Bringing It to the Table: On Farming and Food

Berry, Wendell. Bringing It to the Table: On Farming and Food. Counterpoint: Berkeley, CA, 2009. With an introduction by Michael Pollan.

It is hard for me to admit, ever, to being disappointed by Wendell Berry. And even now it isn't so much Berry, whom I do not know personally (I've only ever heard him speak once live), but the latest book to come out under his name that is the source of my disappointment. And it isn't what is in the book that disappoints me. The problem is that I have already read most of the content before in other books by Berry that I already own. This book should have come with a large warning on the ad page (I pre-ordered from Amazon, based on the advance copy description) that this book is 99% recycled material, pre-composted, repackaged fertilizer if you will. So, after rushing into the house to open the package when it arrived, I had that all-too-familiar sinking feeling as I flipped through the pages of my "new" book by Berry. Other than the introduction by Pollan, I've seen it all before. In fact, I now own multiple copies of most of these chapters in the form of other collections of Berry essays.

Even more annoying to me is the fact that the chapters come marked only with the date of previous publication. (Except for the fiction excerpts, which are marked by the title of the novel in question, but not with the date of publication.) Nowhere does there seem to be a note citing the locus of that previous publication. I cannot even confirm easily my suspicion that I already own (versus having merely already read) the non-fiction essay in question. And as you might expect, I do not object so much to reading something twice (if I cannot remember that I have read it already, that is my problem) as I object to purchasing it twice. As someone who is interested in the context within which ideas arise and the history of their publication and dissemination, I like to know how to track the paths of words and ideas in the world, especially those that have occurred elsewhere in a prior conversation. Here the essays seem to be lifted out of their primary location and recombined in such a way as to erase all sense of place. (I would say time and place, except that the year is duly noted at the top of each chapter.) That is something I think Berry would (or should) object mightily to, given that he is so keen to preserve local adaptation and local landscapes. If we cannot preserve the local nature of our thoughts and ideas from such globalized generalization, how will we ever preserve real farms, farmers, and food?

I will not do what should have been the author's, editor's, and publisher's work for them by tracking down and publishing the location of the previous publication of these essays, but I will do you the favor of listing the title and date of publication here so that you can check your shelves before you order:

Part I: Farming

Nature as Measure, 1989

Stupidity in Concentration, 2002 (which includes Berry's definition of "sustainable agriculture")

Agricultural Solutions for Agricultural Problems, 1978

A Defense of the Family Farm, 1986

Let the Farm Judge, 1997

Energy in Agriculture, 1979

Conservationist and Agrarian, 2002

Sanitation and the Small Farm, 1971

Renewing Husbandry, 2004

Part II: Farmers

Seven Amish Farms, 1981

A Good Farmer of the Old School, 1985

Charlie Fisher, 1996

A Talent for Necessity, 1980

Elmer Lapp's Place, 1979

on The Soil and Health, 2006

Agriculture from the Roots Up, 2004

Part III: Food

mostly drawn from Berry's fiction writing

from That Distant Land

from Hannah Coulter

from Andy Catlett

from "Misery"

from The Memory of Old Jack

from Jayber Crow

from Hannah Coulter (again)

The Pleasures of Eating, 1989

So, would I recommend the book, and if so, to whom? Clearly I wouldn't recommend the book to anyone who is well familiar with Berry's work and who owns a considerable library of Berry's fiction and non-fiction. I would recommend it to anyone who hasn't read Berry, who knows him only by reputation, and who wants a quick introduction to his thoughts about sustainable agriculture and local food. For example, I could imagine the book as assigned reading in a college course on contemporary issues, especially environmental issues. But the reader should understand that tracking down the original source of some of the essays may be difficult should he or she become "hooked" like so many of us are, including evidently Michael Pollan, on Wendell Berry's prose and poetry. (Which brings up another interesting oversight; why wasn't some of Berry's poetry included?)

You Can Farm, Part II

You Can Farm: the entrepreneur's guide to start and succeed in a farm enterprise, 1998, Polyface, Inc., Swoope, Virginia.





Part I of the review is available in the previous blog post.

