The Iow Review Volume 19 Issue 1 Winter Article 3 1989 Grden Sermon: Being the Hisry of Hisry, Notes from Journl bout How Keep Long Long Project Alive. Or: Wht I Did with My Summer Vction Alln Gurgnus Follow this nd dditionl works t: http://ir.uiow.edu/iowreview Prt of the Cretive Writing Commons Recommended Cittion Gurgnus, Alln. "Grden Sermon: Being the Hisry of Hisry, Notes from Journl bout How Keep Long Long Project Alive. Or: Wht I Did with My Summer Vction." The Iow Review 19.1 (1989): 6-19. Web. Avilble t: https://doi.org/10.17077/0021-065x.3691 This Contents is brought you for free nd open ccess by Iow Reserch Online. It hs been ccepted for inclusion in The Iow Review by n uthorized dministrr of Iow Reserch Online. For more informtion, plese contct lib-ir@uiow.edu.
Grden Sermon: Being the Hisry of Hisry, notes from journl bout how keep long long project live. Or:?Wht I did with my summer vction. I LOVE GARDENING. Trnsplnted New York, I soon grew home sick for useble soil. Then I discovered community grden where people of mny rces nd clsses grow strngely similr mes. Workers shre one keys shed full of ols, nd ever nothing gets slen. Growing food in Mnhttn is perverse joy. To et your first m of the yer, one not you've spred just from insects but neighborhood junkies, nd probbly?ls?from the deserving homeless. To tste tht first popping tng of seeds nd sunlight nd know tht it, like you, grew despite the wiling of thousnd sirens nd the pounding of con struction nd the stry spry of bullets s the corner bodeg is robbed yet gin. On my five squre feet, I soon lerned ssign smll jobs locl chil dren who wnder round fter school, mruding, eger?like ll of us? be useful, or else. If they don't like you, if you hven't given them sense of stke in your smll plot?come nightfll, they might destroy it. Since the erth hs styed the selfsme size, why do we ltely feel so cor nered? I send the kids for wter. Our source is fire hydrnt tht? stubby on the curb between Amsterdm nd Columbus?considers itself beuti ful fountin. For us, it is. I explin vegetble pics, but only when kids sk. These children be lieve tht resturnts re where food begins nd ends. One boy?squt ting, pointing crrots' green ps?doubting my promise of the ornge prts hidden underground?sks with city's pent-up longing, "Are they redy for tke-out?" But things move fst in NY, nd even s we spek (s I do) our grden is being hcked wy. For us, it is trgedy. For Jckie nd Angelo, my best helpers. Bldes cut pst soil we cultivted, bldes find bedrock from which only condos will now sprout?condos in which no street kids will ever get sked. The sign sys: "Guests Must Be Announced." Condos strt t one hundred nd eighty-five thousnd for studio. So, soilless in the city, 6 University of Iow is collborting with JSTOR digitize, preserve, nd extend ccess The Iow Review www.jsr.org
I'm left red bout grdening. I fll bck on this pssge from n inspir tionl book of 1870 by one Chrles Dudley Wrner, My Summer in Grden. It ws recommended by the best grdener I know, womn p propritely nmed Disy. I pply this my yer off nd the novel I'm yet living with nd puttering in nd where I hve been not unhppy for some sesons. "The principl vlue of privte grden is not undersod. It is not give the possessor vegetbles nd fruit (tht cn be better nd cheper done by the mrket-grdener) but tech him ptience nd philosophy, nd the higher virtues?hopes deferred nd expecttions blighted, leding di rectly resigntion nd sometimes liention. The grden thus be comes morl gent, test of chrcter s it ws in the beginning." This pertins projects besides books. To mrriges, children rered in the joy nd pin of time,? ny enterprise?enthusisticlly undertken lovingly plnned?ptiently sustined?stedily endured nd?by the time your first m nd/or condominum is redy?finlly turned wht ever color we cll Ripe. And yet never quite finished. A? mrrige sid end in divorce?never relly sps for its prticipnts of yers. Prenthood continues even for the prents of child who's died. And novel rolls on "within you nd without? you" continuous Versilles nd window box of how you mnged, of ll you might've done mke it better. A book requires tht person?however gregrious?spend much much time lone. Somewhere, yers go, just such solitude becme my own ide of luxury. I cn't recll when tht replced other people's notion of