On a spring weekend, you can venture beyond Washington, D.C.’s many museums and head about an hour northeast to Towson, Maryland’s grand Hampton Mansion—where tour guides are there to help people of all ages imagine what it was like to live in the family home. The season’s emerging blooms complement the visit with a walk through the mansion’s gardens. Here’s what the experience was like for our family of four last spring.
‘Alive With Stories to Tell’
The spring air was crisp and inviting as we pulled into the parking lot of Hampton National Historic Site, a sprawling estate just outside Baltimore.
Hampton Mansion, once the grand home of the Ridgely family, stood before us, its stately Georgian architecture a monument to an era of wealth and ambition.
My wife, Nataliya, and I stepped out of the car, eyes drawn to the symmetrical façade and its row of tall windows glinting in the morning sun. Our kids, Nicole and Alex, emerged from the back seat.
A ranger greeted us at the visitor center, where we collected our tickets for the guided tour. “Welcome to Hampton,” he says with a smile. “Spring is one of the best times to visit Hampton. The gardens are just coming to life.”
“What about the house?” Alex asks.
The ranger chuckles. “Hampton Mansion is always alive with stories to tell, no matter what the season,” he says.
Hidden Histories in a Massive Mansion
As we approached the mansion, we took a moment to absorb its grandeur. Completed in 1790, Hampton was once the largest private home in America.
Its owner, Captain Charles Ridgely, made his fortune in ironworks, shipbuilding and agriculture, and his descendants lived here for generations.
But beyond the stately columns and manicured grounds lies a complex history—one tied to enslaved labor and changing fortunes over the centuries.
The Guided Tour
Inside, the tour began in the grand entry hall, where our guide described 18th-century aristocratic life.
“Imagine arriving here as a guest in the early 1800s,” she instructs. “You’d be greeted by servants, ushered into the drawing room and surrounded by luxury: imported furniture, gilded mirrors and fine china from Europe.”
The drawing room, with its ornate plasterwork and rich green wallpaper, was an elegant testament to this bygone era. I asked about the family portraits lining the walls.
“That’s Charles Carnan Ridgely,” she says, pointing to a stern-looking gentleman in a powdered wig. “He expanded the estate and had a deep interest in horse racing. In fact, Hampton was famous for breeding some of Maryland’s best racehorses.”
Nicole was more interested in the estate’s lesser-known residents. “What about the people who worked here?” she asks.
Our guide nodded solemnly. “The Ridgelys were among Maryland’s largest slaveholders,” she explains. “Enslaved people built this house, worked these fields and kept this estate running. Later, in the 19th century, indentured servants and paid laborers took their place.” The kitchen and slave quarters remain a testament to their stories.
We moved through the house, from the opulent dining room—where long tables were set as if expecting guests—to the bedrooms, where canopy beds and antique writing desks hinted at the private lives of the Ridgely family.
One of the highlights was the music room, where an 18th-century harp and pianoforte sat in quiet grandeur.
“Music was an important part of social life here,” the ranger shares. “Evenings would often end with performances by family members or guests.”
I imagined Nicole playing her clarinet and Alex playing his saxophone here in this elegant music room. But perhaps it was more eloquent without their performance.
Hampton’s Majestic Tree and Gardens
Stepping outside into the garden, we were met with the scent of blooming magnolias and cherry blossoms.
“The terraced gardens on the mansion’s southern slope were initially laid out around 1800 and reconfigured in the 19th century,” an outdoor ranger notes. “They feature terraced landscapes, hedgerows and exotic plants the Ridgelys had imported from across the world.”
We wandered along the garden paths, past stone fountains and budding tulips. Birds flitted through the trees, their songs mingling with the rustle of the wind through the boxwood hedges. It was easy to imagine 19th-century ladies strolling here, parasols in hand, whispering about the latest news from Baltimore.
In the backyard, we stood beneath the canopy of Hampton’s enormous Cedar of Lebanon tree.
“This tree was planted around 1840 by Eliza Ridgely,” the ranger says. “According to tradition, she brought the seedling from the Middle East in a shoebox. It’s now one of the largest of its kind in the United States.”
The kids ran their hands along the tree’s gnarled roots. “It feels ancient,” Alex murmurs.
“It is,” the ranger says with a smile. “Older than any of us. And it’s still growing.”
Ice, Ice, Baby
As we explored the estate, we came to a deep, circular pit lined with bricks.
“This is Hampton’s ice pit,” another ranger explains. “It was built in the early 19th century and allowed the Ridgelys to store ice year-round, long before refrigeration was a thing.”
In winter, large blocks of ice were cut from frozen ponds and packed tightly into the pit with layers of straw and sawdust for insulation. It could keep ice frozen for months, allowing the Ridgelys and their guests to enjoy chilled drinks, frozen desserts and preserved food well into the summer—an incredible luxury at the time.
Nicole and Alex peered down into the dark opening. “So, this was basically their fridge?” Alex asks.
“Exactly,” the ranger says with a smile. “And it made Hampton one of the most advanced estates of its day.”
Looking down into the pit, down 34 feet, I imagined the effort it took to haul and store ice in an age before modern conveniences. Even in the sweltering Maryland summer, the past had found a way to keep things cool.
The Slave Quarters and Dairy
Our final stop on our visit was at the slave quarters and dairy.
“These quarters housed enslaved workers who cooked, cleaned and maintained the estate,” a ranger explains. “Later, free laborers and tenant farmers lived here. Their lives were hard, but their contributions were essential to keeping Hampton running.”
Standing in those small, bare rooms, we felt the weight of history in a way that no gilded mirror or grand staircase could convey. Coming from the mansion to the slave quarters was like an extreme version of “Upstairs, Downstairs”—a British TV drama that aired in the 1970s about a wealthy family and their downstairs servants—exemplifying the differences in lifestyles depending on a person’s station in life. It was a sobering reminder of the human cost of this grandeur.
Leaving the Past Behind
As we left the estate, we paused at the crest of the lawn, looking back at the mansion against the bright blue sky.
“How would you like to live here?” Nataliya asks.
Nicole considers. “Not in the slave quarters,” she says.
Alex adds with a smirk, “I could live in the ice pit.”
“I think I could get by in a house like that,” I say as we get in the car, take one last look and drive off, leaving Hampton House and its history behind us.
Eric D. Goodman is author of seven books and more than 100 published short stories and travel stories. His latest, “Faraway Tables,” is a book of travel-centric poetry. Learn more about Eric’s travels and writing at EricDGoodman.com.
