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Making Sense of Place_ My Journey with Wendell Berry by William Hosley

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					               Making Sense of Place: A Journey with Wendell Berry
                                By William Hosley

E.M. Forster said, “The only books that influence us are those for which we are ready, and which
have gone a little further down our particular path than we have yet gone ourselves.” With this in
mind, I am grateful for an opportunity to reflect on my 20-year journey with Wendell Berry and
a 40-year passion for place. It begins with an account of how I got on the particular path that
made me “ready” to embrace Wendell Berry as an influence.


My work has always been about interweaving history, art, environmental studies and ideas to
make sense of place and foster community. I am sure I am not alone worrying how globalism,
homogenization and consumerism-run-amok will ultimately play out. But I am also sure that
nothing in my formal education encouraged me to think about it. Indeed, I am sure most formal
education encourages the rejection of knowledge that is local, specific and conducive to home-
making.


My college experience, although often joyful and animated by companions who remain lifelong
friends, was an intellectual bust, at least my formal coursework. Majoring in Economics didn’t
help. But it is also the academy’s polarizing tendency to divide things that belong together –
putting art over here, and history over there, and literature and mathematics in their particular
boxes and leaving sciences pretty much to the pre-meds, that made me uneasy. Compounding
things was the loosey goosey; 60s-style curriculum that, among other things, encouraged
specialization at the expensive of a diverse liberal education and sprinkled what I’d call attractive
hazards throughout the course catalog.. The highlight of my formal education was a series of
independent study projects.


I learned nonetheless, doing what I’d always done – exploring. Travel and adventure have always
been a means and a metaphor for learning. As a kid I always knew the cool stuff over the next
horizon and strained persistently at my parents’ already long leash to find out what was going on
around the bend. Exploring led to research and reading, led to projects, led to various kinds of
performance. As early as high school, and the dominant part of my college and graduate
education, were about what I now call “making sense of place.” Aside from a growing
pedagogical movement extolling the virtues of “place based education,” (which you can Google)
I am unaware of any institution of learning that teaches the place and uses the resources around
them in the ways that, among other things, couldn’t fail to give urban youth a context for learning
that respects the ground under foot and the neighbors side to side. Imagine that!


Wendell Berry touches on this and suggests that, “the tendency of professional people and
intellectuals to cohere in widely dispersed “networks,” often to the virtual exclusion of
community ties,” is devastating to communities that need their intellectual engagement. “While
specialization has increased knowledge,” Berry notes, “it has fragmented it.” Specialists “lack
any ...sense of mutuality or wholeness” and “subsist on conflict with one another. The rule is
never to cooperate.” Alas, “One of the most dangerous effects of the specialist system is to
externalize its critics.” “Specialized professional language is . . . a cheat and a hiding place;
(and) it may indeed be an ambush. At the very root of the idea of . . .professorship is the
imperative to speak plainly in the common tongue.”

It was in this spirit 30 years ago that I entered museum work, not to do art or history, but because
it offered the possibility of helping the small and regional places I know and love defend
themselves against an impending tidal wave of place-wrecking homogenization. I love America
which Tom Wolfe describes as “this wild, bizarre, unpredictable, hog-stomping, Baroque”
country of ours. Alas, the very diversity that makes it work now seems at risk. Evidence is
overwhelming that places like Hartford, everywhere, are being or have already been transformed
into colonies of bigger, larger more powerful places which take direction from corporations and
government which are, lets face it, inherently beholden to no place at all. It grieves me to imagine
a world in which places like Hartford loose their voice and identity. Isn’t it worth fighting to
assure that the places we love are not subsumed, absorbed, subordinated or lost?

This is a useful thing that museums and institutions of learning can do. They can help shape the
climate of opinion and provide knowledge and inspiration so people may better know and defend
the places they call home. I cannot think of a higher purpose and suppose it has been 50 years or
more since bringing world art to our doors filled a comparable void. Especially since the Internet,
airline deregulation and other aspects of globalism made the world so much more accessible, the
mission of museums may well have flip-flopped. The need is not so much to access world
culture, but to protect the fruits of an artistic and cultural heritage that is always inevitably
presumed to be centered some place else than where we are. I’ll stand here!

Thirty years later I still cannot quite pinpoint where this impulse came from. Was it growing up
in Rochester which is inside New York but self-consciously outside the Big Apple’s economic
and cultural sphere? Or was it the ten years I spent in Vermont before landing here. During the
1970s I explored all 251 Vermont towns and eventually “went native” enough to join a
community where more than half the residents were farmers who traced family back generations
and many were descendants of the town’s founders; a town where farming and truck driving
where pretty much all there was.

