Soil: The Story of a Black Mother's Garden
Ratings4
Average rating4.6
15
Ratings4
Average rating4.6
A “heartfelt and thoroughly enriching” (Aimee Nezhukumatathil, New York Times bestselling author of World of Wonders) work that expands on how we talk about the natural world and the environment as National Book Critics Circle finalist Camille T. Dungy diversifies her garden to reflect her heritage.
In Soil: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden poet and scholar Camille T. Dungy recounts the seven-year odyssey to diversify her garden in the predominantly white community of Fort Collins, Colorado. When she moved there in 2013, with her husband and daughter, the community held strict restrictions about what residents could and could not plant in their gardens.
In resistance to the homogenous policies that limited the possibility and wonder that grows from the earth, Dungy employs the various plants, herbs, vegetables, and flowers she grows in her garden as metaphor and treatise for how homogeneity threatens the future of our planet, and why cultivating diverse and intersectional language in our national discourse about the environment is the best means of protecting it.
“Brilliant and beautiful” (Ross Gay, New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Delights), Soil functions as the nexus of nature writing, environmental justice, and prose to encourage you to recognize the relationship between the people of the African diaspora and the land on which they live, and to understand that wherever soil rests beneath their feet is home.
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“I dig up a lot of awful history when I kneel in my garden. But, my god, a lot of beauty grows out of this soil as well.”
This wonderful book is about the garden in Ft. Collins, CO that Camille T. Dungy, a professor at Colorado State University, cultivates. It is also about the history of nature writing in the US, and the historical relationship Black people have with land and gardens here. It's about ecology, understanding ecosystems and trying to work with them instead of dominating the landscape. There is a lot in this book that is not specifically about gardens, but bears directly on the garden that Dr. Dungy is building. I loved it and I think it's an important contribution to the nature writing genre.
"Someone asked me yesterday what hope looks like," muses Camille Dungy partway through her breathtaking book, _Soil_. Reflecting on bulbs planted in the fall; on anticipation; on efforts that may take months or years to yield results--if they do at all--she responds: "My garden."
_Soil_ is not a gardening book. You need not have a green thumb to enjoy it, although you may be inspired to try once you dive into it. You won't learn how best to plant irises, or where or when, but you may gain new perspectives on why to do so and on how meaningful a garden can be. You may also pick up some valuable historical knowledge, or pause once or twice to admire a beautifully crafted sentence. Dungy identifies as a poet, and her prose shows evidence of it. Her paragraphs are deliberate, rich in imagery and meaning and insight, rewarding the careful reader.
The narrative begins in 2013, with Dungy and her family moving from Oakland to Fort Collins. Her vision for their yard -- pollinator-friendly, with a large variety of native flowers -- is a far cry from the herbicidally sterile lawn the previous owners left them. It will take work and time for soil to heal, for columbine and blue flax to come in, and for insects and birds to start visiting. "Changing our environment from homogeneous to diverse is rewarding. But the process can be slow."
Woven all throughout are threads of memoir, history, art, literature, biography, language. The word dandelion being removed from a kids' dictionary, perhaps replaced by blog or chatroom. The etymology of the prefix "eco." Slivers from the lives of Mary Cassatt, Thomas Nuttall, John Muir, Anne Spencer. Tales of privilege and of lack. The history and chemistry of neonicotinoids. And, significantly, Dungy herself and her family and their lives: their Covid experience; breathing smoke-saturated air while wildfires rage nearby (sound familiar?); moments of learning and imperfection and growth, in and around and away from the garden. "It is difficult to survive, much more difficult to thrive, without a community on which to depend."
Dungy's efforts -- and hope -- are rewarded. (This is not a spoiler: from the beginning she writes of the purples and golds and magentas, whites and browns that thrive in her garden and in her life. She has a finely tuned awareness of color). The book is about the journey, and it's a lovely one.
