Plant Dreaming Deep by May Sarton (January 2017)
My first read of 2017 proved underwhelming. In this work, Sarton explores her experience of buying and living in an old house somewhere north (New Hampshire?) and connects the observations of her finely tuned senses to deeper themes of life, growth, and loss.
I thought this book came really close to making an impact on me. Throughout, the high quality of writing kept me reading and the reflections were infused with thought and meaning. Often, I find this kind of writing is an indication of a memorable chapter soon to arrive and it seemed the breakthrough passage was always the next one coming.
It didn't, though, and I can only speculate why. I think one explanation was the focus on the who, what, and when of the author's experience. Too often, I would find myself waiting for the 'why' that never came- why the need to live in such a place, why the compulsion to water a plant during a drought, why the chest-constricting concern for a hummingbird's survival? The most frustrating moments came when these 'why' questions were explained away instead with a response to the unasked 'how'- how she renovated the house, how she stealthily watered the plant, how she viewed the bird.
Despite the lack of payoff in the end, though, I did find rewarding the challenge of understanding my reaction to this book. Chapter eleven- 'Death and the Maple'- represents this feeling best. A meditation on death and dying, I found the chapter frustrating for how close it came to being enriching.
One quote exemplifies my commonly felt disappointment with what I'll call 'fool's gold' insight. In contemplating that '...the way people die expresses the central person as the way they have lived or the way they have loved...', I found my initial agreement quickly giving way beneath the accumulating weight of counter-example piling upon counter-example. My thought process revealed to me my disappointment with ideas that seem true on the surface until deeper consideration reveals the ease of generating counter-examples. (1)
I found in this chapter the clearest example of the separation of self and place that kept me in the world of 'who, what, and when' despite my desire to understand the 'why' of her life. In describing the death of a maple tree as 'the first death that came to Nelson (the name of the town), to me', I recognized that I needed to know more, that I needed to know why a woman in her mid-fifties was tracking such a metric so closely.
Sarton's intimate tour of her home is a memoir that many will love. But like any tour, the reader roams only within the allowed spaces. The rooms I wanted to explore most- those explaining how her experiences filtered the scenes she describes so wonderfully throughout- were the ones behind the locked doors.
One up: I enjoyed the way Sarton's love of place and ability to fully immerse herself in the present moment shone through in many of these chapters. I think there is an awful lot here for those who relate better to the stated topic of this book than I do.
One down: I thought this book very much scratched the surface when I wanted more depth. The story of her reluctance to dig into her land in search of a water source and her delight with how easy it turns out to be is perhaps symbolic of my own response to much of the book.
Just saying: Soon after I began reading, this book reminded me of past instances where I recognized the futility of my efforts and yet remained fully immersed in the project. Perhaps the best example comes from the moment during a timed run when I realize that I do not have the reserves needed to cross the finish line ahead of my stated goal. And yet, I continued on with all the effort I could muster regardless of the clock.
I recognized with Plant Dreaming Deep that I deeply trust my method for choosing books. Such faith in the process explains why I persevere with lost causes (and perhaps suggests an underlying self-protection instinct in my gravitation towards shorter work).
Footnotes / imagined complaints
1. OK- a footnote about Chinese food!
It is obvious from the final sentence of this paragraph that I commonly find fortune cookies disappointing. Here are some cookies I've accumulated over the years that best exemplify the idea- true at the end of the meal, false on the walk home...
'Do not spend the money that you don't have.'
"You...you said...what'd you say a minute ago? They had to wait and save their money before they even ought to think of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what? Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they're so old and broken down that they...do you know how long it takes a working man to save $5,000?" -George Bailey
'A true friend walks in when the rest of the world walks out.'
My friends' wives love it when I walk into the party fifteen minutes before everyone is about to go home.
'There are many paths to the top of the mountain, but only one view.'
Ninety degree turns.
'Doubt is the beginning, not the end, of wisdom.'
Actually, this one is pretty good.
