Solastalgia: Yes, And

Mary in Maine

 Sunday morning I was listening to With Good Reason, a program produced by Virginia Humanities and I was introduced to the idea of solastalgia. I learned that solastalgia is the sadness or pain that we feel when a beloved aspect of our landscape no longer exists. Paul Bogard is the editor of the book, Solastalgia: An Anthology of Emotion in a Disappearing World and he was the guest on the show. Bogard spoke of a childhood spent in intimate contact with wildlife and skies dark enough to experience a starry night properly. I was so enchanted by the description of his world that I immediately ordered the book, published by the University of Virginia Press. 

I looked forward to cracking open this book which offers reflections by thirty-four writers. They share their solastagia for their particular loved places. I was immediately drawn in, and I've only begun reading, so I'm sure more extraordinary observations will be revealed to me, but an early essay by Kathryn Miles gave me an intense notion of what solastagia is about. Miles grew up in places that have seen great change and manmade alteration. She speaks with true fondness for childhood vacations at Lake Powell when her family lived in Arizona's red rock desert. That lake is a travesty for many who recognize the land as Glen Canyon. Later family homes were in Iowa and Illinois where industrial agriculture dominated the landscape. But, her overwhelming emotion in regards to the landscape as she knew it is joy. 

After graduate school, Kathryn Miles dropped her anchor along Mid-Coast Maine where she felt reassured by the 'glacier-swept granite defining that landscape'. My antenna tuned in to this because my mother lived in Maine and we visited there each summer for twenty-two years. And now, my mother has been gone for about the same amount of time that Miles has made Maine home. My connection with Maine mostly died with my mother, but as Miles tells it, that Maine no longer exists. The water in the Gulf of Maine is warming seven times faster than 99 percent of the world's ocean. Lobsters are moving north and new species are moving in. Miles vividly describes the grief of Mainers and summertime visitors over losing the iconic coastline. I grieve it, too. I understand I can never go back and part of me feels glad that my mother, but particularly my stepfather, is not having to experience this grief. 

But, what to do? Here, our writer is as compelling as she was in her rendering of joy and sorrow over landscapes found and lost. Miles points to inspiration from an unexpected source: the Chicago improv school and theater Second City. Two words convey the idea: yes, and. There is even a book written by Second City executives by the same name. The idea is that reality is accepted (yes) and then you build upon that reality creatively (and).  This is the process of improvisation. And, it is funny because just earlier last night, I was partaking in a Q + A session with my online harp circle. We were talking a lot about improvisation. My contribution was to point out that we can learn how to improvise in a different discipline by understanding how we improvise in another area of our life. Don't we all improvise in some fashion? Life simply couldn't happen if we didn't know how to! I loved and appreciated that this is the answer for each of us as we face the future. Our own contribution to the solution will be what only we can offer. Change is the only constant and it is a constant opportunity for creativity. 

  

Mary reading on the rocks

I so appreciate that Kathryn Miles acknowledges her struggle to "understand why it wasn't okay to simultaneously love a place and to mourn the damage that has occurred there--to hold both sentiments as equally valid and true." With her words I also understand that I will never be able to go back to the Maine that refreshed so many summers and was the vacation 'home' for my children. They will never test that frigid water again! Maybe they will enjoy a more tepid temperature! And yet, creative things will happen. My stepfather told the story from his youth that lobsters were so plentiful and regarded as pests (clearly before they became fine dining and stuffing for lobster rolls!) that they would be thrown on the garden as fertilizer! So, some creativity probably happened to make the shift from fertilizer to roll stuffing...

I highly recommend Solastalgia even as I look forward to reading the rest of the offerings.

Solastalgia: An Anthology of Emotion in a Disappearing World. Charlottesville : University of Virginia Press, 2023

Seeing with Vacation Eyes

Walkers at Ashland

 It is the last day of August and my focus this month has been on seeing my home turf with 'vacation eyes'.  Much of the time I miss a lot of what is happening in my environs unless I have a pointed objective for observing. So, I'm setting out for Ashland Estate, my almost daily destination, with fresh expectations--or none--I have vacation eyes today! And, I am helped because it is about 10 degrees cooler than normal, making it feel like a change of seasons, when my senses are already heightened. 

Low hanging bur oak acorns

Crossing over to Ashland, I am close to the mature bur oaks on the grounds. I have been keeping an eye on the  bur oaks because they seem to have a generous crop of acorns this year. I love the bur oak acorns with their full caps. The acorns are still green and growing, but their charm is already apparent. I have read that oaks have mast years when all the trees of a type produce copious acorns so that they can feed the 'feeders' who partake of their fruit and still have sufficient left over to keep the oak population growing. This does not happen every year. Nature is exquisite in creating balance! And look at the beautiful shape of the bur oak leaves--lovely!

I walked along the outer path at Ashland and took note of how it felt to walk along the heat hardened ground. I was reminded of walking at Lyme Park in the north of England. It is/was a sensation of connection with a beautiful place. How good that I can simply walk to Ashland and reenact this feeling whenever I want! 

As I rounded the corner of the grounds that parallels the main thoroughfare leading to downtown Lexington, I was reminded of walking along Wilmslow Road leading in/out of Manchester, England. I'm not sure why this reminds me of a busy, urban road surrounded by fragrant mom & pop shops like the Rusholme Chippy. Perhaps it is the multitude of vehicles of all sorts-- buses, cars, utility trucks. They are loud and there is a distinct difference between walking on much of the grounds and walking along Richmond Road. As I was pondering this, I spotted a couple of women walking the same direction as I was, but on the sidewalk along the busy road. I believe they were speaking English but the inflection suggested South Asian origins. Along my doppelgänger road in Greater Manchester, I learned about dal and other tasty mots. 

