It is rare to find the very home where a beloved feminist author penned her most famous work, Little Women—a novel that has never been out of print for over a century and has been translated into more than 50 languages. Rarer still is to find that home still preserved just as she and her family left it, filled with their personal belongings. Add to that a rich history spanning centuries, and you have Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House in Concord, Massachusetts.
In 1910, the home of one of the world’s most beloved authors was up for sale and likely to be demolished. It had been built in the mid-1600s and had been vacant for years. “Private Property” and “No Trespassing” signs were nearly obscured by tall grass, giving the overall impression of sad dilapidation. The real estate prospectus read, “perfect site for a new mansion.”
Max Chapnick, of Northeastern University, has been in the news lately for possibly uncovering another of Louisa May Alcott’s pseudonyms. I was delighted to meet Max, not only to discuss his current work, but also to talk about the long, winding trail he followed to determine if Jo March’s thriller writing was something Alcott actually did. That trail begins in 1942 with Madeleine Stern and Leona Rostenberg, two of the most extraordinary women I’ve ever met.
Take one beloved band director with vision, add 25 blind marching band students;
mix well in Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House and voila! You have an extraordinary, never-to-be forgotten experience.
Completely unaware of the existence of Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House, Julie Nass and her daughters had developed a deep affection for Little Women, reading the book multiple times and watching all the movie adaptations as a family on their small Wisconsin dairy farm. The Little Women musical, which debuted on Broadway in 2005, was youngest daughter Hannah’s favorite.
“Little Womensaved my life…twice.” The woman who uttered these amazing words as I was leaving Orchard House late one summer evening had just landed at Logan Airport from Korea and drove directly here.
“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents, grumbled Jo . . .” The irony — the beautiful irony — of Louisa May Alcott’s opening words in Little Women is striking, as the ultimate message of the book is quite the opposite of its iconic opening line. Readers of Little Women simply begin a journey that leads to a boldly empowering expansion of the heart. We follow along with the March sisters as they learn to care for others, even while struggling with their own desires and disappointments, and we identify with their experiences. Whether enacting a play for an audience in their parlor, or preparing to give their Christmas breakfast feast to a needy family, our mind’s eye envisions the girls’ widening realization that caring for something other than self and sharing what gifts they possess are far more fulfilling than receiving presents.
