Plants have a distinct quality from people that is shared with more strictly segmented life, such as some worms and some invertebrates. In many cases you can lop a limb off and in the proper circumstances, the dismembered segments will grow into a new individual.
People are not quite that way once they are past the blastocyst stage. We do, however, speak of being uprooted, and of putting roots down. Perhaps the severing is not a dismembering of the individual person, but the disconnection from a community or setting. In this way, the analogy is more about social and environmental connections than physiology and anatomy.
With my autism and solitary nature, it’s been hard for me to establish those connections to community over the years, and I’ve somewhat opportunistically moved about the northern tier of the country seeking my fortune. When I decided to build Mons Domus, I wanted it to be different. I wanted to grow roots here. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to connect easily with the people, who are cut of a very conservative cloth, but I could connect with the land.
As I’ve made progress on the structure, I’ve taken breaks and planted trees, made a few flower beds by stacking rocks and piling compost. Last fall, I knew the winter would feel long with the pandemic, so I planted countless bulbs. Maybe close to 1000. It seemed to take forever. I knew that I would need flowers in the Spring.
And so, as the new season has arrived, so have the earliest blooms. I’m beginning to feel as if I am rooted, too.