The Sandburg years at Connemara were productive ones for the man of letters. Among other things, in 1948 he published his only novel, Remembrance Rock, which traced the American epic from Plymouth Rock to World War II. In 1953 his autobiography, Always the Young Strangers, was published. This book centered on his youth in the small town of Galesburg, Ill. Add to that several volumes of history and poetry, including Complete Poems, which won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1951, and one can see that Sandburg remained a prolific writer in his last years. Life at Connemara was busy, too, for the other family members. Mrs. Sandburg (66k) continued to breed and care for her large, prize-winning, goat herd, which numbered 200 at one time, and she ran the farm business, leaving her husband free to write. Margaret helped her father, tended the library, painted, and worked in her flower garden. Janet helped care for the farm (185k) which was especially active during the years of Helga's residence and also included a large vegetable garden, an orchard, cows, chickens, hogs, and cheese and butter making. Grandchildren played endlessly in woods and pastures and rode horses. It was an idyllic but busy life for an active family, and together they enjoyed Connemara for 22 years.
Sandburg kept late hours. He usually began working, cigar in hand, in his cluttered, upstairs work room late in the evening and continued until the wee hours of the morning. He would sleep until late morning. After a light lunch, he would spend the afternoons reading and answering correspondence in the dining room, in a downstairs study, or on the front porch overlooking the mountains, or on the lawn. There were frequent guests at Connemara - daughter Helga and the grandchildren; Mrs. Sandburg's famous brother, photographer Edward Steichen; well known personalities; unknown passers-by; or just admirers. With or without guests, dinner was a social gathering of the family. Afterwards Sandburg (246k) would read to those present or sing with them. In the afternoon or late at night, Sandburg could be found alone, with Paula, or with a daughter or friends walking along the winding entrance drive or on one of the paths through the woods. Sandburg's life ended here on July 22, 1967, as it had begun, in an agrarian setting. In its eulogy, The New York Post said: "Carl Sandburg was the poet of the American dream and the American reality. His poetry has the freedom of prose, his prose the quality of poetry, and through it all ran what has been called the sense of being American."
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