A Place of My Own by Michael Pollan

I am reading a delicious little book right now by Michael Pollan. I've enjoyed his other books, but this one really speaks to me. Ostensibly it's about him building himself a writing retreat in his backyard, but really, it's about much more than that. He explores the psychological needs people have in relating to their environments, how space and light affect us, and how shelter means much more than its sheer functionality.

A few of the points he has made so far really jumped out at me. He talks about how a part of himself has always stood apart from the people around him, and he wanted to build a structure to house that part of himself. That hits the nail on the head! I've always felt a need to withdraw a little on a regular basis to "regroup" and think. I just can't find that renewal and clarity when I'm surrounded by other people. Maybe that's part of being a writer, and maybe it's part of being an introvert who is forced every day to interact outside of my comfort zone. Last night I even found myself sitting on the couch beside my husband, watching TV, and pulling on sound-cancelling headphones and picking up a book, just to retreat for a few minutes from the noise and information input. All I needed was a few minutes and then I could breathe again. It has taken me a lot of years to acknowledge that introversion and realize it's okay to accommodate it. Without apology.

He also describes---in hilarious fashion---how important books are to him, and as I read it, I felt I had met a kindred soul. For example, page 44: "...Marshall McLuhan had likened opening the Sunday paper to settling into a warm bath. The metaphor delivered a tiny jolt of recognition, because I too found reading---reading almost anything---to be a vaguely sensual, slightly indulgent pleasure, and one that had very little to do with the acquisition of information...the deep piles of words on the page comprised for me a kind of soothing environment, a plush cushion into which sometimes I could barely wait to sink my head." He talks about feeling naked without a book, and reading over people's shoulders on the subway and never thinking to look into the faces of the people opposite him. That's it exactly! It's an addiction, I acknowledge, one that feels like sinking into a bath of warm honey. He also admits that half the appeal of starting a new project or hobby is the fun of reading about it. I fully confess the reason I still garden is because I love poring over the seed catalogs and reading the histories of certain varieties. And how can you not order seeds and plant them when confronted with such luscious photos?

The part I'm reading now is how buildings are experiences more than objects. That resonates with me too. All of my hunting for real estate is about the stories that jump into my head when I see a place. I'm looking for a feeling and experience, more than the actual tactile structure. The certain slant of light brings to mind curling up with a book or smelling cinnamon rolls baking. The graceful arch of a doorway has me walking through it, hanging my coat just here, bending to greet my dog there. I can't really explain it well, but Michael Pollan, I sense, understands it. But it's the reason why I could see myself living equally well in a Quebec City loft with exposed brick walls or a rambling white farmhouse on the Bruce Peninsula or a glass-and-steel condo overlooking Lake Erie. There really is a coherence to all of those disparate places---the fall of the light, the space above my shoulders, the warmth of golden-wood bookshelves and a crackling fireplace---they're all possible in all of those places. The experience of each place ties them all together. Maybe I'm not fickle or indecisive after all.

He also talks about how a home needs to be situated and crafted to fit a certain site, and the site determines much about the structure. In turn, the structure molds the person, and vice versa. Maybe that's why the cookie-cutter suburban house never has appealed to me. It isn't the sameness so much as the all-oriented-to-the-street-the-same-way-ness. The way the roads ignore topography and blast their way through rock in order to stay straight instead of curving and allowing the flow of the landscape. The way we try to cram as many houses onto the head of a pin as possible. The way we clear away all of the trees to build the houses and then stick trees back in again. That kind of building doesn't honor the location, even as it tries to own the view.

Back to reading now. Can't wait to see what he says next!

Photos swiped from the Internet of favourite houses: