Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Idea of A Garden
Pollan's Idea of A Garden parallels Sharon Whites Vanished Gardens as they talk about the garden itself and what this means. Pollan states, "even wilderness, in both its satanic and benevolent incarnations, is an historical, man-made idea. Every one of our various metaphors for nature-"wilderness," "ecosystem," "Gaia," "resource," wasteland"- is already a kind of garden (The Idea of A Garden 606). Metaphors and comparisons are also used in Vanished Gardens where the garden represents so much more to the narrator then just the physical definition of one such as, "Wilderness just under the surface. Breathing its clear breath right into my face" (Vanished Gardens 33). The usage of comparisons and metaphors play a huge role in both of these authors in them exemplifying how and what the "garden" means to them.
FINDING NATURE IN PHILADELPHIA: AN INTERVIEW WITH SHARON WHITE
The following interview with Sharon White is based on questions submitted by writing students at Temple University who were assigned Vanished Gardens: Finding Nature in Philadelphia. Thanks to all students who submitted interview questions. And thanks to Sharon White for her responses. Sometimes when you read through Vanished Gardens, do you think of different memories to attribute to a certain section of the book? Or did you have a list of different stories to tell and picked the best one that fit into the story and kept the flow going and you are happy with the results?
I started writing the book to describe my new home and neighborhood in Philadelphia. We had just moved here from a house in a field near lots of woods in Massachusetts. I was feeling homesick. I had quit my job at another college and had time to take long walks in Philadelphia. I was very happy that I lived near Fairmount Park and the Schuylkill River. The book took shape as I spent more time discovering the neighborhood. My father had died a year before we moved to Philadelphia, and I was still dealing with his death. I think the history in the neighborhood and thoughts of my father combined to give me a story for the book. I discovered the stories I used as I researched the people who lived in my neighborhood. I was also writing about my son growing up and discovering his own way of living in the city. I tried different ways of structuring the book—often I had all the chapters printed out and arranged in different shapes—like a puzzle on the floor of my living room. So—I think I am happy with the way the book turned out.
What is the meaning of your chapter titles?
I was in a writing group with two friends, one was the poet Almitra David, and she read an early chapter in the book called Daffodil. I had tried several different titles and section headings before that. She said she felt that the book would be successful if I stayed close to the idea of flowers (and plants). I wasn’t sure until several years into the project that the book was about gardens. At that point I didn’t know my house was built on the Labyrinthine Garden. Her comment helped me to focus the book.
What is the biggest loss that people have suffered because of the loss of gardens?
I think that connection to living and dying and living again. The experience of eating a hot cherry tomato right from the garden. Being able to grow beautiful things that restore your place in the world. bell hooks writes about this in her essay, “Touching the Earth,” and Michael Pollan talks about this, too, in “The Idea of a Garden.”
You wrote about William Penn, John Bartram, his wife Ann, Lemon Hill, Wissahickon. Why did you choose to write about these particular people and places but not others?
I was trying to stay close to my house and the area around Fairmount. There were so many people I could have written about. The land my house sits on was part of William Penn’s estate and Lemon Hill was part of that original land. Everything I read led me to the Bartrams and their connection to the Penns and other famous gardeners. I had only known about William Bartram, so I was fascinated that he had this amazing family. I thought for a while that the book was going to be about Ann Bartram, but I couldn’t find enough information about her. It was like a treasure hunt—each piece of the story led me to the next. I started writing the book before there was information on the Internet, so all my research was in libraries. Later, as I revised the book, I found some information on the Internet about Penn’s family that I couldn’t find years before.
What were your before and after views on nature in Philadelphia or nature as a whole in the United States during this process of writing Vanished Gardens?
I moved to Philadelphia thinking that there was a border between different kinds of places—country, suburb, and city. After living here for a while, I realized the connection between all kinds of ecosystems and became passionate about defending the city as a place for nature. I gave up the romantic notion of wilderness only in certain places. William Cronon helped me to understand this concept after reading his book Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists and the Ecology of New England. I also discovered that, as Leonard Dubkin says in his essay “Some Experiences with Insects,” there’s a world right under our feet, all around us in the city that exists in an invisible way until we start noticing it—then, it’s incredibly rich. This morning my neighbor George called me to say that the birds were on my deck, and the pigeons were sitting on the roof of the old brewery down the street. He wanted to know if I’d started feeding the birds yet. I haven’t but the birds know that this is the time of year I usually put out seed for them, and they’re back already.