I was contemplating this and remembering to take a photograph of the Ashland home, so I was paused when I noticed that the women were walking on the Ashland path now, deep in conversation. I took note, but not a photo and my sketch above is from my mental note. More and more, Lexington is becoming cosmopolitan with people from all over the world adopting this place as home, just as I have. 

Ashland, the Home

But, why I wanted to be sure to take photo of the Ashland is because it is dawning on me that part of my fondness for Henry Clay's estate is that it reminds me of enjoyable experiences from our stay in Manchester in 1985, when David was on sabbatical. One of my haunts was Platt Hall which housed a wonderful costume collection. Designer Laura Ashley was at the height of her popularity at this time and created a publication around Platt Hall and the costume gallery. The book has photos and plans for the historic building and so I was surprised to see that there is a striking architectural resemblance between Ashland and Platt Hall. Both have center blocks with connecting 'hyphens' and end blocks on either side. Looking again at the Ashley Book (Fabric of Society: A Century of People and their Clothes, 1770-1870, by Jane Toner & Sarah Levitt) I am seeing all kinds of connections, such as the lovely rose garden just by the mansion; Ashland is lovelified by the perennially popular peony garden. Just the other day, garden club members were shoring up the patch for winter's rest so that another spring might be blessed with the eye-popping blooms. 

There are many connections between Platt Hall and Ashland, but I would like to highlight one more: the role of slavery and the Civil War. Lancashire/Manchester was a manufacturing center for cotton and printed calicoes. President Lincoln obtained an agreement by the English cotton industry not to receive cotton from Confederate cotton plantations. This plantation cotton depended upon the labor of enslaved people. I was surprised to find a statue of Lincoln in front of Platt Hall when we were there in l985. (The statue has since been moved to the city centre--making a Lincoln Square in Manchester.) Enslaved people were an essential part of life at Ashland during Henry Clay's time. A concerted effort is underway at Ashland to tell the stories of these individuals who were enslaved on the estate.

Garden sculpture and yew nubs

Whilst I was in the English mode, I made my way to the estate's garden. In the last couple of years it has undergone extensive change. A boxwood blight necessitated the removal of dozens and dozens of the shrub which had been a major component of the garden plan. Before that, the yew hedge bordering two sides of the garden had been in the process of 'rejuvenation'. First, the inside face of the yews were cut down to the nubs. Those nubs were allowed to sprout out and grow and then the next year, the outside was cut down and topped. The garden has had to be reimagined. Part of the reimagining has involved reworking and sometimes redesigning the brick path ways around the plantings. Yellow caution ribbons are regularly festooned across sections of the garden. So, I was not surprised when I came upon some caution tape just before the garden sculpture. I couldn't figure out why the caution tape was in place. No apparent renovation activity was in process there and then. I turned around to go the other way so that I could check it out from the other side. I met with a delighted woman coming from the other direction. She exclaimed, "I just love this garden! I was married over by the sculpture!"  I responded, "I love this place, too! And I've made a painting of that sculpture!" The woman lamented as she exited the garden that she could not bring her dog to this inner sanctum, but she understood.

The sculpture today. How the yew have grown!

Meanwhile, I ventured to the other side of the be-ribboned caution zone. It turns out that it was taped off because of bee danger! I looked over and the Japonese anemones were busy with bees! Someone is always working in the garden... 

As I was making my way out of the garden a very distinguished and self-possessed cat entered (through an unofficial 'gate'). I guess cats are allowed. I wonder what the garden looks like through cat eyes.

  

Self-possessed kitty in the garden under the stately elm tree

I wasn't quite finished with my visit to Ashland. La Tour, a sculpture by the late John Henry is going to be leaving the premises to go to a sculpture park in Chattanooga, TN. I try to appreciate the view each time I come to Ashland. The impetus for bringing the large sculptures to Ashland was to prompt an extra look at the vistas. I never felt like I needed that prompting, but I've really enjoyed having these sculptures at Ashland. The other major one, formerly known as Publisher is now downtown at the Central Bank Center. It was a magnet for kids who were enjoying the nearby catalpa stump. The play of light and shadow on that white sculpture was just beautiful. La Tour is more rustic, but I've loved seeing it through the pine trees and paired with the newly planted copper beech. Clearly, there is always something to see on our daily walks!

La Tour sculpture by John Henry

A final stop on this visit, to view and study one of the special Ashland Park signs. These sport line drawings of the Ashland mansion.  This one has a brief history of the Henry Clay Estate and it talks about the ash trees that were abundant even before Clay's time on this land--they put the ash in Ashland!

I end my 'vacation' where I began--thinking about trees. Ultimately, it is probably the trees that draw me to this place. It has been kind of a rough year for trees at Ashland. Part of this might have to do with their maturity--they are more eternal than we are, but still mortal. Extreme weather events have taken their toll as well. Trees that were planted by Henry Clay came down in a major wind event in March. Just as the garden has been reimagined, some of the downed Norway Spruce has been milled and will be used to recreate a slave dwelling as might have existed at Ashland. Quite a repurposing!

Trees bring us into the present but also tie us with the past and the future. This is so beautifully true at Ashland.