fun in the sun, of fst friends nd slow mels. Yets speks of our choice between perfection of the life or of the work. I wnt the work led me the life, or is it vice vers? Finlly, you choose whichever offers you the most, first. Wht joy: designing your whole dy round writing nd not just plnting it s your life's herbceous border. Since I got grnt nd hlf n dvnce, since the enlightened liberl rts institution tht'd just me given tenure lso me permitted the privilege of tking yer off? since I left other brve souls t the helm cover for me, nd since I permitted my students sctter others in other offices for dvice tht I would nd would not hve My fcing the given terrifying but m grteful for nywy?i found joy of one free yer. myself lst 7
Imgine wht you would do in the sme circumstnce. True, there's book contrct but lmost everyone goes over dedline, right? You're free risk or or nything nothing, self-explortion tl indulgence. Which will it be? And who will know? If you choose sleep till one o'clock, who'll know? Who but the grim mindful thinlipped God of John Cl vin?ll knowing ll seeing even on the Upper West Side. I'd lid in just enough money so I could live t comfortbly my usul monkish pce but not enough permit lengthy trvel or rdicl new drug hbits, or even rdicl old drug hbits. Oscr Wilde wrns us bewre of wht we wnt for we might very well get it. Well, I hd. For you o, it must be fmilir how?once grnted wht you've sid you crved for yers?its first pure wve mkes you shudder with delight nd expecttion nd then, well, then...just shudder. I wtered my plnts. A lot. Willim Buckley hs observed tht Liberls lwys overwter. How keep long project live? A few hrd-won suggestions: When you're ded the mteril, follow Kets' dvice?tke long hot bth, on put clen white shirt?his letter sys it should be white nd I under stnd this perfectly?then sit down t your desk s if never you've seen the desk or the pges on it. And strt gin. Or tke long wlk, then strt gin. Or or buy plnt dog nd spoil the hell out of it, then strt gin. During this yer, not knowing they were being misted s n ct of post ponement or voidnce, my poor never plnts hd it so good. Dry times re hed for them. But I finlly, mde one myself cup o mny of French Itlin espresso. I hit the On switch nd listened s my word-processor churned sour neutrl life. Then I muttered myself nd book much more thn hlf finished, "All right, clown, put up or shut up." Being mortl, s working we were, without net, myself nd the book did some of both. Some skirting nd some delivering. I see now: both were necessry. Therein hngs tle. 1100 pges of fiction. The stmin required involves religiose devotion, blind fith nd highgrde msochism nd simplifying literlness. Writing requires fifty percent tlent nd fifty percent chrcter. You cn hve sixty percent chrcter nd forty percent tlent or lmost ny rtio below certin scle t either end. But the worst cn dys mke you feel shut solely in the chrcter-building swetbox. 8
Since ll novels re bout time?bout people in time nd how they're chnged by it?or not?the element of time spent writing bout time hs curious resonnce. Sometimes it rings with synchronous music-of-the spheres tht is prt tympny, prt tinkling cymbls of t delight; others: you're up ginst gothic nd circulr horror. With you, lone in room, the phone unplugged (nd you wondering why your friends ren't clling nywy), with you deprived of the world's gorgeous zillion inducements not work, Time cn stretch in cosmic tffy nd then contrct lser pinpoint of scry beuty. Time?the subject you pursue?is wht you lose when the work is going well. A curious rewrd, such drop stitches. You perspire with something like stgefright nd look up find tht two hours hve pssed in fourteen minutes. But the other lso hp pens, dredful Zen clrity?unsought?it speks the portenus rty nes of Brndo in Apoclypse Now, it speks working person mid project: "Here you re, lone, so lone in room. You could be nywhere, doing nything, meeting nybody, seducing nd being seduced by ll tht you suspect nd don't yet know, but wht, oh wht, Zen mster, hve you chosen for your yer of freedom? You wnted come sit in room with four clocks nd n ide?the clocks re noisy nd visible there there there nd there, but the ide? The ide keeps its own hours." I red some Sint Augustine this yer. Not ll of Sint Augustine?but then, time ws