september 2, 1811 (tue.)

Martha Jefferson Carr, Thomas Jefferson's sister, of Carr's-brook, just north of Charlottesville, has died. She had been ill for the past couple of years, toward the end being bedridden, and eventually becoming completely unaware of her surroundings and not recognizing those caring for her. She was 65 years old, three years younger than her brother, Thomas. The two were quite close, and she had married his boyhood friend, Dabney Carr. When her husband died young, she moved with her children to Monticello. Sister Lucy died just last year, in Kentucky, and with Martha's passing, only three of the ten siblings from Shadwell remain: Thomas and the twins, Randolph and Anna.

july 2, 1811 (tue.)

Today Mr. Jefferson received a letter from his good friend in Philadelphia, the learned Dr. Benjamin Rush, who is currently engaged in an epic struggle against what he sees as one of this country's most serious health threats. It is, he writes, "a greater enemy to the prosperity and liberties of the United states, than the fleets of Britain and the Armies of Bonaparte." He's referring to strong drink.

The good doctor is not against cider or wine as part of a wholesome meal, but believes intemperance begins at the level of strong punch.

For his nationwide educational campaign against the evils of intemperance, Dr. Rush is sending a pamphlet he wrote a few years ago, A View of the Physical, Moral, and Immoral Effects of Certain Liquors upon the Body and Mind of Man, and Upon His Condition in Society, to friends such as Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, in various parts of the country, in hopes that they will see that the pamphlets are posted and distributed in their respective communities.

june 27, 1811 (thurs.)

Finally! The saga of the trouble-plagued wheat is over. Mr. Jefferson's cousin, George, was able to sell the last 54 barrels of it in Richmond.

june 20, 1811 (thurs.)

When Mr. Jefferson likes something, or finds it useful, he spreads the word around his wide network of family, friends, and correspondents. He does this not just for grand ideas, like his thoughts on liberty and nation-building, but also for small, everyday things.

For instance, today he's sending a bottle of Benni (sesame) oil to Peter Minor, because Mr. Jefferson likes the taste of it as a salad dressing, even better than olive oil. (And he's had better luck growing sesame plants than olive trees. Well, this year's crop won't be very good, but it's just because the seeds got planted too deep.)

may 26, 1811 (sun.)

Today Mr. Jefferson is sending his married granddaughter, Anne, a novel she wanted to read, The Modern Griselda, by Maria Edgeworth. In general, he doesn't approve of girls or young women reading novels, but Mrs. Edgeworth's books teach important moral lessons.

He and Anne have long shared a love of flowers, and he reports on which ones have been and are now blooming at Monticello, "the hyacinths and tulips are off the stage, the Irises giving place to the Belladonnas ...." He writes whimsically, showing a side which would surprise those who know him only as a writer of grand political prose. (And, yes, he writes without using capital letters at the beginning of sentences.) "the flowers come forth like the belles of the day, have their short reign of beauty and splendor, & retire like them to the more interesting office of reproducing their like."

may 5, 1811 (sun.)

"... [S]ober interest tells me I should leave off buying books," Mr. Jefferson wrote a few days ago in response to a friend suggesting another title to add to his library of thousands.

Yeah. Right. This has all the credibility of a drunkard swearing off rum.

Well, today's mail brought yet another offer, this time a subscription to the Edinburgh Encyclopedia. He has declined, graciously, citing a surfeit of encyclopedias on his shelves already.

He's being responsible. For now.

may 1, 1811 (wed.)

Moving is never simple. It seems that one always leaves something or other behind. When Mr. Jefferson moved out of the President's house in Washington, D. C. two years ago, he left a some pictures on the wall of the sitting room -- an easy to understand oversight. His friend, Mr. Latrobe, the artist who made one of the prints, rescued them at that time, and now they're finally on their way to Monticello via another friend, Mr. Coles.