The Mount Vernon to which he returned was perhaps in better condition
than was that to which he retired at the end of the Revolution, for he
had been able each summer to give the estate some personal oversight;
nevertheless it was badly run down and there was much to occupy his
attention. In April he wrote: "We are in the midst of litter and dirt,
occasioned by joiners, masons, painters, and upholsterers, working in
the house, all parts of which, as well as the outbuildings, are much out
of repair."

Anderson remained with him, but Washington gave personal attention to
many matters and exercised a general oversight over everything. Like
most good farmers he "began his diurnal course with the sun," and if
his slaves and hirelings were not in place by that time he sent "them
messages of sorrow for their indisposition." Having set the wheels of
the estate in motion, he breakfasted. "This being over, I mount my horse
and ride around my farms, which employs me until it is time for dinner,
at which I rarely miss seeing strange faces.... The usual time of
sitting at table, a walk, and tea bring me within the dawn of
candlelight; previous to which, if not prevented by company, I resolve
that, as soon as the glimmering taper supplies the place of the great
luminary, I will retire to my writing table and acknowledge the letters
I have received, but when the lights are brought I feel tired and
disinclined to engage in this work, conceiving that the next night will
do as well. The next night comes, and with it the same causes of
postponement, and so on.... I have not looked into a book since I came
home; nor shall I be able to do it until I have discharged my workmen,
probably not before the nights grow longer, when possibly I may be
looking in Doomsday Book."

He had his usual troubles with servants and crops, with delinquent
tenants and other debtors; he tried Booker's threshing machine,
experimented with white Indian peas and several varieties of wheat,
including a yellow bearded kind that was supposed to resist the fly, and
built two houses, or rather a double house, on property owned in the
Federal City--he avoided calling the place "Washington."

A picture of the Farmer out upon his rounds in these last days has been
left us by his adopted son, George Washington Parke Custis. Custis
relates that one day when out with a gun he met on the forest road an
elderly gentleman on horseback who inquired where he could find the