fcr. When people sk me wht I did with my sbbti cl I cn now sy, "I red St. Augustine, why, wht'dyow do?" Augustine clobbered me with this line: "God did not mke the world in time, He mde the world with time." And the sme is true of novel, nd of grden. I tell my students: cn they will the subject of sry but, novel? no. You don't choose the subject of your novel in vcuum ny more thn you pick spouse vi imgintion lone. You choose from vilble cndidtes who've chosen you. Advice: if novel comes up nd proposes you, if it suggests tht you cohbit for n s-yet-unspecified number of yers, the correct nswer is the trditionl June one?first, sk if it'll reside with you through sickness nd in helth till deth you prt nd if you get nod, then, smile, sy, "I do." 9
Wht strts romnce is rrely wht sustins mrrige. My novel is clled Oldest Living Confederte Widow Tells All. I consider my reltion the oldest living confederte widow my life's longest monogmous connec tion. Wht strts young writer is not wht keeps geezer coming bck for more. You begin with the sound of one voice tht goes forwrd in nowhere nd, fter yers nd trils enough, begins come bck with n echo, divi dend. I strt s stupidly well-brought up young mn, young whitie, of middle clss privilege, of country club dnces, in North Crolin nd tht voice is nturlly my own first voice nd is me. It is declrtive sttement nd its news is my news, my life, my peeves?prt tlent, prt chrcter. At the first, there is more tlent thn chrcter becuse tlent is god given?like eyecolor?nd chrcter on time. depends There is no novelis tic equivlent of Kets or of Rimbud. There re no t prodigies chrcter. A lyric gift hs everything do with youth nd with tht first gret gld if possibly drk gush bout wht's here on erth, wht's given in the grden. Mny of ny novel's chpters open: "The following April, Iris would lern the grim truth bout Eric's infidelity." "Six weeks nd n eternity lter..." Vl?ry, lyric tlent, swore tht fiction ws shbby nd inferior nd promised he could never write novel since he considered emetic the centrl sentence of ll novels. This he sid rn: "The mrquise went out t five o'clock." But in time, over time, by the grce of the very time tht is rushing us ll wrd oblivion t the sme democrtic clip, time tht is our subject mtter nd undoing?you lern things nd re ltered, even mybe sd dened. Certinly drkened. The voice s splits scks do. You re subdi vided nd the vguely hopeful lyric hlf-nrcissistic thing tht mde you love the sound of the unique syllble "I"?brings you up ginst pr dox. At seventeen, I ws in love with how unlike others I ws. There ws clump of the select?me nd two of my friends, only I wsn't so sure bout one of them. Now I find, t the ripe old ge of thirty-eight, tht the single lrgest word in the English lnguge is not "Antidisestblishmen trinism"?but tht genderless nd mmmoth "I." How consoling now find: I'm so much like everybody else. This is my distinction nd, t its best, my work's Only ground. distinction. when this hd hppened could Hisry impinge on my little fore I could not hve undertken this book six months erlier thn I 10
did nd I still don't feel quite worthy of finishing it, though it hs now turned the unmistkble red-ornge of city-ripened m, streetwise one, The Big Tom, little ugher outside but with juice ll the sd deningly sweeter for tht. own My book begn prepring pop its question in 1790 but first sum moned me in 1968 in Long Bech, Cliforni of ll unpromising plces. I ws wndering the stcks of pretty little Crnegie set Librry mongst sttues prk nd trees. plm I ws bored nd eighteen. I'd been llowed choose between six yers in Federl Prison for drft evsion, or ur of duty in the militry. I picked the militry. A wr ws on. I noticed one clump of on ledgers dusty shelf nd, hving red hlf the librry lredy, feeling gme for nything, I opened the erliest of US census records. A first systemtic hedcount ws tken in 1790 nd?being from North Crolin, with the whole fternoon spred before me, I grbbed volume, nd since I hiled from the stte's estern sebord, I turned those coun ties, nd?being eighteen?wht did I look up? why, nturlly, my own nme. Wht could be more sne? If forced red Astrologicl forecsts, who?mong us?will not turn his/her own birthsign? I ws in silor's white uniform nd hd been shnghied help with wr I'd conscientiously resisted. I felt bndoned