So the government migrated south—into what was, quite literally, a swamp along the Potomac. The symbolism writes itself. A brand-new experiment in self-government planted in wetlands, surrounded by mud and mosquitoes, hoping idealism would outpace nature’s decay. Or at least somehow find a way to outlive Strom Thurmond.
So when you see “1800″, you’re looking at more than a marketing hook. But a year when aging in oak became a metaphor for patience. When American democracy proved it could mature without collapsing. It was a moment the republic chose ballots over bloodshed—and our capital city took root in a swamp that would, over time, become synonymous with power, ambition, and yes, corruption.
One year. Two origin stories. One about a spirit that gets better with age, and another about a nation still trying to prove its spirit can rise above those who purposefully divide it.
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