I learned more about architecture and history, more about people and values, and a whole lot
more about the clash between agrarian and industrial America - than I’ve learned in any year
since. It intensified my awareness of the vulnerability of small places and regions. My work
introduced me to hundreds of farm families. Some were “going out” as they call it when business
fails. There was a sense of impending doom. I spent a lot of time with people who were
struggling to keep agriculture alive in Vermont against a backdrop of the inevitably unfunded
government mandates that changed the rules constantly, favored big over small, and were largely
incognizant of successful customs developed over generations. These were not gentlemen
farmers or hobbyists. They were born to it and a few were farming land that had been in their
families for 150 years or more.

Heading off to the HF duPont’s Winterthur Museum for graduate studies the next year was
jarring. During my year in Benson I quit smoking and took up chew - which provides the same
nicotine buzz but requires spitting, incessantly, into a cup. Winterthur was the antithesis of
“spitting into a cup” and couldn’t have been more unlike Benson. Most students at Winterthur
were there because they loved art and antiques. I was there because I was sure old things had
much to teach me about regional art and life. Generally, place is not a common denominator for
Art or History at least the way it was practiced by 20th century professionals. Professional
historians have defined themselves in opposition to the amateur tradition of antiquarianism that is
all about place and has given us our best stewards and caretakers of local tradition and
knowledge. As Professor Gene Leach at Trinity once explained to me, there is no more certain
way to kill a budding academic’s chance for tenure than if their scholarship smacks of
parochialism. So it is almost inevitable that if anyone on that track studies Connecticut - which
they mostly do not - they will be teaching in Texas or Washington State, but rarely in
Connecticut.

I did well at Winterthur- mostly, I suspect, because my passion for place was confused with
exuberance for old stuff - which I also have. Having spent the summer of 1976 studying in Old
Deerfield and after four years of high school in the CT Valley in Vermont, when Winterthur’s
application asked what we wanted to be doing in 5 years, I knew what I wanted. Old Deerfield
makes a clear and compelling case for the CT Valley as a cradle of American civilization and a
place second to none in richness of values, folklore, artistic expression, ingenuity and
achievement. I bought it and was hell-bent on returning to the Connecticut Valley to exhibit,
preserve and promote the region’s art history and material culture. I got lucky and count it a
blessing to have had the chance to live and work surrounded by people, stuff and stories I believe
have great value.

My experience at Wadsworth Atheneum (Hartford’s art museums) was mostly joyful and
sometimes bewildering. The Atheneum is, among other things, a magnet for people who believe
Hartford is not cosmopolitan enough. Among other things, Wadsworth is, or was, also Hartford’s
attic. It is a curious fluke that, because the Atheneum was founded not as an art museum but as a
sort of tontine to house the Library and the Historical Society as well as art, it became the place
to deposit the civic patrimony and, as a result and more than almost any art museum in America,
has the potential to draw us together around the civic campfire to tell stories that empower us to
defend, love and know this place. Culture - a word that itself has changed meaning - is not what
you get when you visit a museum or attend a concert. It’s what a community is and has been and
one needn’t look far - though increasingly I am afraid we must necessarily look back - to see that
Connecticut was once brimming with a distinctive culture that I came here to help preserve
because it is increasingly, so vulnerable.

I do not wish to stop the world from changing, but to assure that rising generations will have
access to and perhaps some affection for a world quickly being obliterated by globalism and
homogenization, not to mention being made uglier and more vulgar, by sprawl, the super-sizing
of everything, an increasingly coarse popular culture, and urban abandonment. I love Hartford
and cannot imagine a civilization here that does not revolve to a large degree around an urban
hub. But it won’t save itself by accident, nor, I am afraid, by the political class presently involved
with it. I am quite sure we are paying plenty to people charged with making it better who are, in
fact, making it worse.

