We toured Thomas Jefferson's magnificent home (Monticello), where he lived a lavish lifestyle on the burdened backs of the over six hundred slaves he owned. At the time of his death, he was so insurmountably burdened with debt, his assets, beginning with the chattel (human slaves), were auctioned off. Families were shattered. Husbands and wives were separated. Brothers and sisters were torn apart without consideration. Our tour guide, Tom Nash, made the comment that Robert Hemmings (His son) was with Jefferson in Philadelphia in 1776. Mr. Nash called it an ironic moment. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal and are endowed with certain inalienable rights."
I can't get it out of my head that "irony" isn't strong enough, hypocrisy isn't distasteful enough, and the passive acceptance of history as it stands isn't examined enough. Jefferson, who designed Monticello himself, made sure that he and his guests would never see the slaves who served. Out of sight, out of mind. One story our house guide took pleasure in relating was a visit by Marquies d' Lafayette, whom Jefferson had close relations with. The short of it is during the ten days of his visit 375 bottles of wine were consumed. 130 slaves, two-thirds of the plantation's population worked sun up to sun down catering to Jefferson's every want. One of the plumb jobs, making nails, exemplifies a slave's life. Nail makers worked fourteen hours a day (As did all slaves), and they had a quota of 800 nails per day. That's one nail every 65 seconds for fourteen hours. I doubt they received a duty free lunch unless it was served with a side of lash. DISCLAIMER: When I get to heaven, I'll have to stand for quite awhile in the sinners line, and my own ability to rationalize is well honed. Nonetheless, the fact that we humans are capable of such injustice not only sickens me, but it begs the question of just whose image are we created in anway. Thanfully, there's always hope (And Faith), and if you want real irony, try this. Our server at lunch was a joy filled black woman (Denise) who treated us as if she did the cooking for us herself. She exemplifies the solution I can find: Live the Golden Rule. And to that I say, life is good, especially today.
The vegetable garden: all kinds.
The vineyard. Trees in background were wheat fields in Jefferson's time.
Jefferson had people from all over the world sending him seeds. The variety of plants in the garden is anazing.
The skilled slaves (eight or nine per cabin) lived in spaces smaller than the storage units most Americans rent to hold their junk.
Lunch, however, was delightfully thin gruel.
I had one full plate. Slaw, Blackeyed Peas, Green Beans, Mashed Pitatoes, Pulled Pork, Fried Chicken (Perfectly cooked), Butter Biscuit, Corn Bread. (Ed ate a plate full like this plus three extra pieces of chicken).
I spent my extra calories on Peach Cobbler.
Denise, the best human of the day, renewed my faith, hope, and charity.
Selfie of the day. A vista from the Blue Ridge Parkway. (Even better with the sun out)
Though my past is not without reproach, my future still remains unblemished. In this lies my hope.
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