wendell berry: a small collection
beware the justice of nature. understand that there can be n apart from nature or in defianc understand that no amount of the innate limits of human inte we are not smart enough or con enough to work responsibly on in making things always bigger we make them both more vulner dangerous to everything else. l small-scale elegance and gener crudity, and glamour.
no successful human economy ce of nature. education can overcome elligence and responsibility. nscious enough or alert a gigantic scale. and more centralized, rable in themselves and more learn, therefore, to prefer rosity to large-scale greed,
w e ndell berry: a small collection
the silence contempt for small places march 22, 1968 are you alright? a wet time prayers and sayings of the mad farmer iv awake at night
what m u st a m an do to be at ho me in t he w o r l d? the re m u st be ti m es wh en h e is he re as thou gh absen t, gon e be yo nd w o rds int o t he w o ve n shad o w s o f the g rass an d th e fli g h ty dark ne sse s of l eaves sh aki n g i n th e wi nd , and b e yo nd the sen se of th e weari n ess of e ngine s and o f his o w n he ar t , his w ron gs g rown old u n forgive n. it must b e w it h him as thou gh h i s bon es fade be yo nd t hought into th e sh adows th at g row out o f t he gr ound s o that th e fu rrow h e open s in t he e ar t h o p e ns in hi s bon es, an d h e h ears t he sil e nc e of the ton gu es of th e dead tr ib e sme n bur ie d he re a thou san d years ago. an d the n w hat pre se nc e s w il l r ise up b e f ore h i m , weeds beari n g f l o w e r s, and t he d r y w ind rain! wh at son gs h e wi ll h ear !
newspaper editorials de degradations of the ocea “dead zone,” and reporter “mountain removal ” min some day we may finally und
plore such human-caused ans as the gulf of mexico’s rs describe practices like ning in eastern kentucky. erstand the connections.
the health of oceans depend The health of the oceans depends on the health of rivers; the watershed has caused, in the Gulf of Mexico, a hypoxic health of rivers depends on the health of small streams; or “dead zone”of five or six thousand square miles. the health of small streams depends on the health of their In forty-odd years, strip mining in the Appalachian watersheds. The health of the water is exactly the same coal fields, culminating in mountain removal, has gone as the health of the land; the health of small places far toward the destruction of a whole region, with untold is exactly the same as the health of large places. As we damage to the region’s people, to watersheds, and to the know, disease is hard to confine. Because natural law waters downstream. is in force everywhere, infections move. We cannot immunize the continents and the oceans against our contempt for small places and small streams. Small destructions add up, and finally they are understood collectively as large destructions. Excessive nutrient runoff from farms and animal factories in the Mississippi
and fina
s on the health of rivers
ally they are understood
as spring begins the river rises, filling like the sorrow of nations -uprooted trees, soil of squandered mountains, the debris of kitchens, all passing seaward. at dawn snow began to fall. the ducks, moving north, pass like shadows through the falling white. the jonquils, halfopen, bend down with its weight. the plow freezes in the furrow. in the night i lay awake, thinking of the river rising, the spring heavy with official meaningless deaths.
the river rises filling
like the sorrow of nations
the spring work had started, and i needed a long night’s rest, or that was my opinion,and i was about to go to bed,
but then the telephone rang. It was Elton. He had been getting ready for bed, too, I think, and it had occurred to him then that he was worried. a long time. But, then, you never know.”
“Andy, when did you see the Rowanberrys?” “The thing is, we don’t know.”
I knew what he had on his mind. The river was in
We knew what we were doing, and both of us were a little
flood. The backwater was over the bottoms, and Art embarrassed about it. The Rowanberry Place had carried and Mart would not be able to get out except by boat that name since the first deeds were recorded in the log or on foot. cabin that was the first courthouse at Hargrave. “Not since the river came up.” Rowanberrys had been taking care of themselves there
“Well, neither have I. And their phone’s out. Mary, for the better part of two hundred years. We knew that when did Mart call up here?” Arthur and Martin Rowanberry required as little
I heard Mary telling him, “Monday night,” and then, worrying about as anybody alive. But now, in venturing “It was Monday night,” Elton said to me. “I’ve tried to worry about them, we had put them, so to speak, under to call every day since, and I can’t get anybody. That’s the sign of mortality. They were, after all, the last of the four days.” Rowanberrys, and they were getting old. We were uneasy
“Well, surely they’re all right.” in being divided from them by the risen water and out of
“Well, that’s what Mary and I have been saying. Surely touch. It caused us to think of things that could happen. they are. They’ve been taking care of themselves
the river was in flood.