by my Republicn pr ents, who believed the militry would mke more mn significnt of me nd might offer me something clled "the best yers of my life." (My pr ents o re victims of their hisry, their wr.) Being three thousnd miles from home nd hertsick for comfortble if Republicn house?i ws surprised find?s if listed in some North Crolin phone direc ry?our own nme peculir fmily hooked n unmistkble ncesr from Wilmingn County. In row of ctegories tht reflected the 1790 ptrirchy nd the still grrin culture of my one region, entry rn: Hed of Household: Josih Gurgnus Acres owned: 960 Household's white mles: 4 Household's white femles: 9 Household's white ser vnts: 3 Household's white femle servnts: 2 Number of live sck: 40 Mle slves: 3 Femle slves: 10. I rered this. I remember the grin of the ok librry tble. I recll the mildewed volume mrked 1790, its weight, irrefutble s Bible. Neither my fther nor grndfther?crriers of tht nme?hd ever 11
mentioned slvery s running in our fmily bloodstrems like tendency wrd grey-green eyes or epilepsy. Tht my own people hd gone Fy etteville or Chrlesn where such sles ok plce nd hd bought whole other fmilies seemed me lien nd shming. I hd lwys prided myself s enlightened on wht were then clled "mtters of rce." My best friend on the ircrft crrier, (the only other militnt reder onbord) ws blck guy nmed Sims who clled himself "Keb Montu," which ment, he ld superior officers, "Brve Lion" in Swhili. "Let's see," they sid, filing through the liberty crds tht let you off the ship. "Rdiomn Second Clss Brve Lion. I see Sims here but no Lion. You're out of luck, Brve Lion pl." Now, this. We were fond of simplifying in 1968, morl ese much longed-for. We then sid: "You're either prt of the solution or you're? prt of the s problem" if we ll didn't hve plenty of both ingredients wging constnt bttle in us ll. But geneticlly, slveowning definitely put me on the problem side. Yeh. I felt like Rbbi discovering tht his mother's miden nme ws Mengele. How could I deny wht ws printed here?incontrovertible s Shker design? The fcts of the cse were on per mnent nd public record, the fcts?it seemed me?of my cse, of me. We re often urged not tke things personlly. A slesclerk yells t me nd, shken up by it, I tell friend nd my friend sys bck, "My God, you tke everything so personlly." Mybe tht belongs on the rtist's cot of rms. The greement is: when you cese tke the world personlly, relinquish your credentils nd your morl hold nd your subject mtter, nd it's then tht they issue you gold crd nd they tell you tht life is hrd but tht you should relx nd then they send you on your wy nd you re utterly utterly lost?but it's oky becuse hey it's nothing per sonl. Just your life. I wnt keep it personl. I wnt the horrors of the dily New York Times shke me up. This yer, let's mke vow ech other?let's promise tke every thing personlly. Let's help ech other not be numb. "Deliver us from evil nd led us not in numbness." When I sp feeling embrrssment nd rge, plese tke me out in the grden nd me bury where Spot, nd Muffy nd the hundred fmily goldfish rest under crossed sticks. But, true, not everyone would tke such musty census sttistics s cen you 12
tury-old morl conflict of interest. over Looking the fmily holdings, I undersod: my only rel identifiction ws with those slves listed just behind the livesck. (I would lter lern tht veterinrins often served s slves' docrs nd tht, s just horses' re birthdys trditionlly counted on Jnury first, so o were the ges of plnttion's slves.) The simple figures tht sod for these on people?blck white pge?gve off clicking bcus urgency. Hd I been socil scientist, I might hve won dered one set of questions, hd I been politicin nother might hve come mind. But I looked t the number 3 nd 10, slve men nd women, nd wht I wondered, wht I hd know ws quite simply: their sries. I strted trying imgine these. Since their literl tles were forever lost me, I tried mke them up. It's more nothing profound thn tht; it's nothing less profound. This fvor?i continue believe?might be the best we cn do for ech other. To look t somebody begging on the street or somebody whizzing pst you, hitchhiking, nd them in n other wise empty Rolls nd sk, "Wht if..." nd send s yourself fr in them s you cn nd come bck with some senstion tht both is nd is not yours nd you?but which becomes you in tht instnt? come bck with senstion tht prtkes of both prties nd lchemiclly produces something still more more complicted, question. To be trnsitive verb, sty not? smug sttement stupid simple undoubted declrtive sentence, but mke perpetul question of yourself. The nimble morl yog of "Wht if... I...?" And then stre hrd t others. Even stre t the number 3, the number 10. 