It was all her idea…really.
Somehow our writers group began discussing Flannery O’Connor last year and the discussion swirled into the planning for this trip. Christina scoured the universe to plan our drive, the locales we would stay and what we would do.
So, after an extensive day of driving, including rush hour in Atlanta during a thunderstorm, we finally wove our way into Milledgeville, Georgia, and that was the moment I heard a squeal from the back seat of the car as Christina feasted her eyes on Andalusia Farm. As you have probably gathered by now, or if you have forgotten, Andalusia is the home of Flannery O’Connor from 1951 to her death from Lupus in 1964.
Our pilgrimage has pointed here from its inception…and tomorrow we will ramble through the fields she strolled, tour her home and immerse ourselves in Flannery, the author, her life and her journey with death.
For Christina, this trip is an experience she ruminated over since she first read and began to comprehend the significance imbued within Flannery’s prose. Later, she felt a connection between the woman of faith, her plucky personality and her incredible wisdom.
After unloading our belongings into the charming, turn of the century bed and breakfast, I began to witness the metamorphosis of our young tour guide. While always pleasant, she sprouted a noticeable cheshire cat grin and it became apparent that wherever she goes, or what she does–she will always have Andalusia and this intimate connection to Flannery.
We wandered the streets of the historic town and landed at a pub for a late dinner. It was there, the wry grin was most prominent. More important than making this journey with these remarkable women was seeing the smile on Christina’s face
More tomorrow–as the oldest of the pilgrims, I am weary…see y’all later