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Rowan Oak, home of William Faulkner, in Oxford, Mississippi, United States

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Rowan Oak

Today i have thoughts.

We went to Rowan Oak, Faulkner’s home. It was cool. Honestly, I find myself more drawn to the grounds of these people’s homes than the home itself. I enjoyed most wandering around with Hannah while everyone else was hiking over in the rain.

Now these hikes--I have to reiterate that I just hate trying to keep up with Dr. Reich. I am not an invalid, by any stretch of the imagination, but I am significantly overweight. So I’ve just been unobtrusively hitting my steps goal by myself instead of trying to kill myself with optional sprint-hikes.

I went to the cemetery by myself this afternoon. I wasn’t really there to find Faulkner’s grave, but mostly just wanted a quiet, outdoor place to read. I lasted a little while, and then came back to the hotel so I could be close to a bathroom.

Okay, that was a summary of the day. Here are my THOUGHTS:

After Rowan Oak, before the cemetery, I was having lunch with Hannah, Emily, and Melissa. Emily said (even though she ended up changing her mind because I saw her there) that she had no interest in Faulkner’s grave because of his shitty attitude and unrepentant alcoholism. This made me think two things.

First, I have just finished reading Alias Grace. There was a lot in there about spirits of people being unable to go if there’s no window. For some reason, that bled into our conversation, and I was imagining an old alcoholic ghost fluttering around his grave to be a pest (because he would). But this led me to my second thought.

When my mom died, it was a relief. She was mentally ill my entire life and she progressively got worse. She was incapable of supporting herself, emotionally unstable, and had to be handled like a fragile child. It was heartbreaking for everyone. The only relief I had was picturing her in the afterlife. Now, for myself, I don’t know if I buy in to the great beyond and all that mumbo jumbo. But for her, I had to. I could not live the rest of my life believing that she was just miserable for 61 years and then--that’s it. That’s all she gets. I had to believe that there was a place for her somewhere else where she could be a whole, functional, happy person.

Now, mental illness is a disease, and so is alcoholism. And alcoholism can lead to some pretty shitty behavior. So if Janice Burbage Lawless could get a clean slate, why couldn’t William Cuthbert Faulkner? He is just as deserving of understanding and forgiveness as everyone. I’m not romanticizing him, but maybe he was just as sick as my mom was and can now be at peace.

With some minor redecorating, this is my dream room:

This is where the sidewalk ends:

The Compsons were based on the prominent family the Thompsons, who lived directly across the street from Faulkner.

Down with the patriarchy!

And then we collectively came up with a story at dinner:

#rowan oak #faulkner #was an alcoholic #downtime #down with the patriarchy #southern lit road trip

My daughter took me to Oxford to see William Faulkner’s house. We were only able to see the outside as it was not yet open to visitors. Very interesting place nonetheless. It was also the perfect day for a walk through Bailey Woods.

#william faulkner #rowan oak #bailey woods #oxford ms #ole miss