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This is probably the most introspective gardening book I've ever read. It's the author's musings about her garden and lavish descriptions of it, arranged mostly by seasons. Her main passion is roses. Some parts of the book are just a delight to read- Ackerman is a poet, and a lot of the prose just sings to the beauty of the natural world. But- it feels really uneven and there were many occasions where I had to sit back and read a line several times, or even skip a few pages. She interjects freely ideas on other subjects, and it's sometimes not clear at first how they relate to the plants or natural processes she's discussing. Also there were times where her phrasing or word choice really threw me off... . She goes on for pages about John Muir, and Thomas Jefferson, and later Gertrude Jekyll- but I'd rather read a separate book about those admirable people, myself. Mostly, she goes on and on about the roses. How lovely her garden sounds, but she talks little about tending to it so the reader cannot learn much, only look on with envy... . I did really enjoy the passages she wrote about observing birds in her garden, and was full of curiosity when she described live-trapping squirrels to tag them for a scientific study- but then no mention was made of the study's purpose or the results. I guess that's in another book somewhere else... . I am keeping this one on my shelf regardless, maybe I will like it better at another time further on.
Lovely ramble through a year in her garden, with side trips into wildlife observations and wonderful literary quotes. The story of catching and tagging squirrels is particularly good. ( )
Along with delight, Diane Ackerman cultivates annuals, perennials, shrubs, groundcovers, vegetables, a water garden, shade gardens, a woodland garden & gardens that give pleasure year 'round. In this book, Ms. Ackerman takes us on a tour of the seasons, adding bits of garden lore, science & poetry. The advice she gives to her readers is both useful & delightful. ( )
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The crocuses and the larch turning green every year a week before the others and the pastures red with uneaten sheep's placentas and the long summer days and the newmown hay and the wood pigeon in the morning and the cuckoo in the afternoon and the corncrake in the evening and the wasps in the jam and the smell of the gorse and the look of the gorse and the apples falling and the children walking in the dead leaves and the larch turning brown a week before the others and the chestnuts falling and the howling winds and the sea breaking over the pier and the first fires and the hooves on the road and the consumptive postman whistling "The Roses Are Blooming In Picardy" and the standard oil-lamp and of course the snow and to be sure the sleet and bless your heart the slush and every fourth year the February debacle and the endless April showers and the crocuses and then the whole bloody business starting all over again. ---Samuel Beckett, Watt
Widmung
Erste Worte
Die Informationen stammen von der englischen "Wissenswertes"-Seite.Ändern, um den Eintrag der eigenen Sprache anzupassen.
I plan my garden as I wish I could plan my life, with islands of surprise, color, and scent.
Zitate
Die Informationen stammen von der englischen "Wissenswertes"-Seite.Ändern, um den Eintrag der eigenen Sprache anzupassen.
"Lovers have always looked for ways to sidestep the embarrassment of revealing their gaping, ravenous, unadorned need. Sending a flower code was less risky than declaring one's feelings by blush, behind trembling eyelashes."
"Books look different, and that adds to the pleasurable illusion of carrying with you a distinctive mind."
"But a garden can offer a tunnel through time, a sanctuary in the old-fashioned sense of the word, a sacred place where one is safe from human laws. I'm thinking of the laws we impose on ourselves, as well as society's, the family's, and then that something harder to fathom: instincts ingrained so deeply they feel like absolutes. For me, all those laws stop at the garden gate, and I can spend a small eternity with a rose."
Letzte Worte
Die Informationen stammen von der englischen "Wissenswertes"-Seite.Ändern, um den Eintrag der eigenen Sprache anzupassen.
As I walk down to the mailbox, enveloped in mist, birds snitch on twitchy feet in the aspens, morning ghosts between the houses, and the air tastes green at last.
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