It’s crazy to me that as I write this post, it’s in the forties with an outside chance of snow later–blech. Get me back to bed.
On Saturday, it was sunny and gorgeous and surprisingly, just on the verge of being humid. I had stumbled across some article advertising the annual White House Spring Garden Tour, and quickly
harassed asked my friends if they wanted to go. Long story short: most said no, two said yes, alarms were set, hangovers ignored, blah blah blah helllooooo garden party.
We showed up at the little visitor’s kiosk at EIGHT AM to get our tickets, and were astounded to see a line of extremely motivated tourists winding through the streets. Luckily, after stuffing their tickets into their fanny packs, the rabid tourists sped away on their Segways to go snap up all the dehydrated ice cream from the Air & Space museum so that they would have enough sustenance tonot walk upthe metro escalators. Ahem.
Guys, this tour is pretty legit. I can understand why so many tourists seemed to plan their vacations around it–you can literally step right up to the White House. Despite the fact that it must be the biggest security nightmare of the year, it’s a really amazing way to feel a connection with the daily, more mundane aspects of the President’s life. The lawn was littered with pretty, educational signs showing past presidents and their wives planting trees–did you know that almost every tree on the White House grounds is commemorative for something? It’s weird to think that if, say, the Oklahoma City bombing had never happened, this pretty whatever-tree behind us here wouldn’t exist.
Look at this view!! I had no idea that the monuments all lined up like this.
We all noticed immediately that the gardens felt completely secluded from the city. They were quiet, and there were actually a fair amount of places tucked away that would be completely hidden from any public eye. In our little pamphlet we read that President Ford had built a swimming pool somewhere–and even though we looked, we didn’t see a single sign of it. Sneaky sneaky, Gerald.
This is the Rose Garden, site of some press conferences and countless photos of pensive, pacing Presidents. (Alliteration!)
Oh heeeyyyyy, Barack. Let’s hang out because literally, I’m on your balcony. Whattup.
The Presidential/National/Royal Band was on hand, playing all kinds of patriotic songs and even a little jazz. Without a doubt, they put the party into garden party.
We stopped by Mrs. O’s vegetable garden, which I actually found fascinating. It was small, but our trusty pamphlet said it produced over A THOUSAND POUNDS of produce it’s first year. One third of all the produce goes to a local charity that helps feed the hungry here in Washington. In a little corner of the garden were plants that had been grown from heirloom seeds sent over from Monticello. What a neat way to incorporate a little founding father action into your veggies.
Oh look, Barack, now I’m standing on your putting green.
I am happy to say that my hair was doing a really lovely thing where it greases itself back so as to suggest that I am bald with a seven inch forehead, so we will never discuss these photos again. But on another note, how pretty are my friends?
Okay, enough about the friends, back to me, this is my blog, no? I spent the rest of Saturday deep conditioning my hair (no joke, takes two hours), realizing that I need new clothes for spring (just kidding, Mom), and aggressively pursuing a new man who may or may not now be my boyfriend. You will never know because then I would have to show him the above pictures in which I imitate a greaser with a never-ending forehead.
Have a great week.