Wendell Berry
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Sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten how to be a poet or how to compose songs. In the silence that seems like writer’s block, those critical internal voices grow deafening. For example, since early October, I’ve been trying to wrestle my thoughts into a sonnet. That otherworldly rattling call of the Sandhill Cranes crossing overhead
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Last week we returned to St. Paul, Minnesota for the national speech and debate competition hosted at the University of Northwestern. While there, I got to spend some quiet time on the dual bench glider swings on the university’s small island, known for its Island Chapel (follow the link beneath the photograph for the chapel’s
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On Valentine’s Day I became a grandfather. Our first grandson! My wife was blessed to be there to prepare for and help with the delivery, as well as provide extra support for the first week of Liam’s life. By late spring, I will be a grandfather twice over when we welcome our second grandson into
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I came across this poem searching for Christmas stories by Wendell Berry. Last year, I listened to his novella Andy Catlett: Early Travels, set during Christmas of 1943, as I painted a home we were renovating. Honestly, I wanted something a bit shorter to share with my students, more along the lines of Truman Capote’s
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“Denounce the government and embracethe flag. Hope to live in that freerepublic for which it stands.” Wendell Berry, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” Though I’ve referenced this poem multiple times on my site, I don’t believe I’ve ever posted it in full. With election day upon us in America, the poem feels fitting. So
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There’s something that draws me to hawks. And yet, this morning a hawk was drawn to our side porch! Admittedly, I know exactly why the hawk chose to hang out on the corner post overlooking my neighbor’s lawn: baby rabbits. We’d been watching their furtive movements around the rhododendron bush from the dining room table
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Father’s Day 2024 found me back in Wolf Creek after a wonderful meal with my family hosted by my son and daughter-in-law. What a wonderful slow day! The gift of summer. Although I went upstairs after my three-hour sojourn in the stream to write the final song of my constellation series (Aries has been quite
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I would have loved to share the thirty second clip I took of Wolf Creek panning from the dam in the image above down through the smaller dams my sons and I created, on to the waters that slow as they pass the tire swing so you could more fully experience the sight and soundscape
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If you haven’t read yesterday’s post, you won’t fully appreciate what Wendell Berry offers in this haikuesque poem of just three lines. Come away from modernity to be still enough to catch this passing moment before the looming shadows of daily life hide, once again, the extraordinary deepening grounds waiting in plain sight. XX (2012)
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Flipping through my copy of Wendell Berry’s This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems, I found myself drawn to the poems that conclude the volume, echoes of the Mad Farmer filling the pages. Try as I might to find a softer piece for this post, I kept returning to this poem and the haunting refrain,
the deepening ground 