The World About
Much of the imagery—the overwhelming bulk of its existence—in the text is devoted to descriptive prose which situates the scenery. The setting of the book is nothing less than the entirety of planet earth in a sense. Imagery brings to vivid, palpably tangible life all the myriad aspects of that setting:
“The crows see me coming across the field, a woman with a basket, and argue my provenance loudly among themselves. The soil is hard under my feet, bare except for a scattering of plow-scraped rocks and a few of last year’s corn stalks, their remnant prop roots squatting like bleached-out spider legs. Years of herbicides and continuous corn have left the field sterile. Even in rain-soaked April not a blade of green shows its face.”
Canada Goldenrod
One of the most effective utilizations of the power of imagery comes in a description of Canada Goldenrod. The difference between a work of prose with and without imagery can be illuminated here. Read this poetic description of a flower and replace all the parts which seem poetic with simple fact. What is left tells the reader the same thing, but in such a boring way as to make it almost not worth the effort:
“If a fountain could jet bouquets of chrome yellow in dazzling arches of chrysanthemum fireworks, that would be Canada Goldenrod. Each three-foot stem is a geyser of tiny gold daisies, ladylike in miniature, exuberant en masse. Where the soil is damp enough, they stand side by side with their perfect counterpart, New England Asters. Not the pale domesticates of the perennial border, the weak sauce of lavender or sky blue, but full-on royal purple that would make a violet shrink. The daisylike fringe of purple petals surrounds a disc as bright as the sun at high noon, a golden-orange pool, just a tantalizing shade darker than the surrounding goldenrod.”
The Language of Plants
Do plants communicate? Dogs and cats cannot speak to humans, but it is clear enough they can communicate with us. More importantly, there is no longer any doubt that they can “speak” with each other. So who is to say that simply because humans cannot translate the language that plants use to speak to other with that this means there is no language to translate:
“In the old times, our elders say, the trees talked to each other. They’d stand in their own council and craft a plan. But scientists decided long ago that plants were deaf and mute, locked in isolation without communication… But pollen has been carried reliably on the wind for eons, communicated by males to receptive females to make those very nuts. If the wind can be trusted with that fecund responsibility, why not with messages? The trees are talking to one another. They communicate via pheromones, hormonelike compounds that are wafted on the breeze, laden with meaning.”
The Honorable Harvest
“The Honorable Harvest” is a way of going about taking from the earth without being allowed to not be required to give something back in return. The author admits the rules of an honorable harvest are not written down or codified in a way that state-sponsored guidelines for hunting are, but the concept is the same nevertheless. What one takes from the natural world should be offset by the requirement that something is given. Otherwise, everything disappears eventually. The unwritten code becomes imagery:
“Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer. Never take the first. Never take the last. Take only what you need. Take only that which is given. Never take more than half. Leave some for others. Harvest in a way that minimizes harm.”
