Tantrum at the Sandburg House
One of the hidden jewels of Western Carolina is the Sandburg
House in nearby Flat Rock, just outside of Hendersonville. On par with the best
plantation mansions that are frequently preserved as historic sites, the
Sandburg House, also known as Connemara, would have to wait until well after
the poet’s death until it was signed over to the Ministry of the Interior and
eventually the National Park Services. This was a wise decision. People will be
pressed to find a more formidable tribute to this American icon.
In 1945, Sandburg had already seen the world, fought in a
war, and won a Pulitzer Prize when he decided there must be a climate friendlier
place than his home state of Michigan, a place that would also promote creative
outbursts from a 57 year old writer. Connemara itself has more than 200 acres,
most of them forest land that complement the lake, the main house, and the
goat barn around it. From the parking lot, we have to hike past the lake
and up a series of trails before we can reach the main house. These are
certainly interesting facts to adults interested in the fine arts. To our kids,
they mean one repeated, sleep-inducing letter that is as appealing as broccoli
(or zucchini): zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..
The tour guide is patient with us, although you can tell she is alert once she sees that we have a six and an eight year old with us. Asking kids like that to withstand a guided tour is like trying to herd cats. One of them will always have a bright idea that includes touching rare artifacts, accessing the roped off areas, and bathroom breaks when there is no bathroom to be found. We more or less drag the two through the tour. They behave when we pass the library, a collection of thousands of rare books, many of them original edition. There’s the old typewriter that Sandburg’s assistant would use whenever the writer decided to dictate any of his brilliant ideas. There’s the old wooden furniture, plus photos of where they used to stand (for the most part in the same place you find them in now).
Once we reach a secluded area, maybe the bedroom, the tour guide relies on an old established trick: she makes the restless kids her helpers. She finds the switch to the bedroom, and asks Axl to turn it on for her. Ever the eager one, Axl turns on the switch and beams as if he’d just flipped the switch that launches the next space shuttle into space. Next, it is on Bash to turn the switch off. Axl didn’t get the memo about taking turns and promptly flips the switch off. The lights off gesture is symbolic, because this is where a dark cloud rushes through the Sandburg House until it firmly settles over Bash’s red head. And predictably, all hell breaks loose.
It was my turn, he shrieks. I didn’t get a turn. Axl was mean to me. You stupid Axl. It was my turn. Sob. Here it matters little that we offer him a consolation prize, one that now gives him unlimited access to the switch (at least as long as the parents are there). We could give him the switch, produce a replica out of candy cane and marshmallows, and it would make no difference, because he did not get his turn, right there, at 11:29 a.m. on August 17, the year of our Lord 2015. Nope, he was given his chance to turn off the light and he was thwarted under the most egregious of circumstances.
In some places, this little tantrum would mean: have a seat, chill out. Have a drink of water, we’re sure Axl didn’t mean it that way. In some places. This isn’t one of them. In other words, the tour is over in the second floor, right where we are about to admire some more of the writer’s bookcases. I hurry upstairs to the guest room, one of Sandburg’s favorite places that gives you this gorgeous view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I have a few minutes for this until I am forced to hustle back down and assist with putting out the little red Bash fire.
Eventually, we make it to the goat barn, Bash pets the goats, and all is well again.
The duties at the Sandburg House were separated in the simplest of terms: Sandburg would write (he would earn another Pulitzer in the early 50’s), and his wife Paula would breed goats and win her own Pulitzers for her efforts.
We decide to hike up the nearby Glass Mountain, we inadvertently take the longer trail and end up walking four miles. I’m proud of the kids in the end. We end the tour on, literally, a high rather than a shrieking note, I’d say.
The tour guide is patient with us, although you can tell she is alert once she sees that we have a six and an eight year old with us. Asking kids like that to withstand a guided tour is like trying to herd cats. One of them will always have a bright idea that includes touching rare artifacts, accessing the roped off areas, and bathroom breaks when there is no bathroom to be found. We more or less drag the two through the tour. They behave when we pass the library, a collection of thousands of rare books, many of them original edition. There’s the old typewriter that Sandburg’s assistant would use whenever the writer decided to dictate any of his brilliant ideas. There’s the old wooden furniture, plus photos of where they used to stand (for the most part in the same place you find them in now).
Once we reach a secluded area, maybe the bedroom, the tour guide relies on an old established trick: she makes the restless kids her helpers. She finds the switch to the bedroom, and asks Axl to turn it on for her. Ever the eager one, Axl turns on the switch and beams as if he’d just flipped the switch that launches the next space shuttle into space. Next, it is on Bash to turn the switch off. Axl didn’t get the memo about taking turns and promptly flips the switch off. The lights off gesture is symbolic, because this is where a dark cloud rushes through the Sandburg House until it firmly settles over Bash’s red head. And predictably, all hell breaks loose.
It was my turn, he shrieks. I didn’t get a turn. Axl was mean to me. You stupid Axl. It was my turn. Sob. Here it matters little that we offer him a consolation prize, one that now gives him unlimited access to the switch (at least as long as the parents are there). We could give him the switch, produce a replica out of candy cane and marshmallows, and it would make no difference, because he did not get his turn, right there, at 11:29 a.m. on August 17, the year of our Lord 2015. Nope, he was given his chance to turn off the light and he was thwarted under the most egregious of circumstances.
In some places, this little tantrum would mean: have a seat, chill out. Have a drink of water, we’re sure Axl didn’t mean it that way. In some places. This isn’t one of them. In other words, the tour is over in the second floor, right where we are about to admire some more of the writer’s bookcases. I hurry upstairs to the guest room, one of Sandburg’s favorite places that gives you this gorgeous view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I have a few minutes for this until I am forced to hustle back down and assist with putting out the little red Bash fire.
Eventually, we make it to the goat barn, Bash pets the goats, and all is well again.
The duties at the Sandburg House were separated in the simplest of terms: Sandburg would write (he would earn another Pulitzer in the early 50’s), and his wife Paula would breed goats and win her own Pulitzers for her efforts.
We decide to hike up the nearby Glass Mountain, we inadvertently take the longer trail and end up walking four miles. I’m proud of the kids in the end. We end the tour on, literally, a high rather than a shrieking note, I’d say.
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