I was almost 20 years into my journey when I first discovered Wendell Berry, through a 1991
article in Atlantic Monthly offering “Twenty-seven propositions about global thinking and the
sustainability of cities.” It sounds a little dry but sent me sprinting to the Hartford Public Library,
where I took out the first of many books by an author who helped me fill in the blanks and give a
little more coherence to my concerns. Finally, I was less alone in my sentiments and came to see
that there might even be a way of looking at all this that would help me understand what making
sense of place is all about. Wendell Berry is the prophet of place - the person whose writing most
vividly challenges our ecological impertinence, our over-reliance on fossil fuels, our home-
wrecking insistence on dispersal, and most of all our failure to defend the places we know and
presumably love from all manner of colonization, encroachment. and befoulment. Because there
is no direction forward that is not, to some degree, rooted in the past. Or, as Wendell Berry puts it
so much more eloquently: “The new must come from the old, for where else would you get it?”

Henry David Thoreau famously spoke of having “traveled widely in Concord.” I have traveled
widely in Connecticut and recommend it. Like Thoreau and Mark Twain, Wendell Berry is a
regional writer whose muse and inspiration is the Kentucky back country where, 40+ years ago,
he returned to farm and write having abandoned a career as an English professor launched
following a Stegner Fellowship at Stanford where he was in the same class with Ken Kesey,
Ernest Gaines and Nancy Packer and a few years ahead of Larry McMurtry and Raymond Carver.

“The place,” he writes, “has become the form of my work.”

Wendell Barry is an ideological agrarian. When we talk about “the new agrarians” we have
Wendell Berry to thank for being one of the best and first to give voice to those concerns.
Keeping his chosen place safe for agriculture, may be a losing battle, but Wendell Berry has not
gone quietly

Berry has chosen a life, as we here in Hartford have, surrounded by perplexing antagonisms. He
describes the coal fields of north central Kentucky as “a domestic Vietnam” like a “scene from the
Book of Revelation” a “region impoverished and defaced” by “industrial vandalism” where the
“land has been literally hacked to pieces.” The “inescapable conclusion,” he writes, “is that
Kentucky has been made a colony of the coal companies, who practice here a mercantilism as
heartless and greedy as any in history.”
Although few have written with greater felicity and insight into the terrible defacing stain of
racism in our culture, Wendell Berry observes that it is “not only racial minorities who receive our
indifference or contempt, but economic or geographic minorities as well. Anyone who has been
called “redneck” or “hillbilly” or “hick”...shares with racial minorities the experience of a
stigmatizing social prejudice. “Imagine,” he suggests “the hick or hillbilly or redneck . . .
slouching into the universe with his pistol in one hand, his prong in another, his Bible in another,
his bottle in another.....(with) his plug of chewing tobacco.” “If you wish to steal farm products or
coal or timber from a rural region, you will find it much less troubling to do so if you can believe
that the people are too stupid and violent to deserve the things you steal from them.”
As a person who invokes scripture as fluidly and gracefully as a 19th century deacon, Berry is
nonetheless aware that even the church treats small places with thinly veiled contempt. Observing
the practice of “using the rural ministry as a training ground for young ministers,” he asserts that
“denominational hierarchies....evidently regard country places in exactly the same way as “the
economy” does: as sources of economic power to be exploited for the advantage of “better”
places.....In the more than fifty years that I have known my own rural community, many student
ministers have been “called” to serve in its churches, but not one has ever been “called” to stay.
The message that country people get from their churches, then, is the same message that they get
from “the economy”: that, as country people, they do not matter much and do not deserve much
consideration.”
I am not old enough to say this from firsthand observation. But I know that as recently as 1940
most places in Connecticut were smaller than they’d been in 1800 and that some here still farmed
with horses and that much of Connecticut was not substantially unlike the Henry County,
Kentucky of Berry’s 1930s childhood, “a farming county...farmed by families who not only lived
upon them, but within and from them...grew gardens, produced their own meat, milk, and eggs.
...(with) power furnished mainly by horses and mules. Thrift was still a forceful social
ideal....They spent little money...had no tractors, no electricity, no refrigerators, no washing
machines, no vacuum cleaners...played cards a lot...do not remember ever getting lonesome or
bored.” The agricultural economy... (had) “good qualities indigenous to it that might have been
cultivated and built upon. That they were not cultivated and built upon - that they were repudiated
as the stuff of a hopelessly outmoded, unscientific way of life, is a tragic error... and... a work of
monstrous ignorance and irresponsibility on the part of the experts and politicians, who have
proscribed, encouraged and applauded the disintegration of such farming communities all over the
country.”
I knew an old-timer in East Windsor who insisted that there was no greater blasphemy than
blanketing in asphalt Connecticut Valley farmland where, he claimed, the topsoil is, in some
places, 40 feet deep and the climate extraordinarily suited to agricultural production. I have long
surmised that urban farming right here in Hartford - where there is plenty of underutilized land -
might kill several birds with one stone. This was once the breadbasket of the northeast and one
can certainly imagine better use of our best land than the endless proliferation of sub-divisions and
strip-malls.


