Louisa May Alcott was born 29 November 1832, in Germantown, Pennsylvania. She was the daughter of Abigail May Alcott (8 October 1800 - 25 November 1877) and Amos Bronson Alcott (29 November 1799 - 4 March 1888). Her maternal grandparents were Dorothy Sewall and Joseph May. Her paternal grandparents were Mrs. and Mr. Joseph Chatfield Alcox. Louisa May's parents were married in the spring of 1830. She had three sisters: Anna Bronson Alcott (16 March 1831 - 13 July 1893), Elizabeth Sewall Alcott (24 June 1835 - 14 March 1858) and Abigail May Alcott (26 July 1840 - 29 December 1879). Her father, Amos was a philosopher, teacher and writer. In 1834, he opened the "Temple School" in Boston. He stated that any failing was the teacher's responsibility. According to Louisa May, "Life is my college. May I graduate well, and earn some honors." And; "Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead." In 1840, the Alcott family moved to Concord, in Massachussetts. Lousia May was educated by her father and his close friends, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. In 1843, the family moved to an experimental commune, known as the Fruitlands. In 1845, they returned to Concord. Louisa May worked as an occasional teacher and began writing to help support her family. In 1849, Louisa May wrote Inheritance. In 1854, her first book, Flower Fables, was published. Her sister, Elizabeth Sewall died on 14 March 1858.
"Housekeeping ain't no joke."
By 1860, she was publishing stories and poems in the Atlantic Monthly. Louisa May Alcott volunteered as a nurse during the American Civil War. In the winter of 1862-1863, she was a nurse in Washington, D.C., until she contracted typhoid. In 1863, her memoir Hospital Sketches was published. According to Hospital Sketches by Louisa May Alcott, "I want something to do." This remark being addressed to the world in general, no one in particular felt it their duty to reply; so I repeated it to the smaller world about me, received the following suggestions, and settled the matter by answering my own inquiry, as people are apt to do when very much in earnest. "Write a book," quoth the author of my being. "Don't know enough, sir. First live, then write." "Try teaching again," suggested my mother. "No thank you, ma'am, ten years of that is enough." "Take a husband like my Darby, and fulfill your mission," said sister Joan, home on a visit. "Can't afford expensive luxuries, Mrs. Coobiddy." "Turn actress, and immortalize your name," said sister Vashti, striking an attitude. "I won't."
"Go nurse the soldiers," said my young brother, Tom, panting for "the tented field."
"I will!" So far, very good. Here was the will - now for the way."
"The White House was lighted up, and carriages were rolling in and out of the great gate. I stared hard at the famous East Room, and would have liked a peep through the crack of the door. My old gentleman was indefatigable in his attentions, and I said, "Splendid!" to everything he pointed out, though I suspect I often admired the wrong place, and missed the right. Pennsylvania Avenue, with its bustle, lights, music, and military, made me feel as if I'd crossed the water and landed somewhere in Carnival time. Coming to less noticeable parts of the city, my companion fell silent, and I meditated upon the perfection which Art had attained in America - having just passed a bronze statue of some hero, who looked like a black Methodist minister, in a cocked hat, above the waist, and a tipsy squire below; while his horse stood like an opera dancer, on one leg, in a high, but somewhat remarkable wind, which blew his mane one way and his massive tail the other. "Hurly-burly House, ma'am!" called a voice, startling me from my reverie, as we stopped before a great pile of buildings, with a flag flying before it, sentinels at the door, and a very trying quantity of men lounging about. My heart beat rather faster than usual, and it suddenly struck me that I was very far from home; but I descended with dignity, wondering whether I should be stopped for want of a countersign, and forced to pass the night in the street. Marching boldly up the steps, I found that no form was necessary, for the men fell back, the guard touched their caps, a boy opened the door, and, as it closed behind me, I felt that I was fairly started, and Nurse Periwinkle's Mission was begun." In 1864, On Picket Duty, and Other Tales were published and The Rose Family: A Fairy Tale. In 1865, her novel Moods. In 1866, she wrote A Long Fatal Love Chase. In 1867, Morning-Glories and Other Stories was published. In 1868, she wrote Little Women. In 1868, Three Proverb Stories. In 1869, Good Wives. In 1870, Old Fashioned Girl. In 1871, Little Men. In ca 1872, Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. In 1873, Work: A Story of Experience. In 1875, Eight Cousins. In 1875, Beginning Again. In 1876, Rose in Bloom, Silver Pitchers, and Independence: A Centennial Love Story. Her mother, Abigail May died on 25 November 1877, in Concord, Massachusetts. She was buried in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord. Louisa May wrote, "I never wish her back, but a great warmth seems gone out of life... She was so loyal, tender, and true, life was hard for her and no one knew all she had to bear but her children." In 1877, Under the Lilacs and A Modern Mephistopheles were published. Her younger sister, May died 29 December 1879. Louisa May took care of her 2 year's old daughter, Louisa May Nieriker. Also in 1879, Louisa May became the first women to register to vote in a town election. In 1880, Jack and Jill: A Village Story was published. In 1886, Jo's Boys and Lulu's Library. In 1888, A Garland for Girls. Her father, Amos Bronson Alcott died on 4 March 1888, in Boston. According to Louisa May Alcott; "It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women." And; "I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship." Louisa May Alcott died on 6 March 1888, in Boston. Her last words were; "Is it not meningitis?" She was buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Massachussetts. In 1995, A Long Fatal Love Chase was published for the first time. In 1996, The Inheritance.
"Love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy." Louisa May Alcott