13 men nd women listed under the uspices of your own overrching lst nme. Wht I experienced within view of trees ws not plm simple stupid guilt?no emotion worth writing bout is tht fltfooted. I've since thought how my 1968 sitution me prepred notice these bloodline fcts. Nothing in my life will ever compre the humilition nd brutli ties of slvery. But, for sssy white boy of eighteen, I ws s close s I'd got. I ws strnger in strnge lnd. I felt fugitive, sent by my own country on ship plces I dreded going, do work nobody else wnted. My own sense of being pwn shoved by the forces of n hisry, enlistee of decisions mde by those whose min concern ws protecting in stitutions for which people like me could be esily scrificed. This surely mde me sit up nd notice the inherited sttistics. I'm the eldest of four sons; in the 1860s, the frm would hve pssed me, nd the cttle, ser 13
vnts, slves. Alive in 1968,1 didn't wnt it. I didn't wnt ny of it. I iden tified not with the mle foreber under whose gret protective wing ll others dwelt s simple numbers. I knew tht I myself hd become just such hidden nd expendble digit. Tht relly strted it. I didn't know then but, through sickness nd helth, I'd lredy sid yes subject, mening question. I'd sid, "I do." Or mybe, dmitting which ment "I do." some ncestrl deed, I'd sid, "We did" The only thing sdder nd more liberlly embrrssing thn being the penitent gret-gret-grndson of slveowners is mybe being the impeni tent one. It lwys comes bck wht you choose tke personlly. As clssroom exercise, I sk my fiction students write lovesry in the voice of someone of the opposite sex. I hve found this help compli cte certin women's vision of men s only dogged nd single-minded wr rior-erections. I hve found this especilly helpful for certin mle students whose chrcteriztion of women runs ll the depth nd empthy im plied in this humne phrse, "The big blond over there." Students who might, erly in the yer, hve willingly written, "The curvceous cutie with her gret throbbing lbster globes" eventully find it hrder write: "I, the curvceous cutie with my throbbing lbs ter etceters." Just s we red with especil cre, contrct which requires our leglly binding signtures?we're ll reticent second?without slow fierce ttention?the holy pronoun "I." Before hisry butnholed me, before yers of teching mde me notice the rnge nd het locked up in every voice, I wouldn't hve imgined writing seven hundred pge novel in the voice of womn?much less womn ninety-nine yers old. I wouldn't hve considered this either fes ible or importnt. It's esy express generl sympthy with others' plight, it is something else tke the pronoun "I," peculirly nd impor tntly genderless in English, nd mke tht refer over nd over gin not the "I" of mle, nd one ccusmed?s I m? being listened, one who grew up in middling privileged world, one who hs forever been not encourged just do his best but expect tht his best?pre sented honestly nd honestly promoted?will led others re inevitbly spect nd honor his best. To throw tht over nd become person consis 14
tently overlooked? person whose best is just ticket for nother week of the world's letting her get by, unknown, unnoticed. To retret in the cve of some new "I"? poorly educted womn nerly century old? living behind plywood prtitions in stte chrity wrd in North Cro lin. Chnging plces is n eduction. My own first person pronoun hs, I think, subdivided like simple cell, forever. Henry Jmes sys, "A writer is someone on whom nothing is lost." And this includes losses?it's especilly importnt not see losses themselves s just nd only losses. When I begn my novel, the AIDS ws epidemic rumor tht soon becme rumor bout friends of friends, then true of some I knew, who soon begn die. My ge nd the fcts of my life me plce squrely in the group most jeoprdized. At such moment, you notice. Whenever we ttend the sick, our identifiction is our own rewrd. Wtching nybody die is lern ing how it's done nd?since ll