Carl Sandburg's Home

Speaking of having our eyes wide open, we were driving down I-26 through North Carolina when we spotted a sign for Carl Sandburg's Home, the historic site coming up at the next exit.

Oh my gosh.

So: I have this thing about not reading biographies of the authors and poets that I really love. To be honest, I enjoy reading the writings without knowing much about the specific framework from which they came.

Thus I had only a vaguest idea that Carl Sandburg had lived in North Carolina... That he had moved to the mountains for the solace he needed for his writing, for breathing room and inspiration, for his "creative hush..."

And I certainly didn't know that his home had been purchased by the federal government from his lovely widow Lilian, soon after his death in 1967. Lilian wanted the home to be used to remember Carl, and so she left nearly everything just as it was... Down to a calendar for the family's haircuts, and magazines sitting out that were addressed to

Carl Sandburg
Flat Rock, NC

...So of course I had no idea that such a home had been preserved and made into a national historic site that we could visit on a random Saturday traveling through the Carolinas.

Obviously, there was no decision to be made; our exit off of the highway was mandated by having spotted the sign.

We drove the handful of miles to Flat Rock, and were taken aback by the winding stretch of road that took us there. Beautiful hills, lush with trees... Amazing victorian homes, still ponds, changing leaves, the Autumn warm and clear outside our open van windows.

When we pulled into the parking lot, we were laughing (in a joyous, as opposed to ironic, fashion) -- It seemed like the only appropriate way to respond to the utter beauty of the place.
It was like pulling up to a magical national park: Beautiful paths cutting through forest and overlooking a wide-open, still lake -- Which sits at the bottom of a breadth of hill and field.

A plaque on the way onto the grounds quoted Sandburg as saying (perhaps quoting Vernon Lee?) of his home in general: "This is where I dirty paper."

And with that beginning I was on the verge of tears for the remainder of our stay -- Such a feeling of being deliciously moved.

A wide trail leads you the .3 miles up to Carl Sandburg's home, lined with great oaks and pines that would have towered over Carl himself years ago. And the home is a beautiful-yet-simple sight (photos coming soon in our Gallery), sitting at the top of the hill, overlooking the fields... And offering, from its front porch, a striking view over the hills of Flat Rock.

Just inside on the first floor of the house is a small bookshop where you can purchase ridiculously cheap tickets ($5??!) to tour the home with a volunteer... And this we quickly did, having arrived with 5 minutes to spare for their last tour of the day.

Let's take a quick break. I can't launch into all the reasons I love Carl Sandburg, how I fell hard for his writing while at a used book store in KY, how I carry a copy of "Selected Poems" on every tour...
But I do need to say that this poet is monumental to me.
As if I haven't been making this apparent.
Okay, moving on:

Inside the house, the walls are lined with shelves of books, books, thousands and thousands of them... Most with Carl's bookmarks still in them here & there. I confess to scribbling down as many titles as I could, as we walked through, me with a scrap of paper bent over my knee. (My new list will comprise a project for the next visit to a used bookstore...)

Sandburg lived here for 22 years, publishing more than a third of his works from this site; it was lovely to let our eyes settle on his surroundings as he wrote through the night for so many years.

The Sandburgs were a simple family; Sandburg's Pulitzer Prize award is still rolled up in the case in which he received it, stashed into a bookcase in the corner of the living room.

Brilliant.

Everything about their home and the grounds exemplified their emphasis on nature, on Being, on reading, words, ideas, music, function... And yes, a good many cigars and goats.

(Lilian owned and operated a premier goat dairy farm. Her breeding program produced prize goats, and you can pet goats that represent her three breeds when you visit the grounds.)

(And yes, we did pet the goats.)

So we had no idea this place existed, but we couldn't have visited at a more perfect time... October in the Carolinas is breathtaking, and Connemara gives generously of it, all covered in giant trees, dark earth, blooming flowers, pools of water, gardens of bamboo, and worn trails.
It was the Gift of the Year for me -- Such an amazing happenstance.

Name on the Air

I will write my name to hang in the air
hoping the hang of it in the air will please me
till a wind comes picking each vowel and consonant,
setting them to roost with birds on branches,
while I walk under them saying:
The sun and the rain are
two of my great-great-grandmothers
two of my youngest sisters.

--Carl Sandburg