TJ's crib

Sunday, October 18

The new realtor must think I'm made of money

We parked at the bottom of the hill and walked up a path to the snazzy new visitor center. Zu's firm apparently did (part of?) the design, and both Zu and Ian teach seasonal classes on the Jefferson estate grounds on mushroom foraging and booze making, respectively.

Past the visitor center we continued up the path and passed the family cemetery which was shut, possibly because there are still Randolph descendants extant. Ian squeezed between the bars and got stuck for a moment but he managed to exhale and wriggle out so we didn't have to cut his arm off.

The vegetable garden grows historically accurate crops in neat little rows along the South-facing hillside terraced especially to extend the growing season. One cool flower was the hyacinth bean, which is waxy like an orchid, and has petals that grow asymmetrically so that one edge curls around the other. It also smelled really nice.

The hyacinth bean flower smells like a cross between jasmin and gardenia

The house itself is both modest and elaborate, clearly the product of a busy, tinkering mind. The push and pull between whimsical invention and pragmatic thrift has NERD written all over it.

One famous hack is the grandfather clock that counts down a whole week with its weights. Sunday through Friday are all labeled on the wall, but the front parlor wasn't tall enough for the full length of the chain so Jefferson cut a hole in the floor, and sure enough, down on the basement wall is the Saturday label.

No photography is allowed inside the house, but I'll just say that the man was no colorist: the yellow dining room is not good. He had meant for it to warm up the room during the cold months, but the hue is just too acidic. Dude should have used butter as a color guide, not marigolds. Ick.