of us wnt do things well?styles of dying go on file, set side s help for the moment when, in twinkling of n eye, our turn comes. But how much more you notice when the victims re in their lte twenties mid-thirties nd when you re just tht ge nd they're your closest irreplceble friends. Asunding her person who's medicl docr nd cncer resercher, himself dying of the disese, tell you in stright cool hlf-bemused voice, "You know, it's quite fs cinting wtching oneself ge forty yers in six months." Your condi tioned middle-clss response is intervene nd deny?"oh no, you?" But the lesson of being good compnion the dying nd the living involves ccepting tht even s person's premises, those premises dvnce nd shift. How odd her person tlly grounded in medicl knowledge nd, in mid July unble wlk twenty pces, busy plnning trip Englnd for September. You listen, you nod, you lern. You understnd tht life so loves being life live, tht it will deny rtionlity nd reson, clinging even the hope o? plnning future?till the word seems "September" stnd-in for the long wited millenium itself. You volunteer help dying friend, you go out get his groceries, py his bills, pick up mil nd the dily New York Times. You're heded bck his bsement prtment when the newspper tells you how our government is dy cutting fifty million dollrs from AIDS reserch while, nother rticle two explins, million dollrs re being spent re 15
decorte the Presidentil ycht. Should you clim tht you forgot buy your or ptient's newspper? mybe ter wy pge one? You wonder who's in chrge here. Whose re priorities these? And why do we llow ourselves be the smll blck numbers listed under such men's nmes? You wonder if you hve right be this personlly ngry nd if it is for others or or yourself both, yes, most likely the two, merged. And you strt hve some ide of how politicizing compssion is. All this goes in the work, you tke it bck in the grden. You don't use it directly, not literlly nd not untrnsfigured?but it hs go somewhere nd since tht's wht's t the center of your life, you tke it there?you do it keep yourself sne, you do it becuse such cllousness cries out be trnsformed if not in lesson t lest in shpe, form. Commemor tion. When I strted the book bout womn ninety-nine yers old?my life's mjor foreground deths were grndprents'. Now my csul per sonl dily reltion deth lmost prllels my ncient heroine's. And, believe me, I hve used my hrd won knowledge, I've used it with ven gence. And ll of this hs chnged my reltion time nd, therefore, time off. Spre-time? Ain't no such thing. Lerning this is prt of wht I did with my summer vction. Octvio Pz sys, "Hisry is blnk presence, n empty fce. The poet nd novelist must give this bck its humn fetures. Besides imgintion, this tkes morl courge." To cll prticulr person out of the mist is be tht person's sponsor nd gurdin nd?finlly in some strnge wy? become tht invented person's very dependent, her pupil. The sense of your own nrrow time drives you wonder bout ll those million others whose sries hve been lost like yours will be if you don't hurry, fool. You wnt be ccountble for them. You choose. My grndfther died just when I'd reched the ge of first questions. A list ws gthering nd I went the funerl with tht list in me nd hted myself for not pushing hrder while I'd hd him round tell me bout his prents nd their frm nd who'd worked the plce nd wht he'd t plyed hrdest s boy nd how he met the shy girl he mrried, how she becme so forceful nd why he receded in the kind of old mn everybody lerted but nobody sked nything. 16
A yer fter the funerl, still crrying my questions, I hd this drem: I ws in the working district of strnge city t sidestreet resturnt known for one food, some roll or doughnut. I wlked in but only sked for coffee when I noticed n old mn seted t the bck. There were few other cusmers. He slumped in booth nd wore rolled knitted silor's wtch-cp, he kept his big lether hnds round the coffee mug for wrmth, nd though he didn't look like my ded grndfther, I recog nized the mn t once. Seeing this, he signled tht I mustn't let the others know. So I crried my coffee his tble nd formlly sked if I might sit. He nodded. His fce ws bttered but merry. He seemed like some cermic pi?t stuffed with ll the secrets I would finlly get sk. And I ws just deciding which question offer first when he lened forwrd