A Welty Sense Of Place

This is a strange post. I published it once by mistake. Thirty-four people read it before I could remove it from my blog. I updated it and published it again. I removed it from the blog completely and reverted the post to draft.  Then, I re-published it a third time. Last night, I removed it again, and this morning I am updating it for the fourth time; however, this morning, I know why. This post is not about a wedding venue; this post is about a Welty sense of place.  I was reading from The New Encyclopedia of Southern Culture edited by Charles Reagan Wilson, and I came across an entry entitled, Place, Sense of.  The first line of the encyclopedia entry was a quote by Eudora Welty.  "One place comprehended can make us understand other places better." 

The second paragraph of the entry reads as follows: Attachment to a place gives an abiding identity because places associated with family, community, and history have depth.  Philosopher Yi-Fu Tuan points out that a sense of place in any human society comes from the intersection of space and time. Southerners developed an acute sense of place as a result of their dramatic and traumatic history and their rural isolation on the land for generations.  As Welty noted, "feelings are bound up with place," and the film title Places in the Heart captured the emotional quality that places evoke.  "Home" is a potent word for many Southerners, and the "homeplace" evokes reverence.

So I absolutely had to read Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience (which I read this morning) by Yi-Fu Tuan (which for some reason is the most difficult name to type).  One word ~ AMAZING!  This book should be required reading for every person who resides on the planet earth! I haven't digested the book completely, as I will need to read it twice or maybe three times; however, there is one excerpt that begs to be included in this post:

What is a place?  What gives a place its identity, its aura? These questions occurred to physicists Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg when they visited Kronberg Castle in Denmark. Bohr said to Heisenberg: "Isn't it strange how this castle changes as soon as one imagines that Hamlet lived here? As scientists we believe that a castle consists only of stones, and admire the way the architect put them together. The stones, the green roof with its patina, the wood carvings in the church, constitute the whole castle.  None of this should be changed by the fact that Hamlet lived here, and yet it is changed completely.  Suddenly the walls and the ramparts speak quite a different language. The courtyard becomes an entire world....

Mississippi author Eudora Welty was born on April 13, 1909, in Jackson, Mississippi, at 741 N. Congress Street. On April 26, 2014 ~ one hundred and five years later ~ at the very same location, my daughter is getting married.  We now know the date is completely official as it is listed on the 2014 Calendar at the Welty Commons website ~ all of which is very exciting, to be sure!

The Commons Hall is described on the website as "a grand Southern house with the spirit and style of the South and all the comforts and amenities of modern sophistication."  Katie and her fiance considered a variety of venues; however, the description of this location provided clear direction for the special day ~ the spirit and style of the South with modern sophistication. The first time I saw the house was dusk, and the golden sun of a western Mississippi sky seemed to gild its facade.  As my daughter guided me through each building, outside area, and inside room of what is known as The Commons at Eudora Welty's Birthplace, I felt a congenial invitation ~ not from a person, but from a place.  I have felt a similar propinquity with place at other times in my life, almost as if I were given the setting of a story in order to magically conjure up the unknown narrative to follow ~ a proximity, a vicinity, a nearness that provides an instant connection.  For my daughter, the grand Southern house was the perfect choice for a wedding; for me, the grand Southern house was "THE place" of Eudora Welty's One Writer's Beginnings.
 

The Welty Commons is surrounded by courthouses and Capitol buildings, magnolias and crepe myrtles, a few nationally-acclaimed restaurants and the locals' favorite tavern. On the property itself is the Tattered Pages Bookstore and Congress Street Coffee, both of which will be open on the day of the wedding!

Inside the Commons Hall, beautifully ornate chandeliers hang in every room...even the bathrooms! The time of day could not have accommodated this photographer's love of illumination with any more brilliance and intensity...each image more breathtaking than the next.

Natural lighting also finds its way into every great room, hallway and alcove and is just as radiant as the lambent light. I knew in my heart that my daughter's wedding narrative had found its perfect setting...a perfect sense of place.  

And yet, with all the Southern charm inside the Commons Hall, the grounds and outbuildings offer a more current, contemporary vibe to the venue...well-appointed places to sit, to reflect, to relate, to connect, to celebrate, to dance, to interact, to engage and to wed.  I am immediately transported back to the present...to a venue, to an event, to a wedding, to a reception, to a list of decisions.  My daughter is no different from any other bride-to-be.  It's all about the wedding, Mom; but, for me ~ the writer ~ for a brief intersection of space and time, it's all about place.

