95: ALL’S WELL AT SHADWELL; EVEN IN THE DRIZZLE

At 2:30pm on Saturday May 11, 2019, we arrived at the birthplace of 12th President Zachary Taylor, a private residence that was located halfway between Barboursville and Gordonsville, Virginia. My photographer parked the Acadia on the side of the road, near the historical marker that told the story of Taylor’s birth at Montebello. The Taylor’s originally lived at Hare Forest Plantation that was located about six miles northeast of James Madison’s home, Montpelier. Zachary’s father, Richard, sold the plantation and began their journey westward towards the frontier of Kentucky; near what is now Louisville. Just after their westward trip began, some family members became ill with measles – forcing the Taylor’s to stop at Montebello and bed-down in a log guest house near the main dwelling. On November 24, 1784, future President Zachary Taylor was born in that cabin. Unfortunately for us, that cabin no longer exists today.

Although Montebello was privately owned, we got lucky; the main gate at the driveway entrance was open. Since Tom and Bob didn’t want to settle for photographs of the historical marker, they decided to take me up the long driveway and into the yard near the front of the house. In their minds, when a gate is open and there aren’t any ‘Keep Out’ or ‘No Trespassing’ signs, they have an open invitation to visit the historical site. When we arrived at the open gate, my photographer saw a sensor near the bottom of the black iron barrier and he suggested they walk around it as there was no need to unnecessarily set off an alarm. As we continued our hike towards the house, which we could see through some trees in front of us, I kept my resin ears tuned-in for sirens; I figured that we would get busted for trespassing. And sure enough, when we reached the ‘point-of-no-return’, we heard sirens off in the distance. “I can’t tell if those sirens are getting closer, but let’s get our pictures before the cops get here. There’s no turning back now”, Tom said out loud. We made it; we had finally arrived in front of the house where Tom and Bob positioned themselves so they had a fairly unobstructed view of Montebello. I was finally able to relax as I posed for the photos with the historic plantation house in the background. In my mind, I was thankful that my companions didn’t attempt to walk up onto the porch; which I didn’t think they would do anyway out of respect for the owners. As my comfort level grew once our initial images had been captured, and after the police sirens went quiet, I had hoped that my photographer would try to find the site where the birth cabin once stood. But when the sprinkles of rain began to fall, Tom and Bob made their way back to our vehicle before we got drenched. The rain held off long enough for me to pose with Montebello – what more could a bobble head ask for?

The three of us were thankful for our opportunity to photograph Montebello without incident, although my photographer did second-guess the decision to not walk up closer to the house. I was okay with the decision as I didn’t want to pose for photos inside an Orange County jail cell. As the rain drops intensified, we began our 22-mile drive towards a Charlottesville Presidential home. No, not Monticello – we had reservations to visit Jefferson’s home in the morning. We were headed for James Monroe’s home that he called ‘Highland’, which was located down the street from Monticello.

By the time Tom had parked the Acadia, the rain had stopped. The overcast sky looked as though it would open up and drench us at any time, but we got lucky and we never saw a drop during our entire tour of Monroe’s Highland. After a brief visit at the Attilio Piccirilli statue of our fifth President, we were led to an area in front of the large 1870 yellow home known as the Massey House, which was also about the time when the property was called Ash Lawn – Highland. However, that yellow house was built over four decades after Monroe had left the area and it was not part of his original Highland. In the shadow of a 300-year old white oak tree, which was at least 100 years old when Monroe owned the property, we saw the outline of Highland’s foundation. During archaeological excavations in the past four years, the paleontologists found Highland’s foundation, fire place hearths, and nails that had been purchased by Monroe from his friend and neighbor Thomas Jefferson.

Once my photographer placed me onto the flat stones that had been used to mark the outline of the original Highland, I thought about James Monroe and his wife Elizabeth who lived there from 1799 to 1823. And the cool part about Monroe’s digs was the fact that James and Elizabeth were neighbors with Thomas Jefferson. The tour continued to the opposite side of the Massey House where I stood in front of a small white two-story brick home. That white house was built in 1818 while James Monroe was in the “other” White House and he used it as a guest house where lodgers and dignitaries alike would stay. While photography was frowned upon inside the Monroe guest house; somehow, I managed to pose near a dining room table once used by James and his wife; and I also found my way onto a desk used by the President. As I was carried throughout the small home, my ears perked-up when the tour guide mentioned that one of the paintings in the drawing room was a portrait of Hortense de Beauharnais. While I found it interesting that Hortense had become lifelong friends of James Monroe’s daughter, Eliza, I also thought that her name implanted images in my mind of a person who was not very good looking. Hortense was an ugly name; at least in the opinions of the three of us. But when I saw the portrait, Hortense de Beauharnais was a beautiful woman who had become the Queen Consort of the Netherlands and future mother of Napoleon III. She was also the namesake of James Monroe’s granddaughter ‘Hortensia’; which in my mind didn’t sound any prettier than Hortense. And to make matters worse, each time the tour guide mentioned the name “Hortense”, I sensed that my photographer and Mongo both had to hold back from snickering.

Our tour of Highland gave the three of us a chance to get closer to our fifth President James Monroe more than ever before. He had lived at Highland, next to his fellow Founding Father Thomas Jefferson, during the prime years of his life. Monroe left the area when his debts began to mount, and he was forced to sell his beloved home.