nd?smil ing?whispered in course beutiful voice, "Everything tht you suspect is so." Quick, bck the grden. Let's sy: Ech of us works ptch, ech of us works lone, but it re mins community grden. You seem might be the single person ever pulling weeds nd keeping the pths cler. "Where is everybody, nd wht m I doing this for, nd for whose benefit do I brek my bck tidy up, nd why ren't I pprecited?" Such re the complints of every gr dener, t noon. bugbitten high The novel nd the grden nd your work, my vegetble love, cn use ll your spine's best efforts, cn use your color sense, your knck for design in time nd spce. You're required plce the tll sries in bck nd the others down in front so they'll be visible the wy chorus must rrnge its members on risers so every member, holly hock cn groundcover, be seen singing. Also required?nd this is crucil?compost. Decy hs its?even plce erly killing frost does. Behind (nd under) ech grden is the fertile rot of everydy levings. Your pot peels, your eggshells?turned in next yer's Spring. We ll think we're simply working out our own peculir seled-off pro blems but?in ttending those?we ech dily mster the ethicl lgebr tht binds us ll others nd the world. Prtly, it comes down our not being embrrssed by work. It is the dirty secret of modern life: Everybody just fkes leisure. They're ctully working their tils off seem so plcid on the surfce. 17
The grnd blueprint finlly becomes whtever one person lboring six dys week cn mnge. Your own grden's size is just tht nd no big ger, nd the rest belongs weeds. Or the edges of others' grdens. Wht you s plnned nother Versilles or Sissinghurst is soon just your own kitchen-plot which?seen in the right erly light, covered with dew?is Versilles nd Sissinghurst nd then goes on from there pr dise itself. The sins of the fthers re visited un the second nd third compost. Sries. genertions: Love nd work?mybe there's some stte hppy between, green spot where both re both, where we cn love wht we work t, where we cn ll work shmelessly nd even hrder wrd wht it is tht we love best. This is the grden I spire. Tht will be prdise nd home. A recent book, on sources speculting of the first coded humn suggests tht we write in rows becuse we frmed in rows. lnguge, It's true then?"the principl vlue of privte grden is not undersod. It k not give the possessor vegetbles nd fruit cn (tht be better nd cheper done by the mrket-grdener) but tech him ptience nd phil osophy, nd the higher virtues?hopes deferred nd expecttions blighted, leding directly resigntion nd sometimes liention. The grden thus becomes morl gent, test of chrcter s it ws in the beginning." Finlly, this is the voice of my heroine s she speks the nonymous You. You come rest chrity home with your tpe recorder find the widow of soldier who longest outlived his Civil Wr. She is in bed, hlf blind, gifted only with long memory nd the will tht moves pst will, then becomes wiry kind of grce. Lucy speks for me?the gret grnd son of slveowners nd prechers nd slveowning prechers?she speks for ll the overlooked tht overseers must overlook if they're sty the overseers?she speks for how survive hisry hlf-intct but mostly she speks for herself. It remins one of fiction's illuminting technicl fcts tht nobody who speks for everyone in generl is ever believble on the pge. Only the grden tucked in peculir nd personl first-person-singu 18
lr remins dewy s Eden nd s quick with life: "A while bck you sid I ought spill my tidbits for 'hisry's ske.' Oh I don't need tht n excuse. big I like tlking. Only got one subject: wht next. hppened Besides, 'Hisry,' who's she? I been brething while, never met her once. I just sw people wking up for work nd hop ing doze those twenty minutes extr. Lter, you tripse in through the bckdoor loded with nmes nd dtes nd resons. Then ll tht's up in front of you ppers be hisry. "But, while it hppens, child, hisry's just keeping your rooms net nd hoping compny'll give you little notice so you cn tuck your extrs under the bed in time. Wht you cll hisry is relly just the luxury of fterwrds. Hisry is how food the soldiers t gobbled eleven m sets with them t two when the bttle strts, nd how one snck's hertburn chnges everybody's im. "Honey, hisry in't so hisricl. It's us just breking even, us just. trying "Drling, you know wht hisry is? "Hisry is lunch." 19