A visit to the home of poet Carl Sandburg …

A friend and I had the pleasure this past weekend of visiting Connemara Farms, the 246 acre home in Flat Rock, North Carolina, where Carl Sandburg and his wife lived from 1945 to the time of his death 22 years later. It is a lovely spot, maintained as a National Historic site, and well worth the visit.

As you can see, the property is far from ornate and reflects the type of life that Sandburg loved… lots of seclusion and a house overflowing with books. It also provided his wife with 30 acres of pastureland that she needed to raise her champion dairy goats who are still in residence.

Carl Sandburg worked from the time that he was a young boy and never had much of a formal education but he had a powerful way with words. So many of his poems reflect his experiences and are first-hand experiences of the struggles between rich and poor, but; my favorites have always been his “handfuls”, as he called them. Here are two of my favorites:

FOG

The fog comes on little cat feet./
It sits looking over harbor and city
on silent haunches and then moves on.
                                                              
CHOOSE

The single clenched fist lifted and ready,
or the open asking hand held out and waiting.
                                 
Choose:     For we meet by one or the other.