Tuesday, July 23, 2013


was eating its lunch when we happened to look down on the little waterfall under the bridge and spy it basking there with a prominent bulge in its midsection.  Yesterday the four of us (our Asheville hosts and The Yard Man and I) chose to visit the former home of Carl Sandburg, who departed this life exactly forty-six years prior to our visit*

 Evidently numerous snakes have decided to currently call the property home.  On the short walk from the parking area up to the house, we counted at least four of them sunning themselves in the brook.

I sincerely hoped that, not unlike Carl and his wife, two of his three daughters and the two grandchildren (all of whom lived there), no one in our party would get bitten and die a slow and agonizing death from snakebite.  (Because The Yard Man gets a certain thrill from grabbing a twig and tickling it against the ankle of an unsuspecting walker [just after a walker has expressed the above sentiment], I very nearly died of apoplexy.  However, the stunt elicited strong laughter all around, and the snakes happily left us alone.)

At the house, we took a lengthy tour, in which our Tour Guide described a visit that Carl Sandburg received from Bob Dylan back in 1967.  "They met right here on the porch where you're standing," she said "Bob Dylan was somewhat disappointed that Carl was not aware of his (Dylan's) fame."
After the Dylan vignette, the Tour Guide ushered us into Carl Sandburg's home.  I'm ushering you in, too, Viewer Dear:

Bookcases lined the walls in nearly every room.
The Tour Guide wowed us with the actual number of books. 
"Did he read them all?!"  a fellow gawker asked.  But the Tour Guide couldn't say (though she doubted he did [and I'd venture to say it was a common doubt]).
And then she went on to tell us about Lilian Sandburg's dairy goats.**-***

Advancing to the second floor, we got a peek at Carl's impressive collection of National Geographic magazines.  "He was a bit of a pack rat," the Tour Guide explained.  I felt a slight kinship, Reader Dear!

Then she told us about the record players in nearly every room.  Hmm, yes, sounds like a kindred spirit! I mused.   Well, when she got to Carl's sleeping habits, there was no more room for doubt, surely Carl Sandburg and I shared some DNA!

"Pardon me," I begged of her, when the tour was over, "please will you repeat that part about him staying up at night?"
She graciously complied;
I joyfully present!


*Perhaps he died in the very chair, at the very same moment she pointed it out, and said, "It was TODAY, in 1967."

 **Lilian was his wife, a great animal-lover
(Ha! [please note] so like The Yard Man, Reader Dear!)

***Following the tour, we went to see the goats. 
Descendants of the Sandburg goats, of course.

I suppose the reptiles were descendants, too.

...yes, to be cont'd.
(Monday's going to wander into Wednesday...)

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