In class we have learned many definitions of nature. What is your specific definition of nature? How does it apply to nature in Philadelphia?
I think this is a hard question. I see everything as nature at this point—our bodies, my pot of pansies, my glass of orange juice. I suppose the problem is caring enough about all aspects of the pieces of the world to make living here healthy and fulfilling for everyone.
What is the relationship between the city of Philadelphia and the garden, and does understanding one of the two help you to understand the other?
This question connects to the one above in that once you start connecting people to the “garden” and the “wilderness” to the city you see the benefit in preserving or restoring even city ecosystems (and not just national parks and designated wilderness.)
In chapter 7, “Tulip Tree,” you mention feeling a bit disconnected with the woods until you see something that triggers a memory of your childhood. Do you believe that memories are what forge human connections with nature?
That’s a very good point—for me I suppose, yes. I have students who have no connection to nature—or at least tell me they don’t—but they like going outside to write and somehow that does “trigger” a connection they didn’t know they had. Many writers have been saying that children who only experience nature on television or through their computers will have no real connection with it. I know that the kids who come by my garden in Philadelphia love touching the flowers and watching the bees and butterflies that are drawn to this narrow strip of green.
When did you first realize that you had a great affinity towards nature and gardens? What was your initial exposure to them?
My mother had a beautiful garden with roses and iris and asters when I was very young. She also used to read to me under the one tiny tree we had in our yard. My great uncle had a large vegetable garden that I loved. I also spent lots of time exploring the woods near my house and playing in a brook a few streets away. When I was older I spent months in the mountains and worked on a farm in Norway. I always wanted to build a cabin and live in some remote woods, but I live in Philadelphia instead! I’ve always felt like I was happiest outside.
I started writing the book to describe my new home and neighborhood in Philadelphia. We had just moved here from a house in a field near lots of woods in Massachusetts. I was feeling homesick. I had quit my job at another college and had time to take long walks in Philadelphia. I was very happy that I lived near Fairmount Park and the Schuylkill River. The book took shape as I spent more time discovering the neighborhood. My father had died a year before we moved to Philadelphia, and I was still dealing with his death. I think the history in the neighborhood and thoughts of my father combined to give me a story for the book. I discovered the stories I used as I researched the people who lived in my neighborhood. I was also writing about my son growing up and discovering his own way of living in the city. I tried different ways of structuring the book—often I had all the chapters printed out and arranged in different shapes—like a puzzle on the floor of my living room. So—I think I am happy with the way the book turned out.
What is the meaning of your chapter titles?
I was in a writing group with two friends, one was the poet Almitra David, and she read an early chapter in the book called Daffodil. I had tried several different titles and section headings before that. She said she felt that the book would be successful if I stayed close to the idea of flowers (and plants). I wasn’t sure until several years into the project that the book was about gardens. At that point I didn’t know my house was built on the Labyrinthine Garden. Her comment helped me to focus the book.
What is the biggest loss that people have suffered because of the loss of gardens?
I think that connection to living and dying and living again. The experience of eating a hot cherry tomato right from the garden. Being able to grow beautiful things that restore your place in the world. bell hooks writes about this in her essay, “Touching the Earth,” and Michael Pollan talks about this, too, in “The Idea of a Garden.”
You wrote about William Penn, John Bartram, his wife Ann, Lemon Hill, Wissahickon. Why did you choose to write about these particular people and places but not others?
I was trying to stay close to my house and the area around Fairmount. There were so many people I could have written about. The land my house sits on was part of William Penn’s estate and Lemon Hill was part of that original land. Everything I read led me to the Bartrams and their connection to the Penns and other famous gardeners. I had only known about William Bartram, so I was fascinated that he had this amazing family. I thought for a while that the book was going to be about Ann Bartram, but I couldn’t find enough information about her. It was like a treasure hunt—each piece of the story led me to the next. I started writing the book before there was information on the Internet, so all my research was in libraries. Later, as I revised the book, I found some information on the Internet about Penn’s family that I couldn’t find years before.
What were your before and after views on nature in Philadelphia or nature as a whole in the United States during this process of writing Vanished Gardens?
