The Odyssey & Agriculture
The beauty of returning the garden from which you came
“Outside the courtyard, fronting the high gates, a magnificent orchard stretches four acres deep with a strong fence running round it side-to-side. Here luxuriant trees are always in their prime, pomegranates and pears, and apples glowing red, succulent figs and olives swelling sleek and dark. And the yield of all these trees will never flag or die, neither in winter nor in summer, a harvest all year round for the West Wind always breathing through will bring some fruits to bud and others to warm ripeness — pear mellowing ripe on pear, apple on apple, cluster of grapes on cluster, fig crowding fig. And here is a teeming vineyard planted for the kings, beyond it an open level bank where the vintage grapes lie baking to raisins in the sun while pickers gather others; some they trample down in vats, and here in the front rows bunches of unripe grapes have hardly shed their blooms while others under the sunlight slowly darken purple. And there by the last rows are beds of greens, bordered and plotted, greens of every kind, glistening fresh, year in, year out. And last, there are two springs, one rippling in channels over the whole orchard— the other, flanking it, rushes under the palace gates to bubble up in front of the lofty roofs where the city people come and draw their water.”1
- Homer, The Odyssey, Book 7 Phaeacia’s Halls and Gardens, Lines 129-153
I recently re-read the Odyssey by Homer. I hadn’t picked up the book since my Freshman English class in high school, some 14 years ago. It feels strange to acknowledge how long ago that was.2 However, I am not here to diatribe about my insecurity regarding the quick passage of time. Rather, I wanted to, in a brief fashion, comment on what captured my imagination on the second reading of this classic.
As I dove into the beautifully translated version by Robert Fagles3 I was immediately struck by the rich agrarian imagery scattered through the poem. The excerpt above is a prime example of this sublime prose. Simply reading the words evokes readers to feel the warmth of an orchard, the abundance of a vineyard, and the hardiness of food produced by the Phaeacians.
But it also evokes a more intense sensation. While we can’t exactly explain why, we know we’d almost be willing to give up all we have to find ourselves within the walls of that vibrant Phaeacian garden.
I find this sensation strange. When I read books describing the grandeur of large cities like Paris or Tokyo I am intrigued but not invited.4 While the architectural detail and mercantile craftsmanship of such urban sprawls is a thing to be marveled at, it falls flat in contrast to the richness of a garden or pasture.
The metaphor, the symbol, and the imagery of fertile land teeming with natural growth and splendor will always hold far more weight in our social imaginaries than man-made concrete structures. Gardens, pastures, and land are spaces that we could not design or manipulate for ourselves, yet like us, were created by a force outside of ourselves.
Odysseus reinforces this sentiment repeatedly in his longing to return to Ithaca’s sunny shores. True, he does talk much of the royal palace and hordes of treasure being recklessly squandered by the suitors in his absence. But more intense and vivid than the desire for ornate wealth, is Odysseus’ longing for the land itself.
Odysseus expresses this desire to King Alcinous as begins to recount his lengthy exile from his land. The king declares:
“I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, known to the world for every kind of craft — my fame has reached the skies. Sunny Ithaca is my home. Atop her stands our seamark, Mount Neriton’s leafy ridges shimmering in the wind. Around her a ring of islands circle side by side. . . rearing into western dusk while others face east and breaking day. Mine is a rugged land but good for raising sons — and I myself, I know no sweeter sight on earth than a man’s own native country” (The Odyssey, Book 9, Lines 21-32).
This homecoming, this reunion with the land he’s always known, is far better than all the treasures lost from Troy’s plundered plain.
Why this motif of land and our return to it cuts much deeper than the quest for fame and treasure is not readily apparent. While time immemorial is marked with man’s exertion of hubris and greed, the agrarian longing to return to, steward, and love the land refuses to disappear.
And with every new and modern contrivance to deviate our attention away from the garden, we somehow still find ourselves longing for Eden all the more.
*Note From the Author*
I apologize for my lack of content as of late. The past few weeks have been a bit hectic. I hope this quick reflection finds you well. As always feel free to share, give feedback, or offer reflections. Specifically, for those of you who have read the Odyssey, I would love to hear what motif or theme resonated most with you.
With Love,
T.S.
The imagery here is surprisingly similar to the scene recounted by John at the end of Revelation. In both depictions, one can feel the healing and regenerative power exuded from the fertile garden.
It is also worth noting here that my first reading was at a rural, underfunded public school in Alabama. I believe my teacher was a cousin of the principal and had never read the Odyssey herself. Needless to say, I don’t remember much from my first reading.
I am not usually a fan of more modern translations like that of Fagles. However, the readability of his prose mixed with beautiful imagery made Fagles’ version highly enjoyable.
Gardens, pastures, and land call for participation in a way buildings and structures cannot. Yes, we participate in the liturgies we adhere to within the structures built for us to inhabit. Yet, these structures are not imbued with life as the land is. The participation of the garden is the response of us meeting a place that remains alive and created in the same way in which we were. A creation outside ourselves.