Elton said, “It’s not hard, you know, to think of things that could up a flashlight as I went out the door, but it was not happen.” much needed. The moon was big, bright enough to put
“Well,” I said, “do you think we’d better go see about them?” out most of the stars. I walked out to the mailbox and
He laughed. “Well, we’ve thought, haven’t we? I guess we’d made myself comfortable, leaning against it. Elton and better go.” I had obliged ourselves to worry about the Rowanberrys,
“All right. I’ll meet you at the mailbox.” but I was glad all the same for the excuse to be out.
I hung up and went to get my cap and jacket. The night was still, the country all silvery with moonlight,
“Nobody’s heard from Art and Mart for four days,” I said inlaid with bottomless shadows, and the air shimmered to Flora. “Their phone’s out.” with the trilling of peepers from every stream and
“And you and Elton are going to see about them,” Flora said. She pond margin for miles, one full-throated sound filling had been eavesdropping. the ears so that it seemed impossible that you could hear “I guess we are.”
Flora was inclined to be amused at the way Elton and I imagined the worst. She did not imagine the worst. She just dealt with mortality as it happened. I picked
t h e l a n d is a n a r k , f u ll of t hi ngs wai t i ng.
un de r f o o t it goe s t e mporary an d sof t, t rac k s
fi ll ing w ith wate r as t he f oot i s rai se d.
t h e f ie l ds , s odde n, go f re e of plan s. hands
b ec om e ob s cu r e in t he i r u se , pre hi st oric .
t h e m in d pa s s e s ov e r c hange d su rfac e s
l i ke a boat, dr aw n to t he t hought of roof s
a n d to th e t hough t of swi mmi ng an d wadi ng bi rds.
a l ong th e r iv e r cr oplands an d garde n s
a r e b u r ie d in t h e f l ood, ai ry plac e s grown dark
a n d s il e n t b e n e at h i t. un de r t he sle n de r branc h
holding th e n e w n e st of t he hu mmi ngbi rd
t h e r iv e r f l ow s h e av y wi t h e art h, t he wat e r
t ur n e d t h e c ol or of broke n slope s. i stand
dee p in th e m u d of the shore , a stak e
p l an te d to m e a s u r e t he ri se , t he wat e r ri si ng,
t h e e a r th fa l l ing t o me e t i t. a gre at c ot t on wood
pa s s e s dow n, t h e l e ave s shi ve ri ng as t he root s
dr ag t h e bo t t om . i was not re ady f or t hi s
pa r t ing, m y nat iv e lan d pu t t i ng ou t t o se a.
“ i’d
hate if anything since he was just a little half-orphan boy, living with his
anything else.
mother and older brothers on the next farm up the creek.
And yet I heard Elton’s pickup while it was still a long way
He had got a lot of his raising by being underfoot and off, and then light glowed in the air, and then I could see
in the way at the Rowanberrys’. And in the time of his his headlights. He turned into the lane and stopped and
manhood, the Rowanberry Place had been one of his pushed the door open for me. I made room for myself
resting places. among a bundle of empty feed sacks, two buckets, and
Elton worked hard and worried hard, and he was often
a chain saw.
in need of rest. But he had a restless mind, which meant “Fine night,” he said. He had lit a cigarette, and the cab was
that he could not rest on his own place in the presence fragrant with smoke.
of his own work. If he rested there, first he would begin “It couldn’t be better, could it?”
to think about what he had to do, and then he would
“Well, the moon could be just a little brighter, and it
begin to do it. To rest, he needed to be in somebody could be a teensy bit warmer.”
else’s place.
I could hear that he was grinning. He was in one of his
We spent a lot of Sunday afternoons down at the companionable moods, making fun of himself.
