As a novelist, essayist, and poet, Berry (Roots to the Earth, 2016, etc.) has been writing work that is all of a piece for more than half a century; reduced, if it must be, his aim is the old agrarian ideal of standing for what one stands on, defending one’s place on Earth. The author notes his wife’s observation that “my principal asset as a writer has been my knack for repeating myself,” a gentle jibe that is true, but necessarily so. There’s no end to threats to small farmers, or an economy of health, or “good work,” the opposite of which is “waste of fertility and of the land itself.” Apart from a little peevish attention at the beginning of the book to the thought that old-time Southern agrarianism, its roots in tobacco and tradition, is by definition racist—it isn’t, he insists, and never mind what a postmodern ecocritic might say—Berry looks keenly into the future and the possibilities of locally based economies that are “reasonably coherent, reasonably self-sufficient and self-determining.” If that’s a little ecotopian, so be it. Berry’s essays, continuing arguments begun in The Unsettling of America 40 years ago, will be familiar to longtime readers, blending his farm work with his interests in literature old and new. To them he adds a fine long poem and several new stories set in his Port William, Kentucky, the latter centering on yeoman hero Andy Catlett, who reiterates a Jeffersonian ideal: “If you want people to love their country, let them own a piece of it.” Some of Catlett’s guiding principles align very neatly with the author’s: he counsels against buying anything one doesn’t strictly need and for going out in the world to do good—advice that always stands repeating. Vintage Berry sure to please and instruct his many admirers. — Kirkus Review
The old complex life, at once economic and social, was fairly coherent and self-sustaining because each community was focused upon its own local countryside and upon its own people, their needs, and their work. That life is now almost entirely gone. It has been replaced by the dispersed lives of dispersed individuals, commuting and consuming, scattering in every direction every morning, returning at night only to their screens and carryout meals. Meanwhile, in a country everywhere distressed and taxed by homelessness, once-used good farm buildings, built by local thrift and skill, rot to the ground. Good houses, that once sheltered respectable lives, stare out through sashless windows or have disappeared.
Though liberals do not have prejudices, they do sometimes deal in categorical judgments that they know to be absolutely just and true.
I have noticed that my psoriasis flares occur around the time of the Fall Equinox and sometime the Spring. An AI query told me that psoriasis flares are commonly reported during these periods. Research indicates that while about 50% of patients experience no seasonal variation but a distinct subsets shows a worsening in specific transitional months. March, June, August, September, and October have been identified in studies as months with higher reported flare-ups, likely due to sudden temperature changes, fluctuating humidity, or shifting UV exposure levels. The fall (September–October) being the high-risk period because reduced sunlight decreases vitamin D levels and dry air compromises the skin barrier.
The ibuprofen seems to be doing its work again. My resting heart rate and the watch Stress numbers are back to what I consider my normal. I’ll continue the first part of the cycle and stop there and see what happens. If necessary I’ll continue with the second step in the cycle.
I am really really tired of the rain. It started a light steady rain last night around 2100 and was still raining this morning when we were going to go for our walk. This was not a continuous rain but in has managed to total 1.35″ so far. The prediction is for another six days of rain out of the ten in the forecast. I guess I’ll only get away from more rain when I get away to the south at the beginning of October.