Don’t you hate when this happens to one of your books?
I ordered May Sarton‘s Plant Dreaming Deep online. I was excited as I was pulling the book out of the padded envelope…only to find it had made its entire journey with the bottom right corner folded back. Aaaagh! I immediately pressed it back into place. Weighted it down with other books. A day later, no improvement. I admit I had thoughts of giving this book away and ordering another copy. But I got hold of myself–another lesson that nothing is ever perfect–then took hold of that bent cover, opened the book, and began to read.
Another confession: In the past, whenever I heard the title of the book, I thought of a plant that was dreaming. Never once did I consider that the reader was being encouraged to plant dreaming deep. But before I even arrived at the first page of the book, I came upon the epigraph, four lines of one of Sarton’s poems where a man who has been out roaming comes home “Seasoned and stretched to plant his dreaming deep.”
Plant Dreaming Deep is May Sarton’s memoir about settling down in a house in the village of Nelson, about two hours from Boston, for the stated purpose of rescuing her parents’ Belgian furniture from the cellar in which it was being stored. She was in her early 50’s.
After a load of firewood is dumped in her yard, she and a visiting friend set about making order out of disorder. Afterwards she writes, “There is something very satisfying about a well-stacked cord of wood on a back porch.”
She writes about how supportive a routine is, that “the spirit moves around freely in it.” Just as Annie Dillard writes about a schedule as “a net for catching days.”
Plant Dreaming Deep is the story of May Sarton’s house, her garden, and her village, what she calls “a tangible reality outside myself, against which I could prove almost everything I had come to believe.” It was published in 1968.