I moved to Philadelphia thinking that there was a border between different kinds of places—country, suburb, and city. After living here for a while, I realized the connection between all kinds of ecosystems and became passionate about defending the city as a place for nature. I gave up the romantic notion of wilderness only in certain places. William Cronon helped me to understand this concept after reading his book Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists and the Ecology of New England. I also discovered that, as Leonard Dubkin says in his essay “Some Experiences with Insects,” there’s a world right under our feet, all around us in the city that exists in an invisible way until we start noticing it—then, it’s incredibly rich. This morning my neighbor George called me to say that the birds were on my deck, and the pigeons were sitting on the roof of the old brewery down the street. He wanted to know if I’d started feeding the birds yet. I haven’t but the birds know that this is the time of year I usually put out seed for them, and they’re back already.
In class we have learned many definitions of nature. What is your specific definition of nature? How does it apply to nature in Philadelphia?
I think this is a hard question. I see everything as nature at this point—our bodies, my pot of pansies, my glass of orange juice. I suppose the problem is caring enough about all aspects of the pieces of the world to make living here healthy and fulfilling for everyone.
What is the relationship between the city of Philadelphia and the garden, and does understanding one of the two help you to understand the other?
This question connects to the one above in that once you start connecting people to the “garden” and the “wilderness” to the city you see the benefit in preserving or restoring even city ecosystems (and not just national parks and designated wilderness.)
In chapter 7, “Tulip Tree,” you mention feeling a bit disconnected with the woods until you see something that triggers a memory of your childhood. Do you believe that memories are what forge human connections with nature?
That’s a very good point—for me I suppose, yes. I have students who have no connection to nature—or at least tell me they don’t—but they like going outside to write and somehow that does “trigger” a connection they didn’t know they had. Many writers have been saying that children who only experience nature on television or through their computers will have no real connection with it. I know that the kids who come by my garden in Philadelphia love touching the flowers and watching the bees and butterflies that are drawn to this narrow strip of green.
When did you first realize that you had a great affinity towards nature and gardens? What was your initial exposure to them?
My mother had a beautiful garden with roses and iris and asters when I was very young. She also used to read to me under the one tiny tree we had in our yard. My great uncle had a large vegetable garden that I loved. I also spent lots of time exploring the woods near my house and playing in a brook a few streets away. When I was older I spent months in the mountains and worked on a farm in Norway. I always wanted to build a cabin and live in some remote woods, but I live in Philadelphia instead! I’ve always felt like I was happiest outside.
What inspired you to write about nature in Philadelphia when all I see is pollution and homeless people everywhere?
I realized that if I was going to be happy here I had to get to know that landscape—just looking more carefully helped me to understand that nature in Philadelphia was much more complex than I thought. I still see the trash ( I realized I had to pick it up!) but I see other wonderful things too—amazing birds—like the heron that lives in the thicket not far from here, woodchucks, woodpeckers on the tree outside the room where I write, etc. I think you just have to know where to look. Even on Temple’s campus there are hawks hunting. I would like to do more to help the homeless people I see, but I don’t see them as separate from the life of the city.
Where did you live prior to Philadelphia? How are the gardens there different from the ones here?
I’ve lived in Massachusetts, Vermont, Colorado, England, and Connecticut. The gardens are different in each place because of the climate and the spots where I gardened. I think I’m focused more on this garden in Philadelphia because it’s so public—many people comment on it and it’s so small. I grew more things to eat in my other gardens, but I did get a great crop of basil from pots on the deck this year.
Where did you get the information or ideas that inspired you to write your book? In the Elm chapter you talked about how elm trees were used to differentiate land. Do you think in today’s society plants in the city are being used for any other purpose than aesthetic beauty?
The list of sources at the end gives some idea of the books I looked at to write Vanished Gardens. A librarian at the PA Horticultural Society library, Jane Alling, pointed me in the right direction for many of the searches for information. I looked at letters from the 1700s, diaries, farm records, etc. I also read as many books as I could find about nature in the city. Ann Whiston Spirn’s books, The Granite Garden and The Language of Landscape, were really helpful as far as seeing the geography of the city.
Plants in Philadelphia are used for many other purposes. There actually is an urban garden called Greensgrow that has reclaimed vacant factory land and is not only selling vegetables and flowers and plants, but also making that part of the city greener. Trees help reduce global warming, and there is a plan to plant a million trees in Philadelphia in the next year. There are also green roofs that work in lowering the amount of electricity a building needs for cooling or heating.
