DC Like a Local

Oh great, like we needed more people crowding the Gems exhibit. We're a month out from crazy school trip tourist season and the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History decides to trot out another giant, incredibly rare, brilliant blue diamond. Like it's not packed enough.

Seriously though, tomorrow the almost incomparable Wittelsbach-Graff Blue diamond will go on display in the Harry S. Winston Gallery.  Almost, but not quite incomparable, as just a few steps away is its comparatively dull cousin, the Hope diamond. There are so few blue diamonds that exist in the world, and of those, most are under a caret. For just over six months visitors to Washington will have the rare chance to actually compare two of the largest blue diamonds in the world.

Now I'm going to assume that, like myself, you didn't read the Winter 2008 issue of Gems and Gemology (pdf) from cover to cover; so let me briefly summarize for you. The diamond, traditionally known as the Wittelsbach Blue, is named after its long time owner, the royal family of Bavaria, the House of Wittelsbach (yeah, like you knew that either). Like the Hope, it has been presumed to have come from the Golconda region of India, possibly brought to Europe by the same dealer, Jean Baptiste Tavernier (who was not, despite the stories, torn apart by wild dogs). The diamond was passed around the royal houses of Europe until it lodged itself with the Wittelsbach family in Bavaria. All fine and good until after World War I, when Bavaria ended its monarchy. The Wittelsbachs, who must not have had eligible daughters to marry off to rich Americans, were forced to sell off the diamond.

Things become sketchy here, and the Wittelsbach Blue entered the world of professional diamond traders who are, as we understand, well known for their transparency. The diamond was last seen in 1964 and disappeared entirely until November of 2008, when it appeared at auction at Christie's. It was purchased by London jeweler Lawrence Graff for $24.3 million. Graff made the somewhat controversial decision to cut the 35.52 caret gem down to 31.06 carets, to improve its clarity, cut, and brilliance. As you might have figured out, this is where the diamond was renamed, to its current title of Wittelsbach-Graff Blue. Graff Diamonds is loaning he gem to the Smithsonian for display and study.

Now, there has been much historical speculation that the Wittelsbach-Graff (fun to say, isn't it!) was cut from the same crystal as the Hope diamond. A few days ago, scientists from the Smithsonian, Naval Research Laboratory, and the Gem Institute of America found that

While the observations revealed many similarities, some clear differences in their properties were recognized. Microscopic examination of the Hope diamond with crossedpolarizers showed distinctly banded internal strain, in contrast to a typical "tatami" patter displayed by the Wittelsbach-Graff. In the DiamondView deep-ultraviolet luminescence imaging system, both diamonds showed well-developed dislocation networks with moderate-to-strong fluorescence throughout the entire stone; however, the scale of the network patterns differed significantly.

Got that? Me neither. I understood each word, but the whole thing makes no sense to me. In other words (I guess), they're saying the Hope and the Wittelsbach-Graff are not cut from the same crystal. As Dr. Cristián Samper, the director of Museum of Natural History put it, they're "not brother or sister, but distant cousins."

The diamond will be on display until August 1, 2010. If you have a chance, I'd go now. Because the place is going to be overrun in about a month with school kids sent there by their tour guide. Sorry about that, by the way.

Location matters when you're selling your house, and it matters when you're locating your museum. For example, the Smithsonian's Udvar-Hazy center racks up only a fraction of it's older cousin on the Mall, the National Air and Space Museum. This is largely due to its virtually unreachable location (for most tourists and many locals), as Udvar-Hazy has a far superior collection and display space, in my opinion. And there's also the emotionally impact of placing a Museum on such symbolic real estate; witness the stated desire to place the Holocaust Memorial Museum, the National Museum of the American Indian, and the soon-to-be-built Museum of African-American History and Culture in close proximity to the seat of American power. Where a public museum goes says a lot about our priorities, about what we think is important, and where and how we choose to examine it.

But for all that, Museums are inherently inward looking. While a well designed museum will seek to integrate itself into its environment, and good design strengthens the fabric of the city around it, the actual content of the museum generally has very little to do with the surrounding blocks. At best, you might get a few good vistas and a window or two, but for the actual content itself, the Museum could be in Des Moines. Although admittedly some museums, such as the Holocaust Memorial Museum, work best when they separate you from your daily existence.

But occasionally the city of Washington manages to worm its way in. The National Museum of Natural History, in particular, deserves credit for a few well-crafted exhibits that tie the static display in front of us with the world that lies just outside the window. Three specifically are worthy of our attention today.