It was roughly 5:00pm when we headed down from the higher elevations; we drove past Monticello and the “historic” Michie Tavern before we headed east for nearly five miles. I heard my photographer tell Moldenhauer that we were headed to Jefferson’s Shadwell birthplace, but I thought that had burned down long ago. Then it happened – as we got close to our destination, Moldenhauer read aloud the distance to our site: “Six tenths; five tenths; four tenths.” At that moment when Mongo said, “four tenths”, out of nowhere my photographer shouted out: “Hortense?” Both of them immediately laughed aloud; and I just rolled my painted resin eyes. Unfortunately for me, that catchphrase took on a life of its own for the rest of the trip. When the Acadia came to a stop, and Tom and Bob exited the car, we were in the parking lot of a flooring company. With me in the camera case, the three of us walked across to the south side of Richmond Road. The next thing I knew, I was posing alongside a historical marker that read “Shadwell, Birthplace of Thomas Jefferson”. After I posed for a few photos with the marker, I thought that was it; we were finished. In my mind, I thought it was time to head to the University of Virginia. But I was wrong. I should’ve known that my photographer and Mongo weren’t about to settle for a historical marker photo without any attempt at finding the actual birthplace site. We walked about thirty feet from the historical sign until we found the gated entrance to a two-track path that led into what seemed to be a foliage-infested abyss. With no signs in sight that warned trespassers to ‘Keep Out’, Tom and Bob quickly scaled the gate with the agility of a couple of guys in their twenty’s. Okay, Mongo got over the gate with ease; but my photographer, on the other hand, looked as graceful as a one-legged lummox with a hernia.

Once we were safely past the gate, we followed the two-track path southward. My photographer and Mongo kept their eyes peeled for any signs of an archaeological dig that they had heard was at the birth site. Ten minutes into our hike, we arrived at what seemed to be the crest; the land further south transcended downhill quickly towards the Rivanna River. I heard Mongo tell my photographer: “There’s no way Jefferson’s dad would build a house in the lowlands of that river and risk being flooded out. It’s only logical that the birth site is on top of this crest.” Within a minute or two of searching in the tall brush, my pair of companions came upon what appeared to be a small brick outbuilding. A short distance from that brick structure was a patch of ground that looked like it had been recently disturbed and then covered up; perhaps in an effort to conceal something. Was this the archaeological site of Thomas Jefferson’s birthplace? Tom and Bob had no way of knowing for sure; but they were extremely confident that we were on the Shadwell property. If that wasn’t the site; then we were close to it. My photographer set me down on the uneven ground where I posed for a handful of images. A flood of emotions filled my resin-filled head as I stood there; even if this wasn’t the site of their house, we knew that the young Jefferson likely walked here or rode his horse in this field.

Just as Tom captured the last photo of me standing at the site, it began to rain. For the first few seconds it only sprinkled; but those sprinkles quickly turned into a steady drizzle. Since there was plenty of daylight left for my companions to search the area, the rain extinguished their fire for exploration. Tom and Bob were convinced they had found the site; mainly because of their process-of-elimination mindset. For me, I wasn’t as confident. I only hoped that my photographer would do more research in the future and then find a way to visit the birthplace site of Thomas Jefferson again. And hopefully when that day comes, it isn’t raining!

Both guys were drenched by the time we made our way back to the vehicle. I managed to stay dry as I hid inside the camera case. The rain also made my companions alter their agenda for the rest of the evening. The final stop was slated to be the University of Virginia where Tom and Bob had planned on seeing the Rotunda that Jefferson had designed; as well as Monroe Hill – the home and office of James Monroe that was also on the campus. But those sites would have to wait until early morning; weather permitting. The weather forecast for Sunday morning wasn’t promising. As a matter of fact, my photographer and Mongo made me laugh when they talked about finding a place to buy umbrellas before they went to their first site of the day.

At roughly 6:15pm, we arrived at the Red Roof Inn in Charlottesville. My photographer and Mongo were relieved when they had no issues finding a place to stay like they did the previous night in Lynchburg. The Red Roof Inn was also a lot less expensive than the Timberlake Motel in Lynchburg as well. Tom placed me in my usual place alongside the TV while he and Bob walked across the street to a Chinese eatery known as the Szechuan Restaurant.

Throughout the night, as I listened to my companions’ intestines pay a musical tribute to the Asian chef, I thought about Thomas Jefferson. In the past six years, I had visited the homes, birthplaces, graves, and Presidential libraries of most of the Presidents; but Jefferson had eluded me – at least for the most part. After standing on or near the Shadwell site of our third President’s birth, I caught “Jefferson Fever”; a condition that would no doubt morph into a full-blown infection by morning. I was beside myself with excitement when I heard that Tom and Bob had scheduled a “Behind-the-Scenes” tour of Monticello, Jefferson’s beloved plantation home, which would take us through the entire house – including the upper ‘Dome Room’ that’s normally off-limits to tourists. We plan to pay our respects at the President’s gravesite, then finish our visit at the museum that’s dedicated to his life. I also heard my photographer mention to his friend that he had reached out to the caretakers of Monticello as he sought permission to photograph me alongside the bed that Jefferson died in. Unfortunately, the people in charge denied the request. It was obvious their answer infuriated my photographer; it should definitely be interesting to be a firsthand witness to his creativity. I smiled to myself when I envisioned Bob faking a seizure to cause a distraction inside Monticello. Would they pull a stunt like that? I wouldn’t put anything past those two!