Berry talks about the rare privilege of growing up “in a community in which virtually everybody
was passionately interested in the quality of a local product.” In his part of Kentucky it was
tobacco. Here it has also been, at times, tobacco, precision manufacturing, insurance, paper
making, stock farming, religion, commercial fishing, stone quarrying and monument making,
educating men and, rather more uniquely, women, and also making antiques and fine art.


Berry’s quarrels are many but presented with a softening grace that makes it as difficult to take
offense as it is to remain confused about what he believes or indifferent to his message. A few
excerpts:
“A viable community is made up of neighbors who cherish and protect what they have in
common.”


“A community....exercises its power by . . . teaching its young and by preserving stories . . . that
tell what works and what does not work in a given place.”


“A healthy community is like an ecosystem . . .like a body . . . its members mutually support and
serve one another.”


“Community is a concept...that virtually no one has taken the trouble to quarrel with; even its
worst enemies praise it....however... neither our economy, nor our government, nor our
educational system runs on the assumption that community has a value.”


And heaven knows - the question too rarely asked in a land famous for its 169 independent
republics is to imagine, as Berry puts it, that “a city and its region could define themselves as one
community rather than an assortment of competing interests.... simply by asking: What can we do
for each other?”


I loved Trinity College President Evan Dobelle’s notion - even if it was mostly symbolic - of
tearing down the gates and making Hartford Trinity’s classroom. The rubber rarely hit the road in
terms of curriculum. But it was a good start that cut against the grain of the prevailing fortress
mentality. I suspect reconciliation between city and suburb will prove hard and I will sound very
harsh if I say that feel-good sloganeering about Rising Stars may actually get in the way of
projecting a more authentic image or asking the hard questions that need to asked if we care about
“growing the economy.”


Berry observes that "the vitality of a local economy is strikingly related to the vitality of local
community. A strong local economy depends on a love of place which depends on the stories we
repeat to another....When a community loses its memory, its members no longer know one
another, no longer trust one another, and can hardly avoid harming one another."


What we must foster, as Berry puts it, is “cooperation among small organizations: conservation
groups, churches, neighborhood associations, local independent banks, and organizations of small
farmers” is beginning to restore “long broken connections between towns and cities and their
surrounding landscapes.”


Berry champions an economics that grapples with what accountants describe as “intangibles.” He
also insists on acknowledging costs that are externalized and therefore do not appear on the books.
Even as we speak a national conversation is underway about the high cost of Walmart’s everyday
low prices by a company that externalizes, that is, passes along to you and me, the cost of
employee health insurance. “American agriculture is ...fantastically expensive,” Berry asserts,
“though the costs have not yet entered into the official accounting. The costs are in the loss of soil,
in loss of farms and farmers, in soil and water pollution, ... and the decay of country towns and
communities.”


When Berry laments that “the once plentiful small privately owned neighborhood groceries,
pharmacies, restaurants, and other small shops and businesses have become an endangered
species,” he takes up the theme of an intriguing film - “Independent America” - that chronicles
two journalists’ 13,000 mile journey through 32 states - avoiding all interstate highways and chain
franchises in search of the owner-occupied mom and pop proprietorships that once dominated
American commerce. The sense of groundedness and proprietorship makes all the difference.


Berry writes that “To know a place “by heart” is to live in a place and think about it and do its
work and worry about it and love it and admire it every day of the year.” It is not asking too much.
I submit that although there is presently no place for Hartford or Connecticut in our education
curriculums, that no part of an education is more important. Barry observes that “My own
experience has shown me that it is possible to live in and attentively study the same small place
decade after decade, and find that it ceaselessly evades and exceeds comprehension.”


