Revisiting the D.C. Boundary Stones
Usually in our Revisiting Series, we like to talk about the monuments and memorials you pass on a regular basis; this time, by revisiting the District’s boundary stones, we thought we’d point out something you might never have even seen.
In fairness, they’re easy to miss. Of the 40 original stones, two have been lost, and the rest have been marred and eroded from sitting outside for 216 years. Some sit in no trespassing zones, some serve as target practice, and others have been decapitated by farm plows or bulldozers. Most, though, rest in front yards, woods, intersections, or parking lots, unnoticed and under appreciated.
Mark Kennedy, who runs Boundarystones.org, explained that although D.C. was not officially the capital until 1800, the first stone was laid on April 15, 1791, by a surveying crew led by Major Andrew Ellicott on a project assigned by George Washington himself. Ellicott put a stone at each mile of the “Ten Miles Square,” as D.C. was nicknamed. Starting at Jones’ Point in the south, the stones went to Falls Church (in Andrew Ellicott Park) in the West, Woodside in the North, and Bennings in the East.
Unfortunately, in 1847 the U.S. ceded land west of the Potomac back to Virginia, cutting the District by a third, and a good number of the stones were excluded from serving their original purpose. The stones became, in essence, little more than memory markers.
And yet, as we’ve seen from revisiting the Old Stone House in Georgetown, sometimes memory markers are also enjoyable time machines. At the very least, there seems to be something irresistible about these kinds of historical indicators, about the perspective their journeys through time can provide.
In 1906, Fred E. Woodward read this paper to the Columbia Historical Society, describing the “ramble” he took, along with his camera, to document the stones as they stood over a century after their installment. He found it fascinating to see how the stones had changed over time, writing 27 pages of meticulous assessment on the stones' condition: “One is worn totally smooth, another stands in the waters of the Potomac, and two lean badly.”
Woodward also mentioned that eight of the stones were tucked deep in dense woods, though “the rapid growth of building operations toward the outer limits of the District during the past two years bids fair to soon eliminate all woods.” And he just couldn’t help it: “The inspiration which comes with true communion with nature entered into our hearts here, as we searched through wooded dells over bracken fern, under oak and chestnut, with the smell of the pine in our nostrils mingled with the aroma of wild flowers.”
NW5 is one of the wooded stones he was talking about. Woodward says that NW 5 sits hidden “in the fastnesses of an ancient wood not far from the inlet of the receiving reservoir of the water supply.” Sure enough, Mark Kennedy’s web site (a 21st century Woodward paper, really) says that the stone sits on the federal property of the Dalecarlia Reservoir.
Like most of the other stones, NW5 is caged behind an iron fence put up by DAR, who was so enthralled by the monument that it took over the protection and maintenance of the stones in 1915. Despite their care, it is evident that, in Kennedy’s words, “very few have escaped vandalism.”
But in some sense, it seems fitting that humans should leave their mark on the stones; so many of the stones have been moved, even if just a few feet, from their original locations. After all, at the most basic level they are objects of nature manipulated into a certain shape and planted into a landscape by human hands. Their very purpose was to designate a human dwelling, and as we know from the District’s growth from the wooded low-density area it was in 1791 to the sprawling center it is today, humanity has filled that space and more.
Some of our other favorite stones are South, SW6, NE1, SE4, and SE8.
Photo by Ronnie R.