District of Columbia Scavenger Hunt
Welcome to Washington, D.C.—a city drawn not from nature or accident, but from intention. Born of compromise and carved from swampland, the capital was conjured by a young republic desperate to show the world that it could not only govern, but aspire. Its earliest avenues were scribed by L’Enfant as visions of grandeur, a baroque dream set atop muddy banks where ducks once outnumbered diplomats.
For over two centuries, D.C. has been a place of dualities—grandeur and gridlock, power and protest, structure and spontaneity. It is a city that never quite belonged to itself, yet has always belonged to the American experiment. From marble memorials to mini golf greens, from brickyards to broadcast stages, from cherry blossoms to burning questions of civil rights—it is a city built not just of stone and steel, but of stories.
This is where federal meets personal. Where revolutions are recorded in archives, and revolutions of thought are launched from a lunch counter or a Metro station. Across the history of this hand-measured capital, the truest monuments may not be the ones that soar—but those that quietly endure.
The photos and stories collected here are a fast and fun way to learn the explanations behind the quirks, the traditions and the secrets that make Washington, D.C. uniquely Washington D.C. Why is Georgetown the Hoyas? Solved. What are those Corinthian columns at the National Arboretum? A mystery no more. What was the Presidential airplane before Air Force One? Identified. Where was Suter’s Tavern? No one really knows.
Where half-smokes meet with civil grace, And legends fill the narrow space. A kitchen forged in freedom’s flame With chili, pie, and rising fame. You run for office? Take a stroll— No win without a stop at Ben’s Bowl.
Where Decatur’s pride took early root, Then fate drew pistols in dispute. Latrobe’s design in hush still stands, With stories tied to dueling hands. A house of honor, grief, and might— Near White House walls and protest’s light.
They came for Lincoln’s city bright, But stayed their guns at Stevens’ fight. Here cannon barked and rifles snapped— While Honest Abe with soldiers clapped. It’s rare a President joins the fray— Yet Lincoln watched that July day.
Where Southern dreams and D.C. meet, This terminal received new feet. A bus once burned, but justice flared As Freedom Riders boldly dared. An Art Deco gate of courage known— A waypoint on the long road grown.
A brewer built with beer in mind, Where Gothic towers once dined and dined. The “castle” born of lager gold, Now tells the stories drinkers told. Where hops met stone, and fortunes poured— The Brewmaster's life is now adored.
He never came to take a bow, But left us this red-stone know-how. From Seneca’s quarry the walls arose, To house all things the curious chose. The first of seventeen, and crowned with might— Where knowledge soars in Norman light.