stops talking and just stands quietly, watching me wash dishes.

Rob comes up with a big pile of plates and cups. "Hey Nathan, are you bothering Jane?"

"No, he's fine," I say, stacking more cups into a tray. "He's just keeping me company." Nathaniel stays while I continue to wash dishes.

***

Are these my communities in DC? A group of church volunteers working in a kitchen and an assortment of homeless people who struggle with mental illness? A class of middle-aged and older women, clumsily trying to become better at ballet? A racially diverse assortment of women of all shapes and sizes who exercise, encourage one another, and chat together at a public pool?

Maybe they are.

***

I'm back at church in the evening. At a gathering of the Tuesday Theology group, the five of us--Kari, Margot, Rob, James, and Dallas--have been discussing the Catholic theologian and humanitarian Jean Varnier. I've never heard of him before this evening. His theology emphasizes the importance of humility, openness, and vulnerability in community. We've been posing difficult questions and working through them together--many of the questions tie to our work at the community breakfast.

What do we do when someone in a community doesn't want to be part of the community, James wonders. We all know who he's talking about: a particular person who comes to the community breakfast who's difficult to get along with. We think aloud, ponder, ask more questions, circle back to humility, openness, vulnerability. Finally, we finish with prayer and reluctantly move toward the front door of the building: it's time to go.

"Keep an eye on your walls," says Dallas.

Before our meeting started, we'd been discussing the flooding that my husband and I had in our lower-level apartment just before the evening meeting.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"The ground is saturated. If it rains again, those walls will bulge. That's what happened back in the Rapid City flood: the concrete blocks got pushed in and the walls collapsed."

"Oh no!" I exclaim. "Don't tell me that, Dallas! I won't be able to sleep!"

Everyone laughs together, including Dallas, as we head out into the quiet night, filled with theology, laughter, and community.

***

Keeping Jean Varnier's challenges to humility in mind I decide that maybe I am just Nobody. Which can be good, right? I'm not a dreary Somebody, "public--like a Frog. " I'm an Emily Dickinson-like Nobody, known to some other Nobodies: "Are you--Nobody--too?"

We're a community of Nobodies, because we are Somebody to one another. I like the idea.

As Dickinson says, "Don't tell! they'd advertise--you know."

Five great spots to bird in DC

DC Audubon Society logo--the Wood Thrush is the official bird of DC

A densely-populated city like Washington might not seem like a good place for birding. But it's surprising how many lovely places there are to see birds.

And you don't have to go alone. Early in my temporary residence in DC I discovered the DC Audubon Society. The group leads free bird walks each month, all in the District, and promoted on the group's Facebook page. The leadership is all young, energetic, and welcoming. They're even in the news: the group's president Zach Slevin was on the Kojo Naamdi Show recently, talking about birding in DC.

For a casual birder like me, the company of the DC Audubon Society members was delightful. Whenever I go birding with experts like them, I learn so much and see more than I would if I were alone.

But if you're ready to go on your own, here's a list of places to see birds in DC. I've even listed what I saw on particular dates--you can check ebird to see what more experienced birders are seeing in these locations, too!

The first three locations are easily accessible by transit, and the remaining two are a quick Uber or Lyft ride away from residential areas. Grab your binoculars and fire up your favorite birding app and head out to . . .

1.  U.S. Botanic Garden National Garden--just to the west of the conservatory between the Capitol and the National Mall.

Didn't see "interesting" birds when I visited the USBGNG, but sparrows and Cedar Waxwings were bathing in this water feature.

Getting there: We live in Capitol Hill, so a .9 mile walk for us. It's just a short .5 mile walk from the Capitol South Metro station (Red line).
Advantages: easy to walk to from our house, water features.
Disadvantages: small, crowds can frighten away birds
Visit: Saturday morning, April 28
Birds I saw: Cedar Waxwings, sparrows, robins, northern mockingbird, goldfinches.

2. Theodore Roosevelt Island

Theodore Roosevelt Island used to be an estate of some sort. Now it's recovering wild land.

Getting there: It's a .6 mile walk from the Rosslyn Metro station (Orange, Silver, and Blue lines).
Advantages: you can take the Metro almost all the way there, which is what I did; it has water + trees
Disadvantages: noisy--airplanes, highways; rather scraggly forest.
Visit: Thursday, April 26 in the afternoon.
Birds I saw: eastern kingbird, blue-gray gnatcatcher, pair of white-throated sparrows, goldfinch, yellow-rumped warbler (a.k.a. the butter-butt).