Rowanberrys’, on the porch looking out into the little
I laughed, and we rode without talking up out of the
valley in the summertime, inside by the stove if it was Katy’s Branch valley and turned onto the state road.
winter. Art and Mart batched there together after their “It’s awful the things that can get into your mind,” Elton said.
mother died, and in spite of the electric lights and “I’d hate it if anything was to happen to them.”
telephone and a few machines, they lived a life that would
The Rowanberrys were Elton’s friends, and because they
have been recognizable to Elias Rowanberry, who were his, they were mine. Elton had known them ever
g was to happen to them .” had marked his X in the county’s first deed book-a life
Art was the rememberer. He knew what he knew and what
that involved hunting and fishing and foraging as had been known by a lot of dead kinfolks and neighbors. conventionally as it involved farming. They practiced They lived on in his mind and spoke there, reminding an old-fashioned independence, an old-fashioned him and us of things that needed to be remembered. Art generosity, and an old-fashioned fidelity to their word had a compound mind, as a daisy has a compound flower, and their friends. And they were hound men of the old and his mind had something of the unwary comeliness of correct school. They would not let a dog tree anywhere a daisy. Something that happened would remind him of in earshot, day or night, workday or Sunday, without something that he remembered, which would remind him going to him. of something that his grandfather remembered. It was “It can be a nuisance,” Art said, “but it don’t hardly seem right not that he “lived in his mind.” He lived in the place, but to disappoint ‘em.” the place was where the memories were, and he walked
Mart was the one Elton liked best to work with. Mart was among them, tracing them out over the living ground. not only a fine hand but had a gift for accommodating That was why we loved him. himself to the rhythms and ways of his partner. “He can We followed the state road along the ridges toward Port William think your thoughts,” Elton said. Between the two of and then at the edge of town turned down the Sand them was a sympathy of body and mind that they had Ripple Road. We went down the hill through the woods, worked out and that they trusted with an unshaken, and as we came near the floor of the valley, Elton went unspoken trust. And so Elton was always at ease and quiet more carefully and we began to watch. We crossed a little in Mart’s company when they were at rest. board culvert that rattled under the wheels, eased around a bend, and there was the backwater, the headlights
glancing off it into the treetops, the road disappearing and clucks and cackles and gobbles. into it.
“Listen to them!” Elton said. “They’ve got a lot on their
Elton stopped the truck. He turned off his headlights and the minds.” Being in the woods at night excited him. He was engine, and the quietness of the moonlight and the a hunter. And we were excited by the flood’s interruption woods came down around us. I could hear the peepers of the road. The rising of the wild water had moved us again. It was wonderful what the road going under the back in time. water did to that place. It was not only that we could not
Elton quietly opened his door and got out and then,
go where we were used to going; it was as if a thought that instead of slamming the door, just pushed it to. I did the we were used to thinking could not be thought. same and came around and followed him as he walked “Listen!” Elton said. He had heard a barred owl off in the woods. slowly down the road, looking for a place to climb out He quietly rolled the window down. of the cut.
And then, right overhead, an owl answered:
Once we had climbed the bank and stepped over the
“HOOOOOAWWW!” fence and were walking among the big trees, we seemed
And the far one said, “Hoo hoo hoohooaw!” already miles from the truck. The water gleamed over the
“Listen!” Elton said again. He was whispering. bottomlands below us on our right; you could not see that
The owls went through their whole repertory of hoots there had ever been a road in that place. I followed Elton
don’t pray for the rain t pray for good luck fishin when the river floods.
shadows. And always we were walking among flowers. along the slope through the trees. Neither of us thought I wanted to keep thinking that they were like stars, but to use a flashlight, though we each had one, nor did we after a while I could not think so. They were not like talk. The moon gave plenty of light. We could see stars. They did not have that hard, distant glitter. And yet everything-underfoot the blooms of twinleaf, bloodroot, in their pale, peaceful way, they shone. They collected rue anemone, the little stars of spring beauties, and their little share of light and gave it back. Now and then, overhead the littlest branches, even the blooms on the when we came to an especially thick patch of them, Elton sugar maples. The ground was soft from the rain, and would point. Or he would raise his hand and we would we hardly made a sound. The flowers around us seemed stop a minute and listen to the owls. to float in the shadows so that we walked like waders I was wider awake than I had been since morning would have been among stars, uncertain how far down to put our feet. glad to go on walking all night long. Around us we could And over the broad shine of the backwater, the calling feel the year coming, as strong and wide and irresistible of the peepers rose like another flood, higher than the as a wind. water flood, and thrilled and trembled in the air.
