This was my first time reading Wendell Berry. He’s mentioned so often by authors I enjoy, such as Barbara Kingsolver and Michael Pollan, that I decided the time had come to give him a try. If the library wait list is anything to go by, a lot of people are experiencing pandemic-induced back-to-the-land wistfulness, because I was on a months-long wait list for this one.
What struck me most about this short two-essay collection is that, except for a brief mention of Nixon, it could have been written this year rather than 50 years ago. I'm not sure if Berry is particularly prescient, or if we as humans are just incredibly slow in adopting more sustainable land policies, but it was kind of incredible to read something written so long ago that's just as applicable and current today. The book's two essays, "Think Little" and "A Native Hill" both address environmental issues, agriculture specifically. The first essay, "Think Little" is more overt and critical, while "A Native Hill" delivers its message through a lyrical telling of Berry's native grasses, forests and hills. Both essays made me think, reconsider and swoon for a more rural life, but I found "A Native Hill" particularly moving. In fact, I found myself frequently thinking that Berry put to words things I've often felt, viscerally, but never quite put into concrete, actual words. I think my favorite passage the entire collection was the following:
"One early morning last spring, I came and found the woods floor strewn with bluebells. In the cool sunlight and the lacy shadows of the spring woods the blueness of those flowers, their elegant shape, their delicate fresh scent kept me standing and looking. I found a delight in them that I cannot describe and that I will never forget. Though I had been familiar for years with most of the spring woods flowers, I had never seen these and had not known they were here. Looking at them, I felt a strange loss and sorrow that I had never seen them before. But I was also exultant that I saw them now – that they were here. For me, in the thought of them will always be the sense of the joyful surprise with which I found them – the sense that came suddenly to me then that the world is blessed beyond my understanding, more abundantly than I will ever know."
This is something I’ve experienced myself in nature. It happened to me the first time I saw bluebells carpeting the stream valley by my house. Another time, it happened when I was walking in the thin strip of woods behind my house and noticed, for the first time, the blue, yellow, and white wildflowers growing at the edge of the forest where the woods meet the trail. And most recently, it happened when I was on a walk with my husband and daughter, and my husband pointed out the hundreds of blackberry bushes in bloom around the perimeter of the sports park we were walking through. I’ve walked around that park since I was 10, and I never noticed them before, but suddenly, I couldn’t not notice them. I really relate to the feeling that “the world is blessed beyond my understanding, more abundantly than I will ever know.”
Other passages I enjoyed:
-"The time is past when it was enough merely to elect our officials. We will have to elect them and then go and watch them and keep our hands on them, the way the coal companies do” (Think Little).
-"Most of us are not directly responsible for strip mining and extractive agriculture and other forms of environmental abuse. But we are guilty nevertheless, for we connive in them by our ignorance. We are ignorantly dependent on them. We do not know enough about them; we do not have a particular enough sense of their danger” (Think Little).
-"Odd as I am sure it will appear to some, I can think of no better form of personal involvement in the cure of the environment than that of gardening. A person who is growing a garden, if he is growing it organically, is improving a piece of the world. He is producing something to eat, which makes him somewhat independent of the grocery business, but he is also enlarging, for himself, the meaning of food and the pleasure of eating. The food he grows will be fresher, more nutritious, less contaminated by poisons and preservatives and dyes than what he can buy at a store. He is reducing the trash problem; a garden is not a disposable container, and it will digest and reuse its own wastes...But he is doing something else that is more important: he is making vital contact with the soil and the weather on which his life depends. He will no longer look upon rain as a traffic impediment, or upon the sun as a holiday decoration” (Think Little).
As a recent gardening convert, the part about “enlarging, for himself,” the meaning of food and the pleasure of eating,” rings particularly true. When you grow something from seed and nurture it through rain storms and dry spells, it really gives you another level appreciation for food.
-"IN THIS AWAKENING there has been a good deal of pain. When I lived in other places I looked on their evils with the curious eye of a traveler; I was not responsible for them; it cost me nothing to be a critic, for I had not been there long, and I did not feel that I would stay. But here, now that I am both native and citizen, there is no immunity to what is wrong. It is impossible to escape the sense that I am involved in history."
-"The idea was that when faced with abundance one should consume abundantly – an idea that has survived to become the basis of our present economy. It is neither natural nor civilized, and even from a ‘practical’ point of view it is to the last degree brutalizing and stupid."
“The road builders, on the contrary, were placeless people. That is why they ‘knew but little.’ Having left Europe far behind, they had not yet in any meaningful sense arrived in America, not yet having devoted themselves to any part of it in a way that would produce the intricate knowledge of it necessary to live in it without destroying it. Because they belonged to no place, it was almost inevitable that they should behave violently toward the places they came to. We still have not, in any meaningful way, arrived in America."
-"The slopes along the hollow steepen still more, and I go in under the trees. I pass beneath the surface. I am enclosed, and my sense, my interior sense, of the country becomes intricate. There is no longer the possibility of seeing very far. The distances are closed off by the trees and the steepening walls of the hollow. Here the eyes become dependent on the feet. To see the woods from the inside one must look and move and look again."
-"Much of the interest and excitement that I have in my life now has come from the deepening, in the years since my return here, of my relation to this place. For in spite of all that has happened to me in other places, the great change and the great possibility of change in my life has been in my sense of this place. The major difference is perhaps only that I have grown able to be wholeheartedly present here. I am able to sit and be quiet at the foot of some tree here in this woods along Camp Branch, and feel a deep peace, both in the place and in my awareness of it, that not too long ago I was not conscious of the possibility of. This peace is partly in being free of the suspicion that pursued me for most of my life, no matter where I was, that there was perhaps another place I should be, or would be happier or better in; it is partly in the increasingly articulate consciousness of being here, and of the significance and importance of being here."
-"THE MOST EXEMPLARY nature is that of the topsoil. It is very Christ-like in its passivity and beneficence, and in the penetrating energy that issues out of its peaceableness. It increases by experience, by the passage of seasons over it, growth rising out of it and returning to it, not by ambition or aggressiveness. It is enriched by all things that die and enter into it. It keeps the past, not as history or as memory, but as richness, new possibility. Its fertility is always building up out of death into promise. Death is the bridge or the tunnel by which its past enters its future."
Next on my reading list is “The Unsettling of America,” and a collection of Berry’s poetry.