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A colorfully illustrated round of the season in the garden of the best-selling novelist, memoirist, and champion putterer with a wheelbarrow
On the perimeter of Israel’s Jezreel Valley, with the Carmel mountains rising up in the west, Meir Shalev has a beloved garden, “neither neatly organized nor well kept,” as he cheerfully explains. Often covered in mud and scrapes, Shalev cultivates both nomadic plants and “house dwellers,” using his own quirky techniques. He extolls the virtues of the lemon tree, rescues a precious variety of purple snapdragon from the Jerusalem–Tel Aviv highway, and does battle with a saboteur mole rat. He even gives us his superior private recipe for curing olives.
Informed by Shalev’s literary sensibility, his sometime riotous humor, and his deep curiosity about the land, My Wild Garden abounds with appreciation for the joy of living, quite literally, on Earth. Our borrowed time on any particular patch of it is enhanced, the author reminds us, by our honest, respectful dealings with all manner of beings who inhabit it with us.
A colorfully illustrated round of the season in the garden of the best-selling novelist, memoirist, and champion putterer with a wheelbarrow
On the perimeter of Israel’s Jezreel Valley, with the Carmel mountains rising up in the west, Meir Shalev has a beloved garden, “neither neatly organized nor well kept,” as he cheerfully explains. Often covered in mud and scrapes, Shalev cultivates both nomadic plants and “house dwellers,” using his own quirky techniques. He extolls the virtues of the lemon tree, rescues a precious variety of purple snapdragon from the Jerusalem–Tel Aviv highway, and does battle with a saboteur mole rat. He even gives us his superior private recipe for curing olives.
Informed by Shalev’s literary sensibility, his sometime riotous humor, and his deep curiosity about the land, My Wild Garden abounds with appreciation for the joy of living, quite literally, on Earth. Our borrowed time on any particular patch of it is enhanced, the author reminds us, by our honest, respectful dealings with all manner of beings who inhabit it with us.
בשל מגבלות הוצאה לאור, הספר הזה בפורמט קינדל לא יכול להיות מועבר באופן אלחוטי ויש להורידו ולהעבירו באמצעות USB.
עקב הגבלות המוציא לאור הספריה אינה יכולה לרכוש עותקים נוספים של הכותר, אנו מתנצלים אם יש רשימת המתנה ארוכה. וודא שבדקת עותקים אחרים, מכיוון שיכולות להיות מהדורות אחרות זמינות.
מובאות-
From the book1: A NEW PLACE
At the heart of my garden stands the house where I live. I remember very well the day I saw it for the first time. Back then, I was looking for a house outside the city. I wandered through villages and hamlets; I poked around, knocked on doors; I questioned corner-store owners and met secretaries of agricultural cooperatives. I chatted with fathers and mothers and shared secrets with sons and daughters. I had already seen quite a few possible dwellings, but this one I loved at first sight: a small meager house, the kind that looks like what were once called Jewish Agency houses. A modest lawn dying at the front, prickles and dry weeds tumbling around it, and a few ornamental bushes and fruit trees, some of which were about to die of thirst.
The house stood on a slope. I went down and walked around it, and here was the surprise: an expansive, deep landscape that stretched out to the farthest western edges. It began with two plots of cultivated land with a few spears of cypresses at their margins, and above them two ranges of forested hills, dotted with dense impressionistic smudges of variegated green: the pale green of the Tabor oak, the dark green of the Palestine oak, here and there the gleaming green of the carob, and the green of the terebinth—that of the slightly faded Land of Israel terebinth and the more vibrant mastic. And above all this, veiled in the summer haziness of the valley, lay a familiar bluish range that extended from one end of the horizon to the other—the Carmel. Which valley? I don’t want to insult anyone, but when I say the valley, I am referring to my very own Jezreel Valley.
I turned around and looked back at the house. Because of the sloping nature of the plot, the rear of the house was supported by thin concrete pillars that created a space between the house and the ground below. Someone, I noticed, had built a small wire coop for chickens. I peeked in and saw four small carcasses bedecked in feathers, and they were all as dry as the tin water trough that stood beside them. When he left, that person had abandoned the chickens in their prison, to die of hunger or thirst. But the house filled me with the happiness of a new love, and even this evildoing did not curtail it.
I examined the plants and trees around it: an old pear tree, a dying lemon tree, a shady pecan tree, two oaks and three terebinths, chinaberry, and jacaranda. A hardy prickly pear also grew there, and a crisp marijuana plant, remarkably green against the brown and yellow background. I wondered who might be coming to water it with such devotion? At the front of the house stood a fig tree, its fruit overripe, but when I drew closer to it I saw tiny mounds of fresh sawdust, heralding disaster, piled up by the trunks. A closer look also revealed tunnel openings dug by the fig-tree borer, a harbinger of death that eats through the flesh of the trunk and eventually topples it.
Everything I saw suggested the garden would need much work and forethought. But although I’ve always loved nature, I had precious little experience in gardening. I was an observer: of my grandfather in Nahalal, and my mother—his daughter—in Jerusalem.
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My grandfather was a professional planter who planted a vineyard, a grove, and an orchard on his farm. I loved watching him prune and trellis the grapes in his vineyard. The movements of his hands enchanted me. I was just a child and did not know how to express this in words, but I felt that the movements of a craftsman were the most beautiful movements ever to be embedded within...
על המחבר-
One of Israel's most celebrated novelists, MEIR SHALEV was born in 1948 on Nahalal, Israel's first moshav. His books have been translated into more than twenty-five languages and his honors include the National Jewish Book Award and Israel's Brenner Prize for A Pigeon and a Boy. He died in 2023.
