You could be a thousand miles from a big city – but in reality, you are about an hour outside the Nation’s Capital. Gently curving rural two-lane roads are the norm here. Tucked away down one of these roads is the 418-acre site, Oatlands. Now a property of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, Oatlands is more than 200 years old and its history is entwined with the early trials, tribulations, successes, and controversies of our developing country.
Brick-by-brick built by slaves
Oatlands was the crown jewel of the Carter family and construction of the Federal-style mansion began in 1804 with bricks made by enslaved labor. By the beginning of the Civil War, 133 slaves were working the fields, grounds, mansion, and buildings. It was the largest plantation in Loudoun County, Virginia. But I am getting ahead of myself because the backstory is very interesting.
The land that eventually became Oatlands was a land grant to Robert “King” Carter. The massive 300,000-acre plantation enslaved about 3,000.
Short-lived emancipation
King’s grandson, Robert Carter III inherited a portion of the land added to his other land holdings. Although he enslaved more than 500, he came to believe slavery was immoral and in 1791 filed a Deed of Emancipation to free them all. It was an exceptionally controversial action for its time and involved a complicated legal process. It is believed to be the largest (and little-known) private emancipation in American history.
Robert III, however, failed to influence his 10 children or most of his relatives and neighbors. It was his son Geroge who built the Oatlands mansion and returned to the life of a slaveholder.
A new beginning
The family’s fortunes did not fare well after the Civil War and eventually, the home came into the possession of the Eustis family. William Eustis was the grandson of William Corcoran and his wife Edith Morton’s father was Vice President under President Benjamin Harrison. Edith was a childhood friend of Franklin Roosevelt, who visited Oatlands several times. Upon Edith’s death, her surviving daughters donated the home, property, and furnishings to the National Trust.
Trust staff is working hard to curate the items in the home, restore the mansion, care for the 28 outbuildings, maintain the grounds, and create interpretative material. They provide excellent tours delving into the fascinating personal details of the families – both owners and enslaved – whose lives intertwined here. I have only scratched the surface of the Oatland’s story in this post.
You can tell from these pics that we visited during the holidays and it was a cold, bleak day. It must be beautiful in the spring and fall. The mansion and visitor’s center will reopen April 1, 2025, but the grounds and gardens are open daily from 10 – 5. Visiting the grounds is free, and the gardens require a $10 ticket. Tours are by appointment. There are also many special events throughout the year from Teas to special lectures. Check out the current offerings online at https://oatlands.org/
Take a tour. History buffs will not be disappointed.
If you are of Spanish descent (I am), and/or live somewhere like Miami (I do), and/or have a sense of humor, you will get a kick out of this cute Spanglish twist on an old favorite tradition. I have no idea where it came from or who wrote it – but it is definitely decades old. Another gem I found among my mother’s papers. It makes me laugh and I hope it will you too. Let’s see how many get the joke.
It was the night before Christmas
And all thru the casa
Not a creature is stirring
Caramba! Qué pasa!
The Stockings are hanging
Con mucho cuidado
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Will feel obligado
To leave a few cosas
Aquí and allí
For Chico and Chica
(Y something para me).
Los niños are snuggled
All safe in their camas
(Some in vestidos, and
some in pajamas)
Their little cabezas
Are full of good things
Qué esperan: qué cosas
St. Nick will bring?
Santa is down
At the corner saloon
Muy borracho
Since mid-afternoon.
Mama is sitting beside the ventana
When Santa en manera extraña
Lit up like fuego;
Qué goma* mañana!
El va to bed
As morning approaches
Feliz Pascuas to all
And to all Buenos Noches.
Notes for those who need help: borracho is drunk; *goma means hangover (in this colloquial use from Central America) and Pascuas is Easter!
Feliz Navidad
This will be my first Christmas without my wonderful mother and I am reminiscing about seasons past. This lightly edited re-post makes me smile.
Every year, for more than 40, my family’s Christmas card visualized a map or globe. Dad was a geography professor and Mom, as the family’s ‘creative director’, came up with this plan, made it happen, and kept it alive. In those days it was often hard to find the perfect card, but she prevailed with an amazing variety. A few years ago, while helping Mom downsize from her home of many years, I found a box with one of each card, carefully archived.
So many of the cards remind me of the Christmases with my family and, of course, my Father – all precious moments. I decided to scan them all and create a poster to frame as part of our Christmas decorations. Here are just a few of my favorites. Keep in mind, these are from the days when people actually used printed maps! I hope they make you smile too.
The Finished Product
I certainly couldn’t use all the Christmas cards, but managed to fit in about half. It’s 16 x 20, designed and printed with Shutterfly, then put in a simple frame. It’s easy to store and pull out at Christmas to display. My mother was so surprised.
The Polar Express. It’s no surprise a magical book would produce a magical experience.
Train museums across the U.S. offer seasonal trips on The Polar Express. Based on the iconic 1985 award-winning children’s book by Chris Van Allsburg, the story was catapulted to international fame when made into an animated movie featuring Tom Hanks.
We took The Polar Express at the B&O Railroad Museum in Baltimore. Considered the birthplace of American railroading, the B&O (Baltimore and Ohio) is a National Historic Landmark. The 40-acre site was the location of the country’s first commercial railroad in 1827, and the first passenger and freight station.
Our five-year-old and three-year-old grandchildren dressed in warm red flannel pjs for their journey to the North Pole. The excitement was palpable, as the friendly conductor welcomed everyone to board the decorated train with its twinkling lights, tinsel and ornaments. We each had a golden ticket, just like in the movie.
Once seated, we sipped hot chocolate and nibbled on sugar cookies as the staff entertained us with songs and dances adapted from the very flamboyant movie version. Staff circulated through the car reading the story from an oversized copy of the book.
The friendly conductor returned and feverishly punched our tickets, eliciting more than a few giggles from the kids. The Hobo who lived on the top of the train, sat with us for a while, but the kids were wary of him. My granddaughter whispered to me that he was a “specter.” I’m not clear how she knows what a specter is at age 5 . . . but she didn’t want to get too close.
And then with great fanfare, Santa appeared! He spent time with each child and presented each guest one of his special silver bells.
Finally, at the North Pole, we walked through a flurry of falling snow and a bevy of elf-helpers, to a world of huge vintage trains, model trains, children’s crafts, and lots more fun. The five-year-old pronounced the elves fakes because their ears were not pointed. But still, it was quite an enchanted night.