Well, the week is up and I've finished the book, despite the frenetic schedule, so here are my thoughts on pp. 208-453. A lot of what what Salatin has to say is "common sense," the sort of things we would have learned in school if our schools had taught us the basics well. For example, Salatin emphasizes the usefulness of brainstorming for problem solving and for reaching our potential and how to prioritize the items in our lists based on critical judgment (Chapter 20). Salatin has a keen sense of what is important and he get's his points across in a memorable way, as in "Señor Salatin, you must poot eet doowwn," which is the 1st rule and most important commandment of accounting (Chapter 32). Perhaps the most important of these chapters for me was the one on creating a good "Filing System" (Chapter 33). There Salatin explains a filing system from his school debate team competition days, one that looks great to me, so good in fact that I'll adopt it this week. I cannot believe I got a PhD and something so basic as a good system for filing escaped me! On the other hand, if you've had as many "communications" and "writing" classes as I've had, you will want to skim or skip Chapter 36 on "Communication."

So far I've only touched on the sections that have to do with running a business. They could be applied with equal impact to any business and to many other aspects of life, not just to farming. And then there are the sections that apply more narrowly to farming: "Grass is the Center" (Chapter 22), "Biodiversity" (Chapter 23), "Water" (Chapter 24), and "Letting Animals Do the Work" (Chapter 25). There are others; these are just examples.

And what would a good review be without at least one significant disagreement between the reviewer and the author? My disagreement with Salatin is about his approach to "Soil Fertility" (Chapter 27; see also Chapter 30, "Reducing Costs"). A summary of my own understanding of soil fertility is available at the main Tumbledown Farm web site. Using Salatin's "debating" analogy, he has taken the affirmative side in this chapter in a debate regarding soil fertility and must offer both a case (what's wrong with the current system) and a plan (a solution). I think Salatin leaves something to be desired in both his case and his plan. First, his case largely dismisses the usefulness of knowing the NPK analysis of one's soil (pp. 326-328). While I agree with Salatin that industrial agriculture has been too narrowly focused on soil chemistry (the problem), I disagree that ignorance of the chemical soil analysis makes any sense as part of a good solution. I do agree that the usual response of a new gardener or farmer to the standard soil analysis is often wrong-headed and expensive--and usually not long lasting. It is wrong for all sorts of reasons (including expense) to pour fertilizers--even organic fertilizers--on the ground in a narrow attempt to address NPK deficiencies and create an "optimal" fertility that is really only a narrow measure of NPK. But knowing (for example) the pH of your soil can help you decide between the various approaches to soil building that are available (including the slow methods advocated by Salatin). There are better and worse ways to build soil, depending on the existing condition of the soil. Adopting a soil-building method that increases the acidity of an already too acid soil would not be wise. Nor would it be wise to plant potassium gobbling crops where you know there is insufficient potassium. At the very least, even if the gardener or farmer does not seek to make rapid improvements in soil condition, whatever steps are taken to build the soil should be informed decisions. And that is where Salatin is most harmful in opinions. He is simply wrong that living organisms can create necessary elements out of nothing. And when you add to this his implicit endorsement of the opinion that classic chemical soil tests are "a scam" (p. 327), you come close to gardening malpractice. Classic chemical soil tests are not as unreliable as Salatin implies and soil chemicals (with the exception of nitrogen) cannot be produced from thin air. Even the release of elements from the soil that are present in forms unusable to plants can take place only in geological time, not human lifetimes.

All that having been said, Salatin's main prescription--lots of carbon material (brown plant material, especially sawdust and wood chips) combined with lots of nitrogen (green plant material and animal urine and manure)--is a winning combination. In a way, he's right even about this: it is simple and relatively inexpensive to grow your soil. NOTE: for a great reminder that humans produce nitrogenous waste too, check out "Yellow is the New Green."

So, to quote Salatin again, why not START NOW! No need to wait another year to begin where I am with what I have. This year we'll add "pastured poultry" (quail) and livestock (pastured rabbits) to our backyard lineup, so that we begin to use those grass strips between the garden rows for something more profitable than a mud-less walking path. (See our garden plan for details.) So, why not check out your own copy of Salatin's "classic" and start your own backyard farm? Why not "Start Now!"?

