By May Sarton
May Sarton’s sincere and engrossing magazine of her 70th 12 months, spent dwelling and dealing at the Maine coast
may possibly Sarton’s journals are an enthralling examine a wealthy inventive existence. during this, her ode to getting older, she savors the day-by-day pleasures of tending to her backyard, taking care of her canines, and wonderful site visitors at her liked Maine domestic through the ocean. Her recollections are uncooked, and her observations are infused with the poetic candor for which Sarton—over the process her decades-long career—became known.
An enlightening glimpse right into a time—the early 1980s—and an age, At Seventy is right now particular and common, supplying a different window into septuagenarian lifestyles that readers of all generations will get pleasure from. every now and then mournful and at others hopeful, this can be a attractive memoir of the yr during which Sarton, in retrospect on all of it, may proclaim, “I am extra myself than i've got ever been.”
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Extra resources for At Seventy: A Journal
They had hardlyfinishedpouring thefirstpail ofwater before we began to see it flowing into our basin. At this sight prudence abandoned us; we began shouting cries of joy which made M. Lambercier turn around, and this was a pity: for he was taking great pleasure in seeing how good the earth around the walnut tree was and how avidly it was drinking his water. Struck by seeing it divided between two basins, he shouted in turn, looked, perceived the knavish trick, brusquely had a pickaxe brought over, gave a blow, set flying two or three slivers of our planks, and shouting as loud as he could, "An aqueduct, an aqueduct?
Even force had to give way before the diabolical wilfulness of a child; for they did not call my constancy anything else. Finally I emerged from this cruel test in pieces, but triumphant. It has now been more than fifty years since this adventure, and today I have no fear of being punished a second time for the same deed. Well, I state before Heaven that I was innocent, that I had neither broken nor touched the comb, that I had not gone near the niche, and that I had not even thought of doing so.
M. Lambercier was a very reasonable man, who, without neglecting our instruction, did not burden us at all with extraordinary duties. The proof that he acted well in this is that, in spite of my aversion for constraint, I never recall my hours of study with distaste, and that, even if I did not learn much from him, what I did learn I learned without difficulty, and have never forgotten. 2. The simplicity of that rural life did me a good of inestimable value by opening my heart to friendship. Until then I had known only elevated but imaginary feelings.