What is the meaning/reason behind your chosen titles for the three sections of the book?
The first section is named after Thomas Penn’s property. The quotation is from Deborah Logan’s diaries describing the garden at Springettsbury. I talk about her life and garden in the last section of the book. Most of the chapters in the first section connect in some way to Springettsbury. My house is built on a section of Penn’s estate. I centered the second chapter on the Bartrams and the title is the name of that part of Philadelphia where the Bartrams farmed and gardened. The quote is taken from a letter that John Bartram wrote about pears from a tree a friend had sent him from England. The third section title is the place where Mary Gibson Henry, who was inspired by William Bartram’s travels, had her garden. This section is also about loss and the solace of the natural world. The quotation is taken from a description of a flower Mary Gibson Henry found in a swamp in the south, when she was hunting for plants to bring back to her garden. Isaac Norris’s farm discussed in this chapter was not far from Temple.
I realized that if I was going to be happy here I had to get to know that landscape—just looking more carefully helped me to understand that nature in Philadelphia was much more complex than I thought. I still see the trash ( I realized I had to pick it up!) but I see other wonderful things too—amazing birds—like the heron that lives in the thicket not far from here, woodchucks, woodpeckers on the tree outside the room where I write, etc. I think you just have to know where to look. Even on Temple’s campus there are hawks hunting. I would like to do more to help the homeless people I see, but I don’t see them as separate from the life of the city.
Where did you live prior to Philadelphia? How are the gardens there different from the ones here?
I’ve lived in Massachusetts, Vermont, Colorado, England, and Connecticut. The gardens are different in each place because of the climate and the spots where I gardened. I think I’m focused more on this garden in Philadelphia because it’s so public—many people comment on it and it’s so small. I grew more things to eat in my other gardens, but I did get a great crop of basil from pots on the deck this year.
Where did you get the information or ideas that inspired you to write your book? In the Elm chapter you talked about how elm trees were used to differentiate land. Do you think in today’s society plants in the city are being used for any other purpose than aesthetic beauty?
The list of sources at the end gives some idea of the books I looked at to write Vanished Gardens. A librarian at the PA Horticultural Society library, Jane Alling, pointed me in the right direction for many of the searches for information. I looked at letters from the 1700s, diaries, farm records, etc. I also read as many books as I could find about nature in the city. Ann Whiston Spirn’s books, The Granite Garden and The Language of Landscape, were really helpful as far as seeing the geography of the city.
Plants in Philadelphia are used for many other purposes. There actually is an urban garden called Greensgrow that has reclaimed vacant factory land and is not only selling vegetables and flowers and plants, but also making that part of the city greener. Trees help reduce global warming, and there is a plan to plant a million trees in Philadelphia in the next year. There are also green roofs that work in lowering the amount of electricity a building needs for cooling or heating.
What is the meaning/reason behind your chosen titles for the three sections of the book?
The first section is named after Thomas Penn’s property. The quotation is from Deborah Logan’s diaries describing the garden at Springettsbury. I talk about her life and garden in the last section of the book. Most of the chapters in the first section connect in some way to Springettsbury. My house is built on a section of Penn’s estate. I centered the second chapter on the Bartrams and the title is the name of that part of Philadelphia where the Bartrams farmed and gardened. The quote is taken from a letter that John Bartram wrote about pears from a tree a friend had sent him from England. The third section title is the place where Mary Gibson Henry, who was inspired by William Bartram’s travels, had her garden. This section is also about loss and the solace of the natural world. The quotation is taken from a description of a flower Mary Gibson Henry found in a swamp in the south, when she was hunting for plants to bring back to her garden. Isaac Norris’s farm discussed in this chapter was not far from Temple.
In Vanished Gardens, the different types of plants seem to be chosen and formatted to portray the book as a garden, sectioned by locales and possibly the plants that reside in those areas. Is there any specific connection to the idea of the book between the chosen plants other than the personal? Do the types of plants chosen have any particular relation to the underlying theme of the book? Was there a specific amount of variety predetermined that would impact the flow of the story and broke it up into a more interesting read? The range of plants is very broad and not necessarily related to each other, other than being in the same kingdom and possibly phylum. Was the garden as a physical thing considered before the idea of a garden?
