Poet Theodore Roethke grew up here. The twin residences at 1759 and 1805 Gratiot Avenue in Saginaw represent the literal and psychological soil that birthed some of the most intense American nature poetry of the twentieth century. He lived in the 1805 house. His father Otto and uncle Albert ran a massive, twenty-five-acre commercial greenhouse operation right in the backyard, a chaotic world of glass, steam pipes, and rich manure. Not exactly a sterile environment. Roethke absorbed the damp smells of sub-soil and the desperate struggle of seedlings under glass, details that later filled his Pulitzer-winning work. The houses themselves are fairly standard, sturdy brick structures built around 1911.

But the greenhouses are gone now. A local non-profit bought the family home in 1998 to save it from demolition, and they keep it open for tours and literary events today. It feels haunted. You can stand in the upstairs bedroom where Theodore suffered from manic episodes and writers' block, looking out over the empty lot where his father's carnations once bloomed. It is a gritty, tangible link to the psychological scars and floral obsessions that drove his writing.