JOANNA CHEN is the translator of Less Like a Dove and Frayed Light. She is a columnist for the Los Angeles Review of Books. REFAELLA SHIR is an Israeli artist who lives in Montreal. She studied art in Israel, Canada, and the United States and has exhibited internationally. Her work can be viewed at refaellashir.com.
ביקורות-
December 1, 2019 An agreeable set of essays in which gardening teaches perspective and the rewards of hard work. When Israeli novelist Shalev (Two She-Bears, 2016, etc.) first saw his home in the Jezreel Valley, its garden was dried up and derelict. Although his grandfather kept an orchard and his mother took pride in her Jerusalem garden, he had little personal experience with horticulture. In this pleasant "collection of impressions of a modest wild garden and the gardener who tends it," he charts the development of a hobby that soon became his "new love." With the help of an elderly village guru, he learned what to plant and what to cut down, creating such an idyll that a wedding party once mistook his garden for a countryside photo shoot location. The book rests on solid botanical knowledge but is never heavy-handed. Rather, Shalev sometimes indulges in whimsy, as when he asks his sea squill plants if they want to be sown together or separately. Though the author notes an overall decline in local wildlife, he still enjoys owl calls and nocturnal visits from fruit bats. In a standout chapter, Shalev good-naturedly chronicles a losing battle against mole rats. The author weaves in Jewish wisdom via stories of the Tree of Life and God's providing water as well as King Solomon's words in praise of ants. Shalev contends that keeping a garden helps with cultivating a proper sense of time--not just planning ahead with annuals, but also planting a tree that will remain hundreds of years after its planter is gone. "This patience is not something I brought to the garden," he writes, "but rather something I received from it." He persuasively likens gardening to writing in that both necessitate time, dedication, and back pain but ultimately produce beauty. At the end of the book, when he describes how he cut down his old, dying lemon tree to replace it with another, it reminds him of his mortality: "I, too, am a rather old lemon tree." Charming musings on the "moments of bliss" found in the garden.
COPYRIGHT(2019) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
December 16, 2019 Shalev (My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner), an Israeli novelist and amateur gardener, endears in this delightful memoir cum gardening guide. Inspired by his Hasidic grandfather’s Ukrainian garden with fruit trees inspired by the Torah, the author developed his own garden, gathering hyacinth squill bulbs, anemone, Syrian cornflower-thistle and lupine seeds from neighbors’ gardens, and sage and marjoram from a nearby nursery. He generously references the Bible (“The first fruit trees to be given names were the tree of life and the tree of knowledge that grew in the Garden of Eden”) and elaborates on the virtues of the pomegranate, blood orange, and lemon tree (it “does not make any special effort to endear itself to its owners”). Shalev’s own garden, he proudly writes, has attracted everything from brides and kindergartners to mole rats, bats, and aggressive ants. Punctuated with charming botanical drawings, Shalev’s musings flow effortlessly from start to finish. His lyrical prose, generous pacing, and passion will please any reader with a green thumb.
January 1, 2020
Israeli author Shalev (A Pigeon and a Boy) descends from a long line of gardeners but only became interested in the subject himself relatively late in life, eventually curating his outdoor space from a neglected landscape. Here the author shares a collSECTION of short essays about his relationship with his wild garden located in the Jezreel Valley of Israel. Topics range from individual plants, such as sea squill, cyclamen, or lemon trees, to favored tools to the destructiveness of the local mole rats. Shalev writes of learning patience as he grows plants from seed that will not flower for several years, and how as an observer of nature, especially in his own yard, he gently shapes the garden while celebrating its wildness. A nurturer of plants who is careful not to waste even a single seed and mourns the death of a tree, Shalev is a lyrical stylist and philosopher who writes with passion and humor. Drawings by Shir enhance the text. VERDICT A beautiful love letter to gardens that is sure to appeal to anyone who has cultivated one of their own.--Sue O'Brien, Downers Grove, IL
Copyright 2020 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
March 15, 2020 Gardeners, by their very nature, are observant beings attuned to their surroundings by necessity if not design. Prolific Israeli writer and journalist Shalev (Two She-Bears, 2013) is one such gardener. His property in the Jezreel Valley is so lush and vibrant that it is frequently mistaken for a wild, public land, invaded by marauding wedding photographers and exuberant children. Teeming with cyclamen and poppies, fruit and olive trees, it provides homes for spiders and snakes, mole rats and wasps. It is also where Shalev's heart and soul soars. In this poignant, smart, funny, and uplifting memoir, delightfully augmented by Refaella Shir's cunning illustrations, Shalev is not so much concerned with imparting horticultural how-to as he is with conveying emotional why-not. Why not treat garden ants with equanimity instead of scorn? Why not embrace the wildness that carries a norm-defying beauty? From the slow-to-grow squill (in the lily family) that imparts valuable lessons in patience to the spiritual rewards of walking the earth barefoot, Shalev's life-embracing and -affirming reflections are buoyant reminders of life's rewards and nature's precious bounty.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2020, American Library Association.)
Sue O'Brien, Library Journal
"A nurturer of plants who is careful not to waste even a single seed and mourns the death of a tree, Shalev is a lyrical stylist and philosopher who writes with passion and humor. Drawings by Shir enhance the text."
Kirkus Reviews
"Charming musings on the 'moments of bliss' found in the garden . . . in which gardening teaches perspective and the rewards of hard work . . . Rests on solid botanical knowledge but is never heavy-handed."
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