I was never more inspired by a museum exhibition than in 1994 when the Atheneum borrowed a
retrospective on Thomas Cole from the National Museum of American Art. Born and raised in
England, Cole, regarded as the founder of the Hudson River School, migrated first to Ohio and
spent most of the year 1828 living in Hartford and painting at Daniel Wadsworth’s house because,
we are proud to report, Wadsworth was early to see his potential and helped get him started. My
wife and I were fascinated by Cole’s patriotism and determination to show Americans the grace
and wonder of their own land. We afterwards made pilgrimages to many of the locations he
painted, from Schroon Lake and Portageville, NY, to Mt Holyoke and Katterskill Falls, to the site
of Daniel Wadsworth’s Monte Video. Cole was a proto-environmentalist who not only sought out
and painted places he regarded as proof of the divinity of nature - places “untouched since the
time of Creation” - but also painted places then under siege by development pressure. He jammed
his pictures into the face of the public in hopes of averting disasters. Alas, what started as a desire
to inspire people to value America’s sacred places, ended in despair and his certain knowledge
that the journey must be a private act of faith and devotion. The public mostly did not bite.
Thomas Cole died young and couldn’t have anticipated the enduring power of his work and
message. I think of him and I think of how two other giants of the American environmental
movement - his student Frederic Church and Frederick Law Olmsted - are both buried in the
forsaken and neglected North End of Hartford and it gives me goose bumps. I can’t get over how
fated for greatness this place is, or seems or was.


I’d like to conclude with a few excerpts from Berry’s writings:


We have seen the emergence into power . . . of an economic elite who have invested their lives and
loyalties in no locality and in no nation, whose ambitions are global, and who are so insulated by
wealth and power that they feel no need to care about what happens to any place.


We are waiting. For what? For the last of the old rememberers and the old memories to
disappear forever? For the coming of knowledge that will make us a community again? For the
catastrophe that will end everything?


History provides many examples of coherent communities, but not one that we can “go back to.”
We have no place to begin but where we are.


It is by the place we’ve got, and our love for it and our keeping of it, that this world is joined to
Heaven.


Bill Hosley
Enfield, CT
Twilight Club, Hartford, CT 2006


Miscellaneous Writings & Quotes by Wendell Berry collected by Bill Hosley


Wendell Berry What are People For (North Point Press 1990)
 “Writer and Region” Huckleberry Finn is about a world I know....a transfiguring regional book....
a regional genius that for 220 pages....remains untainted by regionalism....the book ....never fears
for its reputation in any “center of culture.”….The great gift of Huckleberry Finn....is its ability to
be regional without being provincial. The provincial is always self-conscious. It is the
conscious...condescension to, or apology for, a province, ...that I earlier called regionalism. At its
most acute, it is the fear of provinciality. There is....none of that in the first thirty-two chapters of
Huckleberry Finn (In the final eleven...it is there in the person of Tom Sawyer...a self made
provincial)....Every writer is a regional writer, even those who write about a fashionable region
such as New York City.....

Memory....must be a pattern upon the actually country, not a cluster of relics in a museum
....community....common experience and common effort on a common ground to which one
willingly belongs....Sarah Orne Jewett’s Elmira Todd.... (is) a dispenser of intelligent talk about
her kinfolk and neighbors....this (book) makes its way by conversation...Conversation’s got to
have some root in the past, or else you’ve got to explain every remark you make.

Misc Quotes:

On Community
A good community...is shaped from the inside
If the word community is to mean or amount to anything, it must refer to a place

The past furnishes us with many examples of coherent communities, but not one that we can Ago
back to.@ We have no place to begin but where we are.

A community....exercise its power by . . . teaching its young and by preserving stories

A human community...must exert a. …centripetal force, holding...local memory in place

On Local Ownership & Economy
Some corporations …..tend to have hometowns and to count themselves as participants in the
local economy and as members of the local community.

Most people are now fed, clothed, and sheltered from sources toward which they feel no gratitude
and exercise no responsibility.

Restoring economic vitality to traditional business districts in our town and urban centers
……(depends on) locally-owned businesses that are relatively small (versus) national or
supranational corporations….(which are) almost diametrically opposed

On City & Country/ Hubs & Spokes

The assumption that we can safely deal with parts, leaving the whole to take care of itself. …..
The local business people, farmers, foresters, conservationists, investors, bankers, and builders are
 not going to get along on the basis of economic determinism. The ground of their reconciliation
will have to be larger than the ground of their divisions. ….The common denominator is the
local community…. fully alive both in the world and in the minds of its members, can carry us
beyond fragmentation, contradiction, and negativity, teaching us to preserve . . . in affirmation
and affection

A city and its region could define themselves as one community rather than an assortment of
competing interests....can be a community simply by asking: What can we do for each other?

On Localism & Place
The regionalism that I adhere to ....local life aware of itself. . . . a particular knowledge of the life
of the place one lives in and intends to continue to live in .

