Obama-Morris-Jumel!

Two down, twenty to go!

Stephanie and I set out this morning for a day of Obama canvassing, and historic house visiting. Which is just about the best day I can imagine. We walked around Haarlem (real New Amsterdamers use two A's!) handing out fliers and hanging up signs in business windows (with permission) and at bus stops (without permission). We wore Big Ol' Blue Stickers, we wore buttons on our hats, and lo, did we encourage the masses to go out on Tuesday and vote for our candidate of choice. Our neighborhood, which had been strangely empty of political signs of any sort, is now covered in Obama material. Apparently, some people make their voting decisions based on, like, printed material they see hung around their homes? That's... strange. But, OK, I'll go with it. Does it work on the Internet too? Just in case:

So go vote, damnit.

After we performed our civic duty or whatever, we headed up to the Morris-Jumel Mansion, which is in Washington Heights. British Colonel Roger Morris caused the house to be built in 1765 as a summer home, and at the time owned a parcel of land that extended from river to river across Manhattan. That's not so possible anymore, but luckily the house still exists, on a nice little piece of land that still has a fairly nice view. It just has a fairly nice view of an entirely developed island, instead of the wilderness that Morris must have looked over.

During the autumn of 1776, the house was George Washington's home and headquarters. Oh. So Washington Heights is not just a clever name, then. Later, the house was captured by the English, who taxed the HELL out of its tea. After the colonies won the war (spoiler!) and George Washington was President, he brought members of his family and cabinet back to the house for a sight-seeing trip. Washington, John Adams, John Quincy Adams, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton all dined together in the, er, dining room. We felt appropriately awed, I think.
Later, the house was purchased by Stephen and Eliza Jumel. When he died, she married Aaron Burr, who shot up the dining room in retroactive Hamiltonian spite. Not really. Well, maybe. They didn't specifically say he didn't do it I guess. Anyway, this was his (Burr's) bedroom.

Now that I've made your browser work to look at this post, I might as well keep it up, right? Here's me on the stairwell doing my best to look regal:


Here's Stephanie looking toward the place where the herb garden once was:

Here's the octagonal room, which was apparently an architectural marvel at the time:

A mirror, featuring the reflection of Eliza's bedroom:

And, finally, the end of another wonderful expotition.