Life

Sandburg Home volunteer shares joys of the park

Goats look out the barn door. The photo was made when rangers and volunteers were returning from a memorial service for Ailish, who died of complications from birthing her kids. Hankin said it was as if Ailish’s friends knew what had taken place. [PHOTO BY GLEN HANKET]

By GLEN HANKET, Published: February 4, 2026

Situated in the rolling hills of Flat Rock, the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site preserves the legacies of Carl and Lillian “Paula” Sandburg. A top Western North Carolina attraction, the historic site draws up to 90,000 visitors yearly.

I visited the site after moving to Flat Rock in May 2024. A month later, I volunteered to drive the shuttle bus for the park, handling that duty so rangers could concentrate on other tasks.

Over the past 18 months, I’ve seen how the park changes through the seasons, learned how rangers and volunteers maintain the Sandburg legacy, and met the visitors who flock to the park.

So many moments make up my 18 months in the park:

SUMMER 2024: Warm days brought out the visitors, coming to tour the home, hike, or mingle with the goats, descendants of the goats bred by Paula Sandburg. “We try to visit every week,” locals told me. “Our kids grew up with the goats, brushing their favorite does.”

“You’re in luck!” I greeted my passengers. “This is Read a Book to a Goat Month! We have a wagon with Carl’s children’s books by the gate. Pick a book, pick a goat, and start reading!” The goats enjoyed the attention, gazing with their expressive eyes.

AUTUMN 2024: The storm Helene roared through the NHS, toppling or crippling more than 50 trees. Recovery efforts took months, keeping the park closed to the public. Along with other volunteers, I looked on helplessly for months, waiting for it to reopen. Rangers kept us informed of any progress...

WINTER 2024/25: Holiday parties for rangers and volunteers came with good news — the park would reopen with the new year. With the shuttle service yet to restart, I instead directed traffic between the parking lots. Visitors thanked our efforts. “We’ve really missed the goats,” they said.

SPRING 2025: When Ranger Ryan told me they needed weekend volunteers at the goat barn, I signed up for Sunday afternoon shifts, eager to learn how they keep the park running. Every week I would move hay, feed bucks, corral chickens and answer visitors’ questions. As I worked, I watched the land come alive as the weather warmed.

An enterprising 9-year-old boy, after checking out our flock of fowls, had a proposition. “I see you have a runt chicken.” (He had noticed our Bantam Heritage hen, one of a smaller breed.) “I raise chickens at home,” he said, “but I’d like a small one for a pet. Would you consider trading one of my grown chickens for the runt?” I told him he’d have to talk to a ranger.

Four new goat kids were born in the last days of April, attracting new crowds. All were given National Park-related names: Shelby bore Saguaro and Sequoia, while Ailish gave us Acadia and Albright.

The park filled with the sounds of spring. Trees budded, birds twittered, flowers sprung forth, butterflies fluttered about. One sunny Sunday afternoon, a butterfly flew around the barnyard, alighting in the bin of goat brushes. There it sat for several minutes, posing for pictures.

Sad times came to the park. Ailish had fallen ill while pregnant, with her rumen losing the ability to process food. Despite valiant efforts by the rangers and the consulting veterinarian, the doe passed on. Rangers and volunteers held a memorial service for her, after which we spread her ashes beneath the oak tree behind the barn. One volunteer read a poem memorializing her.

Acadia and Albright were mostly weaned by this time, but they still needed extra nutrition. To accommodate this, Ranger Jon showed volunteers how to prepare kid formula. One Sunday afternoon I bottle-fed the youngsters; on following days we let visiting children hold the bottles the goats suckled from. What a memory for those youngsters!

SUMMER 2025: The park restarted shuttle service in June, letting me wear two volunteer hats. On one of my first shuttle runs, as I helped a family board the bus, I asked their young son, “Did you enjoy the goats?” The boy looked at me as if confused by the question, then looked at his father. Finally he shrugged, seeming to say, “Hey! They’re goats!”...

Our two barn cats, Abe and Gus, moved about on their own schedules, attracting attention from visitors. One Sunday I climbed into the barn’s loft to throw down another bale of hay, and found that Gus had claimed a perch on the bales in a ray of sunlight.

OCTOBER: With the government shuttered due to budget fights, the park closed for the second straight October. It limped along with limited staff and no volunteers allowed. The hiking trails, however, remained open. Since I had fallen under the spell of the park, I hiked there every week, enjoying the splashes of autumn color. Whenever I came across visitors, I asked if they had any questions about the park.

DECEMBER: Days grew shorter. Leafless trees gave longer views on the hiking trails. Staff decorated the house for Christmas. Visitors came to celebrate the holiday, listening to musicians play dulcimers, sipping hot cider, creating crafts in the style that the Sandburgs had done in their time...

2026: The park looks forward to the new year, keeping the memories of the Sandburgs alive. As always, the park needs volunteers for its smooth operation. Besides driving the shuttle and helping with the goats, volunteer old and young alike can maintain the vegetable garden, lead house tours, rove park trails, and more. For more information, call the coordinator at 828-693-4178, or go online at nps.gov/carl.

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Glen Hanket, a retired software engineer for the Boeing Co., moved with his wife, Susan, to the Flat Rock area in May 2024. “I have written several newspaper travel articles and bicycle trail guides over the years,” he writes, “as well as a book detailing the honeymoon my wife and I made in the 1990s, walking from Maine to Oregon while bagging four tons of litter. (I titled it Underwear by the Roadside because we bagged underwear in every state we crossed but Kansas.)” What happened to Kansas? “A farmer explained to us that ‘we don’t throw out our underwear in Kansas,” Glen said. “We wear it until it gets holes in it and then we turn it into a dust rag.’” Hanket is currently working on a book about his “singular experiences” in national parks — whitewater rafting on the Colorado River, camping with grizzly bears in Alaska, dogsledding in Denali.