Someone got a photo of a yellow-rumped warbler. See why it's called the butter-butt?

Also at TR Park: stripey lizard of some sort and deer. And two pairs of retired birders.

3. National Arboretum

With the DC Audubon Society, February 17, at the National Arboretum

Getting here: No nearby Metro stations. The B2 bus goes up Bladensburg, within a couple blocks of the arboretum.
Advantages: easy to get to, quiet, huge, lots of different terrain and vegetation, beautiful.
Disadvantages: Closes at 5 pm.
Visits: Saturday February 17 (with the DC Audubon group!), 10-12 noon and Wednesday, April 18 (afternoon)

Fiddlehead in the Fern Valley section of the Arboretum

Birds I saw: bluebirds, Merlin, black vultures, pine warblers, wood thrush, blue-gray gnatcatcher, Carolina wrens

These guys are all over. Amusing, kind of hyperactive.

4. Kenilworth Park and Aquatic Gardens--large National Park in Anacostia. Has open playing fields, scrub forest, and ponds with waterlilies.

On my first visit here, we heard but did not see a woodcock. Too bad: they are so comical looking! Photo borrowed from the Internet.

Flags and lily pads at Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens.

Getting here:  Not easy via transit. The U7 bus goes up 295, which is close to the park, but crossing route 295 and walking to the park from there does not look easy. Driving or Uber might be best. 
Advantages: has woodcocks, which do a courtship display in March; beautiful ponds with water creatures
Disadvantages: noisy! helicopters, large tractor doing laps around one of the ponds
Visit: Sunday, March 18 around sundown for woodcock walk, Wednesday, May 9 at the ponds.
Birds I saw: Red-winged blackbirds, Merlin, osprey with a fish. blue-gray gnatcatcher, grackles, Canada geese, robin, cardinal, blue heron, some kind of warbler, heard an oriole. Saw some reptiles including turtles, large and small, and a black snake. Heard frogs, and saw them as they plopped into ponds.

This turtle was about 1 foot long! His tiny friend jumped off the stone, but he stayed.

5. Rock Creek Park-large urban park, run by the National Parks, in NW DC.

Rock Creek

Getting there: The S4 bus goes only within about .6 miles . . . still a bit of a walk to get into the park. Best to Uber or drive. I started at the Nature Center, a good location for your Uber to drop you off.
Advantages: large, lots of different places to hike and look for birds; creek going through the park adds different habitat, beautiful old forest.
Disadvantages: there was a traffic jam the day I drove there--there's some construction on Beach Road which causes delays.
Visit: Wednesday morning, May 2 right before noon. Very hot that day.
Birds I saw: Cardinals, blue jays, mockingbirds, Carolina wren, black-and-white warbler, wood thrush

* Bonus location: Our front "yard."

The tiny front yard of our Capitol Hill apartment. 

Advantages: close by, adorable Capitol birdhouse (birthday gift from our son Robbie; the landlords were thrilled to put it up here.)
Disadvantages: small, close to foot traffic
Birds seen: goldfinch, Carolina wren, house sparrows, pair of mourning doves, robin. Great place to watch bird behavior by a feeder.

The shadow over Mount Vernon

Sunny skies, a light breeze, temperatures rising into the low 80's: it was a beautiful day for a drive out of DC and down along the Potomac to Mt. Vernon--or "George Washington's Mt. Vernon," as the home of the first president is called on its website.

We got there just after noon--just as a bunch of school groups were leaving, and we didn't have many crowds to contend with on the spacious, 500-acre estate. So in we walked and soon came to this stunning vista of the mansion.

The home is original, and many of the outbuildings are, too. And the landscaping around the mansion is similar to what it would have been then. How did the Father of Our Country keep his lawn looking so beautiful in the pre-riding-mower days? I wondered aloud to Bruce. And then I saw the sign.

I wish I'd taken a photo of the sign near the vista of the mansion. It pointed out that the lawn was cared for by enslaved workers who scythed the grass and rolled it with a heavy stone roller. They were not paid and they were not free to leave the estate.

