According to Writer’s Almanac, Eudora Welty, born in Jackson, Mississippi (1909), wrote several novels, including The Optimist’s Daughter (1972), but she’s best known for her short stories, which she wrote, rewrote, and revised by cutting them apart with scissors at the dining-room table. For all you younger readers, that was when “cut and paste” meant actual cutting and pasting pieces of paper. My favorite short story of hers is Why I Live at the P.O. It is funny, southern writing at its best.
You can tour her house and garden in Jackson for $5, the house at 1119 Pinehurst Street that Welty moved into in 1925 with her parents when she was 16 and lived in until she died in 2001.
Eudora Welty’s Garden
The garden was planted by her mother Chestina so that there’d be something in bloom each season. There are larkspur, hollyhocks, and snapdragons for the spring; phlox, zinnias, and blue salvia for the summer; asters, chrysanthemums, and spider lilies for the fall, and camellias and pansies in winter.
I’d love to see this garden someday in all of its glory. How about you? Road trip, anyone?
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Read Kirkus Reviews’ starred review (for books of remarkable merit) of my southern novel: The Secret Sense of Wildflower.
I just love touring the home’s of writers. Favorites include Hemingway’s, Sandburg’s, and Louisa May Alcott’s. I always talk to them (when no one is listening) and ask them to bring me luck with my writing.
Hi Barbara,
I’m impressed with the number of writer’s homes you’ve toured. I’ve only seen Sandburg’s and Thomas Wolfe’s, and those are near where I live. I love the idea of being in their space and then asking them to bring you luck with your writing! Great idea!
I’d love to go but alas I’m a tad far away. I did visit Steinbeck’s home the last time I was in Salinas: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:SteinbeckHouse.jpg.
I can’t believe they’re only charging five bucks. If it were someone like LaToya Jackson, they’d charge $100! Sigh…
I’ve often wondered, though, how odd it would be if I were to become famous after my death and the house where I grew up suddenly became a museum. Imagine a ticket taker at your front door, your rather ordinary room roped off, your messy desk the object of veneration. Weird…
Yep, Steinbeck’s house is a bit far for me, too. I’d love to see it some day, though.
I love the way you think, John. “Imagine a ticket taker at your front door, your rather ordinary room roped off, your messy desk the object of veneration.” No wonder you’re a novelist. 🙂
Is that what I am? I actually have no idea. Sometimes I think it’s a question I will never answer. I’m sure I’ll never get it right in this life, and will come back as a mosquito in Florida or something.
Great garden. I’m reading Welty’s memoir right now. The Andrew Carnegie librarian anecdote is such fun!
And if I didn’t have my own wonderful mother, I would vote to have Eudora Welty’s mother!
Hi Deb,
Thanks for stopping by. I’ve read a biography about Ms. Welty but not her memoir. I will have to find it just to check out the “Andrew Carnegie librarian anecdote.” 🙂