If you go up to the second floor, you'll see what might be the best known single artifact in the Natural History Museum: the Hope Diamond, which has a fascinating DC history tale of its own (a story for another day). For every visitor who spends ten minutes jostling the crowds to snap a picture of the diamond, only a few will spend the time perusing the attendant Geology, Gems and Minerals exhibit (I know, I know, only so much time). But take a walk about halfway through, and you will come to a broad picture window overlooking the eastern end of the Museum, with an excellent shot of the Capitol. You'll come to the Rocks Build Cities exhibit, where you can learn why we give a crap about geology. I've been able to really bore my eighth graders now that I know a little more about what all these buildings are made of.

For a more dynamic exhibit, wander over to the O. Orkin Insect Zoo, where, despite the name, there are actually live insects. Often, you will find docents and staff members there to tell you about our many-legged friends, and if you hit it right, to handle them. Check their site for feeding times for the tarantulas, when they sacrifice unruly children to the tiny terrors (kidding, but wouldn't that be awesome?). But if you look out the south facing window, you will see that the exhibit has a real bee hive, with actual bees off to gather pollen along the Mall. Remember the spot, and see if you can't find it when you exit the building. I wonder what they do with the honey? Make mead with it and have wild late night entomologist parties?

And finally, go through my favorite exhibit and you will end up in the tail end of the delightfully-dated Western Cultures hall. While here, you'll be able to solve the decades old puzzle: what kind of column is it: Corinthian, Doric, or Ionic? Hopefully, the fact that you can look out the window at the neoclassical Federal Triangle buildings will help reinforce this little factoid in your head, so that some day you can dominate at Trivial Pursuit.

And, on that note, I'll leave you to explore the rest of the Museum.

Generally speaking, most eighth grade tours include a day, or a portion of a day, when we give kids time to explore the Smithsonian on their own, which is, of course, code for me to find one of my secret hiding spots and squeeze in a quick nap. Many, and at times most, of the students use this time to do take in some of what the Smithsonians have to offer and expand their horizions. Naturally, some choose at some point to hang out with each other and relax, which is quite understandable, as we put them through a full day, and then some, and everyone deserves some down time.

So last week, as I emerged from my secret lair, I ran into a group of my students hanging out by the kiosk on the Mall by Natural History, waiting for the appointed meeting time. This is a school I've worked with for several years now, and you don't want to enter into conversation with them lightly. Although only eighth graders, they are capable of penetrating questions, and won't be pawned off with platitudes. So forewarned, I waded in and chatted them up.

The conversation drifted, as conversations are won't to do, and I was holding court about the nature of squirrels in the nation's capitol. I went on in depth about my favorite: the black squirrel. Spellbound of course, as any person would be listening to me, one student then asked: what about white squirrels? I explained that you might see "white" squirrels, but as any fan of DC Like a Local knows, they are simply a genetic variant of the more common Eastern Grey Squirrel. Feeling quite pleased with myself, I was a bit surprised to be challenged when the kid continued: "but what about squirrels that are all white?" Well, simply put, I responded "if you did see one, it would have to be albino, and I've never seen one around here." To which he replied: "What about that one?"

Well, sure enough, right here on the National Mall, there was a white squirrel in all its glory, not fifteen feet away from where I was doubting its existence. Publicly. As I got over my seemingly weekly ritual of feeling like an ass, I muttered something about "rare opportunity to see an albino animal in the wild" and joined the rest of the thirteen year olds in snapping a picture with my cell phone. I was no longer in any position to lecture them.

So, if anyone else runs across this guy, let me know. I'm interrested in seeing how long a perfectly white squirrel lasts on the National Mall.

Sure, we all love letting our imaginations go wild in the land of dinosaurs, but what if you wish to bring your kids with you?

Just about the only drawback I find visiting the Natural History Museum with kids is, of course, the crowds. A few years ago, a little noticed seismic shift took place along the Mall. Long the reining king of attendance, the Air and Space Museum has been bumped from the top of the list. While Air and Space focused energy and resources on the excellent, if inaccessible Udvar-Hazy Annex, the Natural History Museum has steadily and creatively reworked it's offerings and is now securely on top.

Kudos to them, but the 800,000 more visitors Natural History receives each year will all be in front of you when you're trying to snap a picture of the Hope Diamond. Even my beloved and deserted Western Cultures exhibit has its share of visitors tramping through nowadays disturbing my rest. So it's critical for all of us, and especially those of us with kids, to have a bit of a plan before visiting the Museum, especially if you've blown me off and come in the Spring and Summer.

