Thomas Jefferson: A History in Lists
Evan Friss, 2026 Spring Cohort Fellow at Monticello’s International Center for Jefferson Studies, reflects on Jefferson's tiny ivory notebook—and finds in its meticulous lists of gooseberries, market days, and slippers a window into the mind of history's most compulsive record-keeper.
Thomas Jefferson: A History in Lists
I was lucky enough to spend a semester working on my book—a history of lists and list making—as a fellow at Monticello’s International Center for Jefferson Studies (ICJS). Among many highlights was the spring day I visited the “prep room,” a cold, locked, warehouse-y space within the David M. Rubenstein Visitor Center lined with all things Thomas Jefferson. Diane Eherenpreis, a curator with a good sense of humor and who seemed to know everything about everything, showed me around.
The star of the room was the tiniest thing in it: Thomas Jefferson’s notebook. Composed of twelve ivory leaves and tucked inside a waistcoat pocket, he carried it everywhere. When he thought of something he didn’t want to forget or when he bought something, he’d take out his wee notebook, fan out one of the leaves, and pencil in a list of words or symbols. He’d later transcribe the notes into a larger notebook, erase the slats, and start anew.
Holding it in my own hand, I felt Jefferson roaming around his garden and halls of power, making notes to self. Even though he was president and famous and I’m neither, the connection between us—as humans, as list makers—was palpable.
The first leaf of the notebook appears to be a list of plants. The most legible word is gooseberry. Gooseberries are a recurring character in Jefferson’s life. In March of 1770, he made a to-do list: Plant raspberries—gooseberries—currans—strawberries—asparagus—artichokes . . .” In 1785, he noted that French gooseberries (like so many things French) were better than the American version. In his Notes on the State of Virginia, Jefferson included a catalog of the native plants. Sandwiched right between whortleberries and cranberries were gooseberries. In 1791, he observed that gooseberries leafed on March 25. In 1794, he made a list of “Objects for the garden this year.” It contained 91 items. One was gooseberry. And in 1812, long retired from politics, he made a list of plantings for the season: a square of gooseberry right alongside a snowberry bush.
You would have good reason to think Thomas Jefferson was obsessed with gooseberries. He was not. But Jefferson was obsessed. He was obsessed with lists.
To what end? There was some utility in tracking how much tea his average guest drank (.38 ounces) and how much coffee (one pound) and wine (1.6 bottles) were consumed on an average day at Monticello. And it was useful to Jefferson the gardener to know when the peas came “up” (March 21). But it’s hard to understand why Jefferson, as president of the United States no less and surrounded by free and enslaved laborers, needed to know that sorrel first appeared at the local market on April 3, asparagus on April 6, and cabbage on May 3. Through two terms in the highest office, President Jefferson dutifully kept a list “of the Vegetable Market of Washington, During a Period of 8 Years. 1801-8.” It’s so detailed. So neat. So lined-up. So specific. So Thomas Jefferson.
What would have happened had Jefferson not recorded buying waffles in Paris on September 15, 1785? What if he had neglected to list every time he bought a pair of slippers? (I count sixteen.) Well, he wouldn’t be Thomas Jefferson.
