100 Book Challenge—Book #16 Farming: A Handbook by Wendell Berry
Last fall, in one of their update emails, Amazon told me
that this book would be coming out and I knew I wanted to read it. I almost
pre-ordered it, but since I had so many other things I was trying to read, I
decided not to and then lost track of it. This week, during my many library
adventures, I found it on a random shelf and decided that Providence was
calling me to read it.
I love Wendell Berry. I love the way he writes, the words he
uses, the way that his poetry echoes the song in my heart. I love the way that
reading his words make me feel like I’m laying down in the field at home or
sitting on the front porch of my grandparents’ old house. I love Wendell Berry.
This book is no different. It’s mostly poetry, some of which
I had read before, but most of it is new to me. And then, there is a small
verse play, which is beautiful in its own way.
I can’t really describe Berry’s poetry to someone who hasn’t
read him. He’s wonderful. Please read him if you haven’t. Even my dad loves his
work.
One of the poems that I loved was the first in the
collection. I thought I would share it.
The Man Born to Farming
The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the
light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his
mouth
Like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
Descending in the dark?
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