I chose the plants to write about because they connected to what I was seeing or experiencing on my explorations around Philadelphia and also because of the plants that the gardeners I was reading about were interested in. So—yes—I thought about the physical nature of the plants before the idea of the garden. When I discovered that my house was built on a garden designed as a labyrinth it seems like a miraculous metaphor to me—that I had been circling around the idea of the garden for several years.
You use a variety of crop names as chapter headings in your book. How significant are these crops to the reader’s understanding of the landscape of Philadelphia, past and present?
I’m not sure that the specific plants I used are significant for the reader except that they are part of the ecosystem of Philadelphia, both cultivated and wild.
What was your inspiration for comparing Philadelphia with garden flowers, plants, and crops? In other words, why a garden, which is typically organized and beautiful, as opposed to a jungle or rainforest, which are controlled mainly by nature itself?
I started out with the idea that I would write a book about wildlife in Philadelphia. The book developed into the idea of a garden because I started to see the city that way—it made more sense somehow. Most people live in cities, so I suppose the idea of the garden made more sense to me than imposing the idea of wilderness on the city—although I wanted to imagine that there was wilderness under the surface.
How did you come up with the research for your book?
I started to research the old houses around my house using the Philadelphia Horticultural Society, The Historical Society, and other libraries. I looked at old maps to figure out what was here before my house was built. That early research led me to the gardeners I discuss. I had fun actually holding letters written by William Penn and his family and reading tiny books with information about cattle, or lists of flowers ordered from England. My book would probably be very different if I wrote it now because so much information is easy to find on the Internet.
How long did you work on writing the book?
I spent about five years off and on writing the book and then about a year revising it.
What were your main reasons for writing so much about the lives and history of the Penn and Bartram families?
Penn and the Bartrams were very important not only in Philadelphia but also internationally. Bartram had a business that imported plants from England and exported native plants from America—this was really fascinating for me. I wanted to write more about ordinary people’s gardens, but there was not very much information. Bartram was pretty wealthy, and Penn and his family were very wealthy. I hope to—at some point—write more about other gardens, and gardeners, in Philadelphia.
I chose the plants to write about because they connected to what I was seeing or experiencing on my explorations around Philadelphia and also because of the plants that the gardeners I was reading about were interested in. So—yes—I thought about the physical nature of the plants before the idea of the garden. When I discovered that my house was built on a garden designed as a labyrinth it seems like a miraculous metaphor to me—that I had been circling around the idea of the garden for several years.
You use a variety of crop names as chapter headings in your book. How significant are these crops to the reader’s understanding of the landscape of Philadelphia, past and present?
I’m not sure that the specific plants I used are significant for the reader except that they are part of the ecosystem of Philadelphia, both cultivated and wild.
What was your inspiration for comparing Philadelphia with garden flowers, plants, and crops? In other words, why a garden, which is typically organized and beautiful, as opposed to a jungle or rainforest, which are controlled mainly by nature itself?
I started out with the idea that I would write a book about wildlife in Philadelphia. The book developed into the idea of a garden because I started to see the city that way—it made more sense somehow. Most people live in cities, so I suppose the idea of the garden made more sense to me than imposing the idea of wilderness on the city—although I wanted to imagine that there was wilderness under the surface.
How did you come up with the research for your book?
I started to research the old houses around my house using the Philadelphia Horticultural Society, The Historical Society, and other libraries. I looked at old maps to figure out what was here before my house was built. That early research led me to the gardeners I discuss. I had fun actually holding letters written by William Penn and his family and reading tiny books with information about cattle, or lists of flowers ordered from England. My book would probably be very different if I wrote it now because so much information is easy to find on the Internet.
How long did you work on writing the book?
I spent about five years off and on writing the book and then about a year revising it.
What were your main reasons for writing so much about the lives and history of the Penn and Bartram families?
Penn and the Bartrams were very important not only in Philadelphia but also internationally. Bartram had a business that imported plants from England and exported native plants from America—this was really fascinating for me. I wanted to write more about ordinary people’s gardens, but there was not very much information. Bartram was pretty wealthy, and Penn and his family were very wealthy. I hope to—at some point—write more about other gardens, and gardeners, in Philadelphia.
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