For your weekend reading, a piece by writer Mira Ptacin about visiting E.B. White’s house. It’s a long read, but a good one for anyone who loves White or making pilgrimages. Or Charlotte or Wilbur or Stuart Little or observations about life.
It’s late September and my husband and I are in North Brooklin, Maine, walking down a plain gravel path towards the cedar shake writing shed of someone who hasn’t invited us: Elwyn Brooks White, better known to some as the late essayist E. B. White, and to those who still don’t know, the man who wrote the classic children’s books “Charlotte’s Web” and “Stuart Little.” With each step away from the old brown barn and to the shed, we see living relics from White’s world: A lush emerald garden. His old chicken chopping block. A tall apple tree doubling as a raccoon lookout. The sterling pond, large brown geese skirting its brim. And then, as if it was just a shed, his writing studio appears.