Savannah is the only thing more fun than the Wren’s Nest

While some people find Savannah delightful for all its neat public squares, or its prime riverfront location, or all the ghost-lore that accompanies just about everything, I find it so engaging because it’s where Joel Chandler Harris met his wife, Esther LaRose.

Stop snickering.

(Not here, but let’s pretend.)

Lain and I traveled to Savannah for the Savannah Book Festival, which was a delight. (If you ask nicely, maybe we’ll even tell you which books we bought.) There were plenty of signs of JCH in Savannah — look:

For example, an actual sign.

Or this familiar fella given an illegal home on the side of a information booth (the old gum is the artist’s flourish, methinks).

Um, this is awkward, but… it’s pronounced “Brer”.

We also happened upon the childhood home of Flannery O’Connor, another member of the Southern Literary Trail family.

This is Flannery’s abode, where they rent rooms out to, you know, live in. What if you were like, “Oh yeah, we can totally watch the game at my place. The entry fee is $5, though.”

She got a sign, too.

Neat thing: the docent at the Flannery O’Connor home hails from beautiful Bloomington, IN and majored in Comparative Literature (?!) at Indiana University. Sound familiar?

The point of this all is: you should go to Savannah. It is so beautiful and truly unlike any other city I’ve ever visited. Here are a few more photos to whet your palate.

Madison square, looking triumphant.

The marsh where we stayed, about 20 miles outside of downtown Savannah. Much thanks to the wonderful Cushing family for letting us trash their marsh house.

Forsyth Square. It’s not even springtime yet, and look how lovely it is!

Sigh. I want to go back.