But we were thinking, too, of the Rowanberrys. That we
It was a long walk because we had to go around the inlets of the
o stop. ng
were in a mood to loiter and did not loiter would have backwater that lay in every swag and hollow. Way off, reminded us of them, if we had needed reminding. To go now and again, we could hear the owls. Once we startled to their house, with the water up, would have required a deer and stood still while it plunged away into the a long walk from any place we could have started. We were
taking the shortest way, which left us with the problem that it was going to be a little too short. The best we could do, this way, would be to come down the valley until
Those were the first words we had spoken since we left
we would be across from the house but still divided from the truck. After so long, in so much quiet, our voices it by a quarter mile or more of backwater. We could call sounded small. to them from there. But what if we got no answer? What
Elton went on among the trees and the shadows, and
if the answer was trouble? Well, they had a boat over I followed him. We climbed over a little shoulder of the there. If they needed us, one of them could set us over slope then and saw one window shining. It was the light in the boat. But what if we got no answer? What if, of an oil lamp, so their electricity was out, too. to put the best construction upon silence, they could “And now we’re found,” Elton said. He sang it, just that much not hear us? Well, we could only go as near as we could of the old hymn, almost in a whisper. get and call.
We went through a little more of the woods and climbed
So if our walk had the feeling of a ramble, it was not one. the fence into the Rowanberrys’ hill pasture. We could We were going as straight to the Rowanberrys’ house as the see their big barn standing up black now against the water and the lay of the land would allow. After a while moonlight on the other side of the road, which was we began to expect to see a light. And then we began on high ground at that place, clear of the backwater. to wonder if there was a light to see. When we were on the gravel we could hear our steps.
Elton stopped. “I thought we’d have seen their light by now.” We walked side by side, Elton in one wheel track, I in the
I said, “They’re probably asleep.”
other, until the road went under the water again. We were as close to the house then as we could get without a boat. We stopped and considered the distance. And then Elton cupped his hands around his mouth, and called, “Ohhhhh, Mart! Ohhhhh, Art!” who was under the sign of mortality that night. It was
We waited, it seemed, while Art had time to say, “Did you Elton. Before another April came he would be in his hear somebody?” and Mart to answer, “Well, I thought grave on the hill at Port William. Old Art Rowanberry, so.” We saw light come to another window, as somebody who had held him on his lap, would survive him by a picked up a lamp and opened the hall door. We heard the dozen years. front door open. And then Art’s voice came across the And now that both of them are dead, I love to think of them water: “Yeeeaaah?” standing with the shining backwater between them, while
And Elton called back, “Are you aaalll riiight?” Elton’s voice goes out across the distance, is heard and
I knew they were. They were all right, and we were free to answered, and the other voice travels back: “Yeeeaaah!” go back through the woods and home to sleep.
But now I know that it was neither of the Rowanberrys
they were alright
late in the night i pay the unrest lowe to the life that has never lived and cannot live now. what the world could be is my good dream and my agony when, dreaming it i lie awake and turn and look into the dark. i think of a luxury
in the sturdiness and grace of necessary things, not ill frivolity. that would heal the earth, and heal men. but the end, too, is part of the pattern, the last labor of the heart: to learn to lie still, one with the earth again, and let the world go.
bibliography
berry, wendell. fidelity five stories. new york and san francisco: pantheon books, 1992
berry, wendell. collected poems 1957-1982. new york: north point press; farrar, straus, and giroux, 1987
berry, wendell. the way of ignorance and other essays. berkeley: counter point, 2005
assembled with care by h
hand
This book was designed and produced by Emilio Ramos at Washington University in St. Louis for the Typography II Studio during the Spring Semester of 2013. Its contents were curated from a variety of sources including the books: the elements rage by Frank W. Lane, the atmosphere by Camille Flammarion, drought by Don Campell, the invention of clouds by Richard Hamblyn, and north carolina’s hurricane history by James Barnes and hand drawn imagery. This book was created in Adobe InDesign, Adobe Illustrator, and Adobe Photoshop CS6, printed with Xerox inks on 80lb. Strathmore Papers, and then assembled with care by hand. 1st Edition, 1 of 1.
make a ho b put the in love your neighbors—n love this miraculo
as far as you are able make y local place, neighborhood, a care and generosity—and econ find work, if
ome. help to make a community. be loyal to what you have made. nterest of the community first. not the neighbors you pick out, but the ones you have. us world that we did not make, that is a gift to us. your lives dependent upon your and household—which thrive by d independent of the industrial nomy, which thrives by damage. f you can, that does no damage. enjoy your work. work well.