Trackless Wild

WENDELL BERRY, I was broken-hearted to learn, passed away on Monday, Aug. 31, at his home in Port Royal, Kentucky. No person has influenced my life more than Wendell Berry. His writing and his thinking about conservation, place, and agriculture are the reasons I live how and where I live. Like many others, I was introduced to his work through his often-quoted poem, “The Peace of Wild Things.” That poem published in 1968 in Wendell’s collection Openings. I first read it in the mid-80s.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Some days, things seem normal. The martins return. Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Other days, I know we’re losing it all. Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Some days, deep in drought, I watch for wildfires.

Tree death is not like people death. Yes, like people, some trees die of old age. Some die of disease. Some are victims of accidents. By far, most of the trees that die are killed. Because we are so quick to kill them, we mostly don’t get to see a tree die a good, natural death.

The full moon for April in southern Georgia will be named Mulberry. I hope you got a glimpse of it on Thursday evening. It looked like a glowing round cheese made of Jersey milk. Although the weather was continuously wonky, this spring we escaped a late freeze at Red Earth Farm, and the fruit is coming on. In the case of mulberries, the fruit has arrived. A roving band of cedar waxwings promptly moved in. I heard them before I saw them one afternoon last week when I headed out for a walk.

You are heartily invited to join me this evening for a live lecture and presentation, Following Golden Strands, where I talk about nurturing a relationship with spirit in many of its forms, from gut feelings to dreams to divination.

I understand the services offered by the internet. I am obligated to understand them, because the net has taken over my life and all our lives. In terms of benefits, the internet lets me learn about people, places, and things I might not otherwise hear about. It slates my intense thirst and need for information. It connects me (virtually) with many human communities. It allows me to peddle my books and workshops, sometimes without charge. However, there are two great disservices of the Internet.

Raven picked up an audio-book from the library, and after he listened to the first disk, he suggested I do the same. The book turned out to be one of those that revolutionizes the way I think. In this case the subject was aging. Do you know that most Americans hold negative age beliefs? That most Japanese hold positive ones? That their outlook on aging contributes to the longest lifespans in the world? That positive age beliefs have been proven to add as many as 7.5 years to your lifespan?

When I was teaching last summer at Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference in Vermont, I got to tour the Robert Frost cabin and also walk an interpretive trail where poems by Frost have been printed on metal signs and posted along the way. A small incident happened at the poem “The Road Not Taken” and I’ve written about it. This is my sole offering to you today. I guess it’s about never giving up hope.

I have been collecting stories of wild spectacles and creating short podcasts (what I call flash-casts) out of them. I’m now ready to release the inaugural episode. I wanted you to have the chance to listen first, if you wish and if you have 19 minutes. Maybe you have some carving or knitting you can do while you…

When you signed up as a paid subscriber to the Trackless Wild newsletter, you gave me a tremendous boost of faith. In gratitude, I want to offer you a tiny gift. I’m delivering an online lecture about how spirit or magic affects our lives and our art—especially writing. I would love to offer you a complimentary ticket to this, should your schedule allow…