Steepletop

It's all about having a bright, modern kitchen.

Edna St. Vincent Millay followed the path of a million authors and artists before her when she escaped the noise and confusion of NYC and headed to the solitude of the woods.  She choose the woods of New York State and a town called Austerlitz to make her home in a farmhouse on 600 acre blueberry farm.  

She named the farm Steepletop after the pink wildflowers that grew everywhere and even though she did build a secluded writing cabin, there was always a steady stream of friends pouring in and lots of parties to take advantage of her grown up playground.

Steepletop is just barely located in New York, right across the border from the Berkshires (and Edith Wharton’s home) and technically located in the Taconics.  Edna and her husband, Eugen got to work on the property right away and build a tennis court, pool (perfect for skinny dipping), outdoor bar, rose and vegetable gardens, and a barn with plans purchased from Sears. There was also a roomy guest house across the drive.

Like Edith Wharton, Edna created an “inner sanctum” that was apparently off limits to anyone but her.  She kept her own bedroom, a large bath, and a work room that led to her personal library.
She also had two pianos in the living room, one for herself and one for a guest.  

Despite Edna’s achievements as a writer, Ladies Home Journal decided to remodel Steepletop’s kitchen and use it as a feature in the magazine in 1948.  While I was researching the kitchen remodel I stumbled upon Writer’s Houses, Where Stories Live, a superb website started A.N. Devers but with entries from many authors .  

Megan Mayhew Bergman was lucky enough to visit Millay’s retreat last February.  She describes the property as authentic, still holding clues to Millay’s penchant for perfume, roses and gin.  The remodeled kitchen is crammed full of floral plates and knick knacks, and became a “mid-century electrified dream” thanks to the Ladies Home Journal.  There is an awesome slideshow of the ‘modern’ kitchen at www.thekitchn.com and I must admit I far prefer the before pictures.  After reading about Edna for a few days I already know she had zero interest in streamlining her domestic duties or decorating her kitchen.

Bergman also describes some of the reasons that Edna might have wanted to be far from prying eyes, including a morphine addiction, chronic pain, intestinal problems and alcoholism.  
Edna’s sister, Norma, lived in the house 25 years after Edna’s died after falling down a flight of stairs with a glass of wine in her hand.  She was only 58 years old.  

Norma appreciated Edna’s connection to Steepltop and kept the house just as it was.   An article for the AP by Michael Virtanen says that the house looks as if Edna just stepped out for a minute.

Behind the house there is a poetry trail, dotted with Millay’s poems and leading to her gravestone, next her husbands, two simple stones in the frozen earth that mark the place that she finally found peace.

Feeling Frost-y in Georgia

Here’s an interesting tidbit...the McCain Library at Agnes Scott College has a substantial Robert Frost collection that includes original Frost transcripts and memorabilia along with books, articles and photographs about his life.  While Robert Frost’s name brings to mind stone walls in Vermont and snowy paths through the woods, it does not make me think of the warm breezes of Atlanta (or Decatur) or southern hospitality.  I have not completely solved the enigma of Frost’s relationship with the college but I do know that he visited Agnes Scott College over twenty times (more than any other college outside New England) beginning in 1935.  

Margaret Pepperdene’s (an English Professor at Agnes Scott) speech from 2001 filled me in on some details.  Pepperdene was a new professor at the college during Frost’s visits in the 1950’s and was assigned to be his escort around campus.  It seems that Frost originally had a friendship with Emma May Laney, the head of the English Department at the College,  and began his visit as short layovers on his way to Florida.  But beginning in 1945,  Frost extended his overnights and spent several days at Agnes Scott every January, until his death. Professor Laney was his sponsor and his “self appointed caretaker” during his visit and did everything from meeting him at the airport to making sure he wore his overshoes.  

Pepperdene shares great memories of Frost holding court for adoring coeds and faculty during long winter evenings and extended lunches.  He greatly enjoyed sharing experiences such as the Kennedy Inauguration, his acceptance of honorary degrees from Oxford and Cambridge and Ezra Pound’s run in with a mental hospital while his female fans hung on his every word.   And then there was his public reading and lecture night when the entire community formed a line that snaked through campus just to get the chance to hear him speak (I’d go, wouldn’t you?)  He loved to talk and relished his admiring audience.

Over the years Frost sent the library original work, Christmas cards and photographs which led to the creation of the current special collection.  George Lundeen was commissioned to sculpt Frost ‘writing’ in the alumnae garden to recall his love of strolling through campus at night.
But still I wonder, why Agnes Scott and why so many visits?  My guess is that Professor Laney was a persistent fan that made Frost feel personally important and the Agnes Scott community admired and revered his talent.  Who knows if his relationship with Laney was more than professional (at the time of his visits Frost was a widower) but it is certain that he got something out of his relationship with the college - one thing I learned about Frost was that he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.

Saving Grace

I am a sucker for author success stories.  You know the kind of story I mean; single mother on welfare writes bestseller at corner cafe and becomes as rich as the Queen?  I find them so satisfying, better than Cinderella and her lame Prince Charming.  My favorite, to date, is the story of Gary Paulsen, probably because his savior was the library.  I ‘met’ Gary Paulsen when I graduated from teaching 1st grade a few years ago and wheeled my supplies to the 4th grade wing.  During that summer of preparation I charged through the recommended reading list and fell in love with Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen.  As an author worshipper, I imagined a distinguished man sitting in his study, green-shaded library lamp casting shadows across the bookcases while he rattled off stories of survival and adventure.  Then I heard him interviewed on public radio and imagined something altogether different.

Jim Trelease (another idol of mine) has a thorough biography of Gary Paulsen, and other authors, on his website.  Paulsen grew up poor and neglected as the child of alcoholic parents in Minnesota.  When he was old enough, he started selling papers to earn money and one frigid night had the great fortune of taking shelter in a warm library.  It was there that he met a compassionate librarian who changed his life.  

Paulsen retells the story in his book Shelf Life, a collection of short stories for teens that expresses the power of books, 


“I stopped in the library to warm up. The librarian noticed me, called me over, and asked if I wanted a library card and gave me a book.  Later that night back at home, I took the book, a box of crackers, and a jar of grape jelly down to the basement, to a hideaway I’d created behind the furnace.  I sat in the corner plodding through the book. It took me forever to read. I was such a poor reader that, by the time I’d finished a page, I’d have forgotten what I’d read on the page before and I’d have to go back.

The current library in
Thief River Falls, MN

Paulsen returned to the library again and again for his new salvation, books.  The librarian took the time to pick out books from every genre that she thought would engage him, she even talked with him about the books when he brought them back.  This next quote is the part that gets me, the part that makes me hyperventilate at the thought of closing small public libraries across America...

“But she wasn’t just giving me books, she was giving me ... everything,” Paulsen writes, “ She gave me the first hint I’d ever had in my entire life that there was something other than my drunken parents screaming at each other in the kitchen. She handed me a world where I wasn't going to get beaten up by the school bullies. She showed me places where it didn’t hurt all the time.  I read terribly at first but as I did more of it, the books became more a part of me and within a short time they gave me a life, a look at life outside myself that made me look forward instead of backward.”

Gary Paulsen went on to weave a fascinating life that I will continue to read and write about in future blogs.  He is considered one of the most important writers for young adults and has written over 175 books, including three Newberry Honor books.  When I think about the positive impact that Gary Paulsen has had on our world, and how it might never have existed, without the help of a kind librarian, I am reminded that the library is truly “a fitting temple for the great thoughts of generations” and worth every penny.