If we are to protect the world’s multitude of places...then we must know them, not just
conceptually but imaginatively ….with affection, by heart

On Preservation & Economic Development
(We) have to revive and reinvigorate the idea of context. A creature can live only in a context that
favors its life.
We can’t preserve historic buildings to any purpose or for very long outside the contexts of
community life and local economy.

Good buildings that used to house needful, useful, locally owned small businesses of all kinds are
now empty or have evolved into junk stores or antique shops. But look at the houses, the
churches, the commercial buildings, the courthouse, and you will see that more often than not
they are comely and well made. And then go look at the corporate outskirts ….. the old town
centers were built by people who were proud of their place and who realized a value in living
there. The old buildings look good because they were built by people who respected themselves
and wanted the respect of their neighbors. The corporate outskirts, on the contrary, were built by
people who take no pride in the place, see no value in lives lived there, and recognize no
neighbors. The only value they see . . . is the money that can be siphoned out of it

On Provincial Anxiety & Specialists
The disease of modern character is specialization....people who are elaborately and expensively
trained to do one thing...they lack any ...sense of mutuality or wholeness….

The specialist . . . is a tyrant that is saved from the necessity of killing bearers of bad news
because it lives at the center of a maze in which the bearers of bad news are lost before they can
arrive.

One of the most dangerous effects of the specialist system is to externalize its critics

Rampaging professionals…. have no local allegiances….must not have a local point of view.

Wendell Berry Biography (excerpted from Wikipeadia)

Wendell Berry (born August 5, 1934) is an American man of letters, academic, cultural and
economic critic, and farmer. He is a prolific author of novels, short stories, poems, and essays. He
is an elected member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers, a recipient of The National
Humanities Medal, and the Jefferson Lecturer for 2012. He is also a 2013 Fellow of The
American Academy of Arts and Sciences.

Berry's nonfiction serves as an extended conversation about the life he values. According to him,
the good life includes sustainable agriculture, appropriate technologies, healthy rural
communities, connection to place, the pleasures of good food, husbandry, good work, local
economics, the miracle of life, fidelity, frugality, reverence, and the interconnectedness of life.
The threats Berry finds to this good simple life include: industrial farming and the
industrialization of life, ignorance, hubris, greed, violence against others and against the natural
world, the eroding topsoil in the United States, global economics, and environmental destruction.
As a prominent defender of agrarian values, Berry's appreciation for traditional farming
techniques, such as those of the Amish, grew in the 1970s, due in part to exchanges with Draft
Horse Journal publisher Maurice Telleen. Berry has long been friendly to and supportive of Wes
Jackson, believing that Jackson's agricultural research at The Land Institute lives out the promise
of "solving for pattern" and using "nature as model."
Author Rod Dreher writes that Berry's "unshakable devotion to the land, to localism, and to the
dignity of traditional life makes him both a great American and, to the disgrace of our age, a
prophet without honor in his native land."


The concept of "Solving for pattern", coined by Berry in his essay of the same title, is the process
of finding solutions that solve multiple problems, while minimizing the creation of new problems.
The essay was originally published in the Rodale Press periodical The New Farm. Though Mr.
Berry's use of the phrase was in direct reference to agriculture, it has since come to enjoy broader
use throughout the design community.


Fiction
1. Nathan Coulter. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1960 (revised North Point, 1985).
2. A Place on Earth. Boston: Harcourt, Brace, 1967 (revised North Point,1983; Counterpoint,
        2001).
3. Remembering. San Francisco: North Point, 1988.
4. Fidelity: Five Stories. New York: Pantheon, 1992.
5. Jayber Crow. Washington, D.C.: Counterpoint, 2000.
6. Hannah Coulter. Washington, D.C.: Shoemaker & Hoard. 2004.

Nonfiction
• A Continuous Harmony: Essays Cultural & Agricultural. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1972
        (Shoemaker & Hoard, 2004).
• The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture. San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1977; Avon
        Books, 1978; Sierra Club, 1986.
• Home Economics: Fourteen Essays. San Francisco: North Point, 1987 (Counterpoint, 2009).
• What Are People For? New York: North Point, 1990.
• Sex, Economy, Freedom & Community. New York: Pantheon, 1992.
• Life Is a Miracle.Washington, D.C.: Counterpoint, 2000.
• The Way of Ignorance and Other Essays. Washington, D. C.: Shoemaker & Hoard, 2005.
• Imagination in Place. Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2010.

				
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