Let's acquaint ourselves with the physical layout of the place. Assuming you're coming in from the Mall entrance, you will find yourself in the Rotunda. If you are confused about whether the room you are in is the Rotunda or not, look around for an African Elephant. No elephant, it's not the Rotunda. While not exhaustive, I break the main floor into three groups: the Dinosaurs and Early Mammals towards your right, the Mammals towards your left, and the brand spanking new Ocean exhibit directly ahead. These exhibits will draw most visitors and be prepared to be jostled and crowded in them during peak times, especially the Dinosaurs. These exhibits are great, and worthy of a visit, but the following are the places I find give me the most bang for my buck with my kids:

1. The Discovery Room: It probably goes without saying you'll want to visit here. It's chock full of things to explore, items to try out, artifacts to play with, and outstanding docent and staff members to pull it all together. The only catch is hitting it at the right time. Open time for families is Tuesday-Thursday from noon to 2:30 pm, Friday from 10:30 am to 2:30 pm , and 10:30 am to 3:30 pm on the weekends. They can only handle so many folks at a time, so be prepared for a wait on weekends. Go to the end of the Ocean exhibit and hang a right.
2. O. Orkin Insect Zoo: On the second floor is the ironically named Orkin Insect Zoo, which is great fun for kids with a, shall we say, adventurous point of view. Not a huge hit with my wife though. I've had fun grossing my daughter out at giant cockroaches and stuff and try to make it for the Tarantula feedings at 10:30 am, 11:30 am, and 1:30 pm, Tuesday through Friday. I presume they simply go hungry on the weekends.
3. Butterfly Pavilion: If you'd like to explore the more picturesque side of bug life, the Butterfly exhibit is adjacent to the Insect Zoo. While a portion of the exhibit is free (and all of it is on Tuesdays), I'd recommend blowing $6 ($5 for kids), and visiting the live butterfly room, where you might just get a chance to have a butterfly land on you. You may also want to book the ticket in advance on line, especially if it's the busy time of the year.
4. Written in Bone: I've discussed this exhibit more fully earlier, but I've got to say that the Forensic Anthropology Lab is great for kids of all ages. Some parents might not think that helping a four year old put together a skeleton is developmentally appropriate, but give it a shot. The Lab is closed Wednesdays, open other weekdays from 1:00 to 5:00 pm, and weekends 11:00 am to 4:00 pm.

No kidding, you could probably spend the better part of the day in this Museum alone, but, as always, I'm a fan of exploring until just before your blow out. And while these may be what I think are the best kid's exhibit at Natural History, they may not be my favorite. My favorite is whichever has the least amount of people there.

We've talked about wild animals that were pushed to the brink of extinction and came back, those that we've imported, and even those that couldn't make it in the world we've created. What do you all say, shall we take a break from how humans have interacted with the natural world and examine a creature who can't possibly blame us for its demise?

Somewhere over a hundred million years ago, in the Early Cretaceous period, a theropod walked a swampy, sweltering wetland in what is now Washington, DC. After managing to die, he was covered with silt and over the next few millenia he, or at least part of one vertebra, was preserved as a fossil. Then, just over a hundred years ago, in January of 1898, workers digging a sewer line in a swampy, sweltering wetland known as Washington, DC discovered said vertebra.

Excitement reigned, and the finder, one J.K. Murphy, donated the specimen to the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History, where, presumably, it rests to this day. Then, a little over a decade or so ago, Washington, DC decided to adopt Capitalsaurus as both it's state fossil, and it's state dinosaur. To cap it all off, we also named the intersection where the bone was found "Capitalsaurus Court". If you'd like, if you need a great place to take a picnic lunch to after your Capitol tour, stroll down 1st ST to the corner of 1st and F ST SE. After pausing at Capitalsaurus Court, continue across the street to Garfield Park, an excellent local park to take a break at if the kids are worn out and need a break.

And if you are wondering, Capitalsaurus would have looked like a somewhat smaller version of it's more famous distant cousin Tyrannosaurus Rex. And it would have totally kicked the ass of, then ate, its contemporary: Maryland's state dinosaur, Astrodon Johnsoni. So take that, Maryland.

Now, we've had a lot of fun with Capitalsaurus here in DC. In fact, we're quite proud of it. So I'll leave it to the kill-joys at the Smithsonian to tell us that this name is "not scientifically justified" and "has no validity". Ridiculous! Next you're going to try and tell me Pluto's not a planet.