Earlier this month I took a trip to visit the East Coast, including Boston and Quincy, towns in Massachusetts. John and Abigail Adams made their home in Braintree, which later renamed Quincy after Abigail’s grandfather. I am a big fan of this Founding pair, especially Abigail. Here are some thoughts I wrote after visiting the homes where they lived and died.

There is something special about visiting the homes where someone historically significant once lived. I have always been a fan of Abigail and John Adams, but when I finally had the chance to visit the homes where they lived and died, this famous pair became more than legendary: they came to life for me in a new way.

At the first home where they lived, I felt the presence of my heroine Abigail as she sat at the desk and wrote letters to her husband: the patriot, the delegate, the ambassador. Warmed by the fire in the hearth, missing her beloved as she conducted the business of the family farm, raised the children, served the revolution, and sold goods to bring in extra money, Abigail likely questioned the sacrifices she made. Yet, she knew her husband had her respect as a full partner and spouse. She believed in the cause that kept them apart for so many years of their marriage. And she loved him, evidenced in their numerous letters. 

As I stood in their second home, Peace field, I was again impressed with the way Abigail took charge of her family life. She desired a larger home for their family and the entertaining that would come with her husband’s position in the government, so she began the task of expanding the home she had admired even before it had become hers. 

I ran my hand along the railing she would have held onto as she descended the main staircase in the home. Then I stood mere feet away from the bed in which she breathed her final breaths. I marveled at the roses she planted in her garden, which continue to bloom to this day. These moments felt almost transcendent to me. 

The next day I toured the church their son John Quincy Adams had helped to get built after his parents passed away. He gave the congregation granite and funds his father had set aside to help them build a new house of worship. I sat in the Quincy pew where John Quincy and his family sat for services. I marveled at the words John wrote in memoriam of his parents after he paid for a family crypt to be built under the church for their remains to be entombed. Paying my respects to them, as well as John Quincy and his wife Louisa Catherine, was an experience I will not soon forget.