"Place is vitally important to a story.  Place answers the questions, "What happened? Who's here? Who's coming?" Place is a prompt to memory; thus the human mind is what makes place significant. This is the job of the storyteller." ~ Eudora Welty

Eudora Welty is said to have crafted the modern Southern fairy tale.  She served as queen of this Southern place, and she understood its people.  Like the phoenix that rises up from the ashes, a new story will emerge from 741 N. Congress Street. On April 26, 2014, an intersection of space and time will take place at the Welty Commons.  We will not be enamored by the lighting, or charmed by the location, or even fascinated by the birthplace of Eudora Welty.  An abiding identity will be created from experience and memory, and we will forever know it as "THE place" where Katie and Brandon were married.

Dianne ; )

My Cardboard Box of Books

An elderly man came into the library this week with a special request.  His wife died recently, and he wanted to donate two boxes of her books to the library. He stated that his wife had filled a dedicated home library with hundreds of books ~ most of which were divided among their four daughters.  Only two large cardboard boxes of books remained. We accepted his donation to add to our ongoing book sale.

Even with the best intentions, most death-related donations are shoddy-looking paperbacks or moldy-smelling Reader's Digest Condensed Books...especially when the donor makes the statement that "most of the books have been divided and these are the ones that are left."  So my branch manager and I rummaged through the books to check their condition, which was surprisingly pristine ~ almost brand new.  As I separated the books by subject and genre, I  began to see a life unfolding.  The deceased wife and mother had enjoyed books about gardening, cooking, crafting, and decorating ~ as one-half of the two boxes clearly noted.  The remaining books were grouped into a singular subject area: weight loss. Years of bestselling diet and fitness books (many of which our library did not own a cataloged copy) made up the other half.

With so many weight loss books, I couldn't help but wonder...was she overweight when she died?  She certainly did not aspire to live (or die) in an overweight condition. Judging by the sheer volume of books that she purchased, her desired body weight was the primary focus of her life.  Had she simply read about weight loss, or did she finally achieve the outcome she was seeking?  Was her weight a contributing factor to her death?  Or had she accomplished her weight loss goals and lived a healthy life? Also, why was this popular collection of weight loss books weeded in its entirety by her four daughters?  Her cardboard box of books clearly had a story to tell.

That's when I had a Tomorrow Trunk moment to take from the day and tuck away. What story would my cardboard box of books tell?  Would a total stranger looking through my box of books have any idea of the life I've lived? Which books would my children keep and which books would they give away? As much as I love my books for what they have spoken to me, what would my box of books say about me?

After taking an quick inventory last night, my cardboard box of books is divided into seven groups: 1) Children's Literature, 2) Writing/Storytelling, 3) Spiritual Enlightenment and Devotionals, 4) Dogs, 5) Domestic Life (decorating, cooking, gardening), 6) Travel, and 7) Rare Books.  I lay in bed this morning, perused my shelves, and tried to imagine which books of mine would end up at the local library ~ culled by my own kids.

I decided that my travel books would probably be the first to go, mainly because I have not traveled to my desired destinations. Those books might remind my children of something that I had hoped to do, but never fulfilled (as of this writing); however, that notion isn't completely true. My most favorite travel books have transported me to Tuscany, Vermont, and Prince Edward Island.  I have taken literary trips through Sonoma Wine Country, along the Big Sur Coastal Highway 1, and to the top of the Empire State Building.  I have even flipped through the Mississippi Delta on a food lover's road trip ~ recipes included. I own beautifully illustrated books about America's hidden corners, the country inns of the South, the best bike rides in New England, and the world's great gardens...all of which I have viewed from my reading chair.

Which brings me back to the box of weight loss books...there is something so implicitly sad about a collection of a hundred books on any unfulfilled desire, whether it be travel plans, weight loss, money management, sobriety, or marital bliss. I am assuming that the first weight loss book led to the second, and then there were five on up to ten, followed by five more ~ new and improved.  After accumulating an entire box, did one book ever make a difference?

I can't let go of that thought.  I am bothered that my children might set aside a stack of books that make them feel sorry for me, especially if I am not there to defend that particular segment of my life. I want my box of books to represent a life that was diverse, scopic, evolving, resilient, liberal, and surprisingly sufficient for a wannabe writer and a children's librarian.  I surely do not desire to carry a lifelong deficiency with me to the grave, nor do I intend for my children to donate a box of unwanted books that reveal a signature fault, flaw, or failure.

I have always heard that we are what we eat, but are we what we read? Do I see my real self on my bookshelf?  I do not wish for my box of books to reveal illusory hopes, impossible dreams, or failed plans. Eventually I hope to swallow one literary seed that grows into something of value and gives true meaning and closure ~ without regret ~ to my cardboard box of books.

