andalusia

This, my friends, is the Andalusia Foundation, or the adult home of Flannery O'Conner. I popped in as it was literally on the road to my destination, Madison. No veers or side roads. There it was. Roadside adventure of literary greatness. It helped that a storm was letting up, and I was tired from inching forward in it, so I needed the break. Behind the home is the family barn, servant cottage, a milk house, and the present-day sound announcements of a few car dealerships. There are also many, many discarded pieces of furniture and plumbing that the grounds are more of a not-for-sale junkyard. Or, did Flannery liken to The Misfit (more than we know) and have Hulk-esque throw tantrums? The porch was the most striking. The thunderstorm had the screen door banging and the rocking chairs knocking the wood. Once inside, the lower level is on display which luckily contains Flannery's bedroom where she composed the bulk of her work. I shivered in Georgia-September. It was touching to be there. I was in the house where Flannery wrote all morning and then took guests on the screen porch till late in the evening. I sat on that same porch and tried to realize how she conjured such wicked characters. Answer: She was Catholic.