This beauty deserves a wider audience: a view of Flannery O’Connor’s Georgia homestead through contemporary eyes. The essayist notes some hilarious details along his road that O’Connor herself would have made a field day with, yet the central note of the piece is hushed, even holy:
I drove up the humble lane to the farm and caught sight of the house. “There it is!” I said aloud to no one. I parked in the grass behind the place and wandered around. I had my phone out like an idiot, taking pictures right and left as if amnesia was imminent. I didn’t want to risk it. A woman emerged from the porch and greeted me. “You must be a pilgrim,” she said. I am, how can you tell? “Pilgrims always approach the house differently, with reverence. Take your time. Stay as long as you want. The peafowl are over there.”
Read the whole thing here.