When I think about escape – and who doesn’t, in these hectic times? – I imagine things my dirt-poor ancestors never got to do.
Suppose they lived near a rich dude in 18th-century England. My people were groveling and poaching while the lord showed off his swans – and his ornamental hermit.
It was all the rage to have one. The hermit would live primitively in the grotto, wear unwashed “druid” garb and a long, festering beard. He might mutter mystically or give advice (yes, you do have to invite your morbid uncle to the May Day fete).
It was a good gig – room and board – though only for white males. (Read about them in Gordon Campbell’s “The Hermit in the Garden”). Were they tramps or privileged poets, writing sonnets? The grotto may have been a haven in a heartless world – but the custom didn’t last.
I wonder if people like my Irish ancestors quashed it all by demanding hermits’ rights.
Maybe someone did. The fad faded in the 19th century. Nowadays, instead, we have garden gnomes.
Maybe you can hide behind yours.
Utterly fascinating, and a lovely way to start my day, Jeff. Thank you! Love video.