Dianne ; )

Two Rose Bushes

I have said many times that I have no idea who actually reads these posts.  I don't know how to monitor who subscribes to the blog, and few people ever send me comments (except for my daughter Katie and Ms. Karen ~ so nice to hear from you!). However, curiosity always comes in the form of a text or a phone call from friends and family.
  
Tell me about the two rose bushes!  When are you going to write about the lesson you learned from the two rose bushes?  I want to read about the man who planted the two rose bushes in front of the dilapidated house.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: The twin sisters find a happy ending!

Somehow I missed the two rose bushes when they were first planted. I only noticed them during their first season of bloom, which was two years ago ~ and do they ever bloom.  Throughout their blooming season, the two rose bushes look as though they could be featured as an advertised variety in the Jackson and Perkins rose catalog. The rich, red, velvety blooms are the size of dinner-plate dahlias ~ four to six inches each, at least.  The stems are long, and the foliage is a lush, dark green. I call the two rose bushes the twin sisters, and I have been drawn to their enchanting allurement for two years. Because there has been a NO TRESPASSING sign on the front door of the home, I have never stopped on the side of the road and taken a picture.  I can only come close to describing the symmetrical beauty of the superb performers as two stunning, oversize bouquets perfectly arranged for a grand foyer in a stately mansion.

However, these two rose bushes are not the floral embellishments of a palatial estate. The twin sisters reside at the remnants of a run-down poultry farm. The roofs of the two hen houses are falling in, and most of the wall materials have been removed. To the side of the tattered, tumble-down chicken farm is a neglected worker's shanty.  With the exception of the two rose bushes, the place looks deserted and dilapidated.  Even the old man whom I would occasionally see at the farm looks bent-over and worn-out.

Why? is the question I asked myself.  Why in the world would anyone plant such beautiful roses in front of a total eyesore? The answer to that question is where the lesson began for me. The life lecture started with the front porch...

I saw the old man doing something to the front of the house about six months after the two roses' first blooming season. Hmm...every morning and evening I watched him as he built the cutest front porch out of the scrap lumber from the poultry house.  He painted the front porch railing a bright white, which immediately gave the weathered shack a welcomed face lift. About six months later, he began the process of removing the rotten decking around the house and replacing the broken pieces of wood siding ~ once again, using the leftover lumber from the abandoned hen houses.

Of course, the twin sisters were showing off the entire time! Then came the A-ha Moment! The two rose bushes were never intended to be the first chapter; the two rose bushes are the happy ending! He planted the final embellishments first!  In the old man's mind, the two rose bushes served as a daily reminder of the loveliness that he planned to create. I did not understand the purpose behind the two rose bushes, because I could not see the vision of the designer nor could I imagine the artistry of his handiwork.

Day by day, I watched as he matched the surroundings of his habitation to the aesthetic glory of the two rose bushes.  About six months ago, he took the last pieces of the used tin from the chicken houses and placed it on top of his charming little cottage.  After resourcing all the usable materials from the old farm, he completely removed any remaining debris.  In the early spring, he began tilling the "fertilized" area where the hen houses once stood to plant a small garden.

Now, the twin sisters absolutely belonged.  The two rose bushes sit on either side of the most whimsical little cottage painted a morning fog gray with a bright white porch.  The garden is ripe for harvest, and the entire residence is completely transformed.  Of course, since most of the work is complete, the old man doesn't look as tired. To be quite honest, he doesn't look old at all!

Just amazing...the lesson of the two rose bushes.  If only we could see the flowery finished product first.  If only we could be driven by the most desired outcome and be reminded of that ideal on a daily basis.  The two rose bushes were not just horticultural wonders; they were the architect's foresight, his perspective, his breadth of view.  All of which were beyond my limited range of perception and depth of field.

Even though the NO TRESPASSING sign is gone, I think I understand the purpose of why it remained on the front door throughout the process.  Sometimes we have a vision, and we need our own NO TRESPASSING sign. The sign says to the passerby, "This is a work in progress. This is my private space. Do not knock on my door and tell me that my dream is a lost cause. Don't undermine my decisions or second-guess my intentions.  LEAVE MY ROSE BUSHES ALONE!"

One other lesson I learned from the two rose bushes is that sometimes the work is being done behind the scenes, and we just don't see it.  I am sure that somewhere behind that beautifully-restored cottage is a stack of lumber and a pile of tin.  We see the clever restoration, but we don't always see makeshift provisions.  We recognize the refined outcome, but we often overlook the raw, rudimentary elements of the grand design.

The twin sisters are now fully mature; their beauty is unmatched.  The elderly man's residence is restored, and his dream is realized.  Every morning when I drive to work, I see him working in his garden. Every evening when I drive home, I see him sitting on his front porch.

And I think to myself, it all ended with two rose bushes...

Dianne ; )