Miss Furr Goes to Washington: Part the First

I have neglected to update this blog because… well let’s see.

I’ve been so busy running around on Capitol Hill that I can’t keep my head on straight.

Dad drove with me to Reston, Virginia which is right outside Washington D.C. in early September, and here I am three months in and it is now only two weeks until I get to go home to my beloved Texas.

It was so hard saying goodbye to my Dad after a week of him being here. He helped me settle in and checked out the grocery store situation for me while I was at the MRC settling in to my semester as a cub reporter for CNS News. We were both pretty emotional when he left, but I had to buck up and come back to my little Airbnb room without him there to greet me.

My month in Scotland earlier this year really prepared me for this journey. The book Brooklyn says in perfect phrasing what I wanted to express but just couldn’t seem to about the plague of homesickness. It comes to you and you think you want to die, but then it moves on to someone else. Just like a virus. And that is exactly, EXACTLY how it feels.

When the fever hits and you are lying in bed shaking, (maybe that’s just me and my stomach talking) all you want to do is die. Everything is unfamiliar. Right down to the creaking and cracking of the front and bedroom doors in the house you are huddled in. But after a while, it isn’t so bad, and you realize that you can do it.

I harp on homesickness a lot, probably too much. But remembering how I felt in England in that tiny cottage room, away from everything I knew and hundreds of miles from the familiarity of my friendship with Caroline, it can be scary and overwhelming. I’ve learned a lot of tricks along the way.

1. Breathe. Hee hoo, hee hoo. That’s all it takes. 2. Find something familiar, even if it is just a cookie (we all like cookies, right?) 3. Smile at someone, even if you are dying inside. Smile and talk to the cashier at the grocery store. They will appreciate it and you will too.

Living in an Airbnb house is fun, but I will be honest with you. It gets tiring after a while not having the fridge all to yourself. That sounds selfish, and maybe it is. But hey, it’s honest.

I do appreciate having my own room and bathroom. As an adult woman, having your own bathroom is almost essential to survival for some reason.

I have also enjoyed being alone in my room in the quiet. The pleasures of reading and writing are born anew in the silent sanctuary of a cozy bedroom. Everyone should take the time to be silent, stare out the window for a few moments a day, and just empty yourself of what is wrong in life, what you are frustrated with, and the anxiety that comes with worrying how everything is going to turn out.

I know Jo March probably felt how I feel in this upstairs room all alone. She missed Marmee and her sisters terribly. She didn’t like not knowing what was going on in the day to day planning at Orchard House. The habits and mundane tasks took on a new and holy reverence because she wanted so badly to be a part of them and couldn’t, miles away in smelly, loud New York. Okay, I know she’s fictional, but there are countless women out there, myself included, who have exercised their budding wings like Jo March did in Little Women. I will be forever grateful to Louisa May Alcott for creating a character with whom I identify so much. There is a little bit in each of the March girls that seems to be inexplicably stitched to the fabric of my own soul. It can’t be snipped away because the welding of time and childhood have placed those stitches firmly where they lie.

History has taken on an entirely new meaning for me since coming here. I have learned journalism, yes, but everywhere I go that is not home, I tend to pick up jewels along the way that lie safely and secure in the box I think of as my spiritual treasure chest. I have become pleasingly acquainted with the Mason family, the head of which penned the Virginia Bill of Rights, and have visited their estate twice this semester. Once to tour the home, and another to walk the grounds. (I got lost in the woods on my hike to view the Potomac, but no matter. The river guided me safely home).

Thomas Jefferson is, and ever will be, an enigma in my eyes. A wonderful mystery man who is odd, yet fascinating in his 18th century genius. I drove two hours to revisit his Monticello home in Charlottesville for the second time in my life, and enjoyed it even more as an adult.

I remember touring the house and sitting with my mother in the garden (where she probably teared up because every good homeschooled mom does). Thomas Jefferson spent much of his time walking the grounds and enjoying the house that was 40 years in the making.

Can you imagine waiting 40 years for your house to be built?

His library is tucked away in the front corner of the house, next to the room where his wife taught the children and took care of her part of managing the estate. This library, well… this library is a dream come true for any book lover. It is small, but the walls are covered in bookshelves which are piled high with books in several languages which Thomas Jefferson actually did read.

“I cannot live without books,” he said.

I wholeheartedly agree my friend.

Thomas Jefferson, George Mason, and George Washington were friends and frequently visited one another via the Potomac River. Gunston Hall, Mason’s estate, is set on a high hill overlooking the river that brought Washington and Jefferson to dinner parties and lengthy visits where the men would talk politics, estate matters, and oh yeah, the building of a nation.

In George Mason’s study there is a small ladder made of wood that was a gift from Jefferson. The right pole folds up next to the left pole, hiding the ladder rungs inside for easy storage. Apparently Mason was a man of small stature, so Jefferson gave him the ladder to accommodate him when he needed to reach a book on the high shelves of his own study.

A ladder is a great gift. Especially one designed and crafted by Thomas Jefferson himself.

If the gift shop had offered them, I would have bought one for sure.

Like Monticello, Gunston Hall has a main room that stretches from the back of the house to the front, with doors on either end to let the air sweep back and forth. Monticello’s ceilings are high, and the walls are covered in portraits of men and women, some Biblical and some not. Jefferson wanted to make sure his children knew who these great men and women were so that later in life they might imitate their accomplishments. One of the largest portraits at Monticello is that of Benjamin Franklin, which hangs above the piano.

It kind of reminds me of how teenagers put posters of rock stars on their bedroom walls. In my case, its Native Americans, 1940s movie stars, Victorian ladies, and Gandalf. I am inspired by an odd mix.

George Mason lost his father when he was very young, so he taught himself law. Another score for the homeschoolers out there. He wrote the Virginia Bill of Rights which was later drafted to become the Bill of Rights for the United States of America. Mason did not sign the Declaration of Independence because he thought there was not enough power given to the states in the document. He abhorred big government. He worried that the voices of the people would not be heard if their government did not remain small enough to hear them and be a sounding board for their concerns.

Mason knew what he was talking about.

Anyway, I will give more on my adventures in my next post.