Ms. Elliott Goes to Washington DC
Ms. Elliott Goes to Washington DC
By: a.d. elliott | Take the Back Roads - Art and Other Odd Adventures
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During the move from Tulsa to Roanoke, I did something, no idea what, that triggered a red flag in the financial world and required me to appear in person at my bank to “verify my identity.” Unfortunately, as banks migrate almost entirely online, physical branches are becoming a thing of the past. The closest one for my bank was in Washington, DC.
In a hurry to get the whole thing cleared up, I scheduled my first road trip out of Roanoke by train. Taking Amtrak to the big city for banking felt absurdly grown-up, like the opening chapter of a children’s adventure book. I was the heroine setting off on an Important Mission, even though I knew, deep down, this was really just a bureaucratic headache.
The romance faded quickly.
The train departed at six in the morning.
After stepping off Amtrak’s Northeast Regional at the beautiful Union Station, I began the mile-long walk up 2nd Avenue toward my bank near Seward Square. A few blocks in, I found myself standing in front of a small church—St. Joseph’s on Capitol Hill—ten minutes before daily Mass began. I’ve always believed that if you find yourself directly outside a church just as Mass is about to start, it’s a sign you’re supposed to go in.
That belief wavered slightly once I opened the door.
I walked straight into what appeared to be a wall of security personnel standing behind the last row of pews. I briefly reconsidered my philosophy, then hustled past everyone and slid into a seat, fairly certain someone was about to escort me out.
They did not.
What I learned, quickly, is that Washington’s Catholic power center does not attend Mass at the National Cathedral. Instead, two churches flank the Capitol grounds: St. Joseph’s on the Senate side and St. Peter’s on the House side. Daily Mass at St. Joseph’s was full. As I glanced around the sanctuary, I realized the downside of consuming news mostly in print. With a few exceptions, I have no idea what our nation’s VIPs look like, and I couldn’t have identified a single one if asked.
The priest delivered a thoughtful homily about allowing the Holy Spirit to guide our actions, without the faintest whiff of politics. I was genuinely impressed.
After Mass, I hurried to the bank, had a piece of paper stamped, and mailed it. The entire errand took about ten minutes.
By then, I was starving.
Every café near the bank was packed, so I circled back toward where I’d started and landed at Bliss Café, almost next door to St. Joseph’s, the one that had smelled impossibly good when I passed it earlier. The steak wrap was excellent and completely worth the detour.
With a couple of hours to spare, I wandered the Capitol grounds and the Supreme Court. I half-expected to see the massive crowds of protestors so often reported in the news. I found exactly one. It was oddly disappointing and made me, once again, question how much of what we’re told reflects what’s actually happening on the ground.
From there, I went on to see Grant’s Tomb and eventually made my way back to Union Station for the long ride home. I arrived in Roanoke after 10 p.m., exhausted in the deep, bone-tired way that only long travel days manage to deliver.
It was a long day—but a good one. A small adventure, unexpectedly meaningful. I’ll have the chance to return to Washington at the end of July, and I plan to take it. Next time, though, I’ll stay longer than a day.
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About the Author
a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller traveling through life
She shares her journeys at Take the Back Roads, explores new reads at Rite of Fancy, and highlights U.S. military biographies at Everyday Patriot.
You can also browse her online photography gallery at shop.takethebackroads.com.
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