Jeffers planted trees of several species, most of which were native to the surrounding area, but none native to Carmel Point itself. But Australians? If Jeffers was concerned about the threat of fire, perhaps he should not have planted eucalyptus trees, an exotic with a dubious reputation in California, particularly with regard to combustibility. There was actually a forestry station in the town. The town went tree-crazy long before Jeffers began to plant his hedge. He was not the first planter of trees in Carmel. In actuality, Jeffers did not wait long after purchasing the property to plant his cypress hedge, reminiscent of a hedge his father had planted to keep his own home and family shielded from the encroachment of other people. When the animals Christ is rumored to have died for drew in, Though he calls this planting a “forest,” it would be more accurate to call it a privacy hedge: Perhaps of my planted forest a few / May stand yet, dark-leaved Australians or the coast cypress, … but fire and the axe are devils. It also boasts of the many trees that the poet planted: This poem may claim by its title to be about a house, but it is more a self-congratulatory song about the poet. When one cannot find a stone that fits, it is time to consider cutting stone.Īll that said, one can still say that the portions that Jeffers completed can be distinguished because he generally fitted stones well, so in this regard the poem is faithful to reality. I’m no stonemason so I don't know, but what the man said makes sense. He reluctantly mentioned afterward, after I prodded him to speak freely, that he’d noticed small stones had been inserted in many places to fill gaps, that not being regarded as a sound practice among stonemasons. I recall showing the house and tower once to a man who identified himself as a stonemason. The claim to have made “stone love stone” might be seen by some to be an exaggeration. For the most part, Jeffers did not even write in the tower. As with the garage and the dining hall, there was no plumbing in the tower. Most of all, Jeffers could honestly boast of his tower, but again, it was a detached structure where no one slept, prepared meals, ate, or bathed.
Further, he might well boast of his construction of the garage, which much later was converted to a kitchen by his son Donnan, but hey: it was a garage-for his car. He would certainly have reason to boast of the marvelous work he did on that dining hall. Two or three years later, he would complete an addition to the house where he and his family would later eat their meals. At the time of the writing of this poem (1927–28), the 1919 cottage was all there was to Tor House. The cottage took under three months to complete, and Jeffers didn’t sign onto the project until after it had begun. Jeffers helped with the construction of the cottage as an apprentice, not as a skilled craftsman. The cottage where he slept, wrote, and died was built by a hired stonemason.
One fact that should be remembered in this context is that the house that Robinson Jeffers lived in was mostly built by hands other than his. He instructs the reader to look for evidence of his workmanship in the remnants of stonework and boasts, “my fingers had the art / To make stone love stone.” Yet there is a strain of boasting and self-mythologizing here that troubles me. In a sense, this poem represents the strongest link between the poet and his stone muse. Orion in December / Evenings was strung in the throat of the valley like a lamp-lighted bridge. The poem features some of the most beautiful wording, I think, that Jeffers ever wrote: Among Jeffers’ poems, this was one of those that has echoed through me with strong sensation of subconscious presence. The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers (1938).
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