The Father of Our Country, George Washington, was a slaveowner.

Although his estate is beautiful--well worth the 30-minute trip from DC (and the $18 tickets)--the shadow of slavery hovered over the entire day from the moment I saw that sign.

When we turned from that labor-intensive front lawn, we saw a vegetable garden.

The early plantings were in: cabbage, potatoes, and peas were already up. The large gardens were also surrounded by fruit and nut trees, and bramble (raspberries?), tied up high to posts--a good idea to keep the ants off.

But what was that brick building in the background, we wondered. According to my map, it was the "Greenhouse Slave Quarters."

Only some of the enslaved people lived here in this brick building at the center of the estate: the ones who worked in the mansion or on the grounds of the estate. The others lived in crude log buildings nearer the fields.

This is the women's bunkroom in the Greenhouse Slave Quarters building.

The men's quarters were similar. Husbands and wives were separated.

The greenhouse itself was cleverly designed, the signs pointed out: heat from a wood fire was sent underneath the greenhouse to keep it warm during winter: George Washington could have lemons any time--a luxury in those times!

But who kept that fire going, chopping wood, stoking the fire, cleaning the ashes? Yes, you guessed it: enslaved people.  It was hard to escape that shadow at Mt. Vernon.

At 1:30, we got our mansion tour. Tour guides were stationed in different parts of the large home, explaining how each room was used, how much it cost to decorate, and what the Washingtons did there.

This beautiful room could be used as a dining room or, with tables moved away, a ballroom.

They entertained hundreds of guests each year. That's what you do when you're wealthy and a politician. So there were several beautiful guest bedrooms.

People came and stayed for a couple days, a couple weeks, a couple months . . . 

In an aside, the upstairs room guide told us who readied the rooms for the guests: Enslaved women.

George Washington was a wealthy man. By some accounts, and adjusting for inflation, he was the wealthiest president we've had (not including the current one, whose wealth is unclear--we haven't seen his tax forms). The guides reiterated that he was a self-made man--George Washington didn't inherit his wealth.

Except for 10 enslaved persons, whom he inherited when he was 11.

"George Washington's Mount Vernon" is very proud of the Father of our Country. And he was a remarkable person: with little formal education, he learned surveying, served in the military and rose to the highest rank of General, leading the Revolutionary forces in a prolonged war; he oversaw the work of several farms, and came up with new technologies, like the heated greenhouse, to make them move profitable; he stepped up to serve our country as president, and then--remarkably!--stepped DOWN after his second term, allowing for a peaceful transition of power.

But the shadow of slavery hangs over Mount Vernon, and over George Washington, too. Curation at the site emphasized that he disliked the "peculiar institution." But he also never made a public statement against it.

More than 300 enslaved people worked on the estate or on Washington's other properties nearby.

They worked on the farms, they kept the greenhouse warm, they chopped wood, they worked in the kitchens, they smoked the meat, shod the horses, did the laundry, spun flax and hemp and wool. . .

In the museum at Mount Vernon, there's a special exhibit exploring the lives of the enslaved people who lived at the estate. It was pretty empty of tourists compared with the other exhibits.

The exhibit shared information about some particular slaves, whose names we know from the property registers, including names of people in their families and what their work was like. Here's some information about a few people.

• Billy Lee--George Washington's personal valet, the only slave he freed upon his own death. Lee stood behind Washington at the Second Continental Congress. We found out at the museum that Lee had two bad knees: imagine him standing for hours while Washington sat listening to debates
• Nancy Quander--a spinner and farm hand  who was a member of one of the oldest African families in North America.
• Oney Judge--(pictured in the silhouette above) escaped slavery at Mount Vernon when in Philadelphia with Martha Washington--but she had to leave family behind to become free herself.

I was so glad to see this exhibit that brought to light the lives of people like Lee, Quander, and Judge.

It's one thing to hear that our country was built on the backs of enslaved people. It's another thing to see the evidence in the landscape and ledgers. That evidence is scant in Iowa, a Northern state where slavery wasn't our "peculiar institution."

But here in DC--or in the Virginian estate of our First President, that shadow is long and dark, and falls across the beautiful grounds of Mount Vernon. It is good to be reminded of that shadow, and to consider what it means for our lives--and the future of our country--today.

View of the Potomac from the Washingtons' porch.