I checked You Can Farm out of the library, so I have to return it tomorrow, but I know I'll eventually purchase a copy to add it to my library. It is too useful to leave to the vagaries of the recall system. In the meantime, I've already purchased the next book on the reading list...because I cannot get it from the library:

You Can Farm, Part I

You Can Farm: the entrepreneur's guide to start and succeed in a farm enterprise, 1998, Polyface, Inc., Swoope, Virginia.

I couldn't wait another week, by which time I will have devoured the book despite an altogether frenetic schedule, to begin writing the review. I am convinced that Joel Salatin will be my new favorite author, close on the heels of Wendell Berry and Gene Logsdon. Part I of the review will cover chapters 1-19 (pp. 1-207 of 453).

The book reminds me a lot of Harvey W. Wiley's The Lure of the Land: Farming after Fifty, but almost a full century later! But the same sense of sanity and full awareness of the difficulties, and possibilities, of starting in farming are in evidence in both. The great thing about Salatin, of course, is that you do not have worry that the differences are too great between the previous century and this one or that changes have mitigated the usefulness of the advice. The book is full of inspiration and hope...and, have I said it enough? Realism!

Having just read Firms of Endearment: How World-Class Companies Profit from Passion and Purpose, I was pleased to see a "practical farmer" recognize and prioritize the Vision! You've got to be able to see it and dream it to realize it. Chapter One leads with this theme, followed by the importance of Story (chapter 2) and the Right Philosophy (chapter 3). In business parlance (even the not-for-profit sort that I'm associated with), this is all about Mission and Vision work. Salatin is right to emphasize it, prioritize it, and return to it as a theme throughout the book.

Chapter 4, "Do It Now," has to be my favorite (so far)! The point is not to wait for the perfect opportunity to start farming, because the perfect opportunity never comes. There are corollaries, of course, one of which doesn't show up until Chapter 13 (watch out for the irony), "Acquiring Land." The point of Chapter 13 (and some of Chapter 14) is not to wait until you can acquire land to begin farming. Land acquisition comes after success, as a result of success, not before. As Salatin says (p. 158), "Acquiring wealth...is an offensive posture and is generally best done by renting." Land investments are made by the wealthy in order to preserve wealth, which is a defensive posture. Man does that ever make sense, especially in today's mortgage mess. Much of what Salatin recommends would have been a powerful antidote to the excesses of the past few years and would have saved anyone who followed it from the sorts of financial ruin we are seeing now. At any rate, do not wait until you can purchase the picture perfect farm to begin farming...or you'll never begin. ...and above all, do not mortgage yourself deeply to buy the farm or you'll be back in your (other) day job sooner than you think.

Round these out with chapters on Surveying Your Situation (Chapter 5, something like a SWOT list emerges), along with lists of the worst (Chapter 9) and best (Chapter 10) "centerpiece" agricultural/farming opportunities, and additional advice (Top 10 lists of all sorts), makes the first half of this book indispensable to anyone wanting to farm on any scale.

One of the most sobering aspects, for me, was the straight talk about age and farming (also a big aspect of Wiley's book, as the subtitle suggests). I'm not getting any younger. One thing Salatin is surely saying is that I'll need to find a young partner if I ever entertain the notion of quitting my day job to go into farming full time.

So, why not START NOW! No need to wait another year to begin where I am with what I have. ...but I'll at least wait until I've read the second half of the book! Why not check out your own copy and see if you can beat me to the end?

The Last of the Husbandmen: A Novel of Farming Life

The Last of the Husbandmen by Gene Logsdon, Ohio University Press, 2008.





I much prefer Logsdon's non-fiction writing to his fiction. In fact, I re-read his non-fiction books multiple times, perhaps the greatest compliment I could pay to his writing, since I hardly ever re-read anything in any genre of writing. (Nor do I watch many movies a second time.)

Among my Logsdon favorites (roughly in order) are:


Perhaps my favorite of all time, a classic:
The Contrary Farmer (Real Goods Independent Living Book)


The first edition of this book that is scheduled soon to be released in a second edition: Small-Scale Grain Raising, Second Edition: An Organic Guide to Growing, Processing, and Using Nutritious Whole Grains, for Home Gardeners and Local Farmers


And, of course, Living at Nature's Pace: Farming and the American Dream


That having been said, The Last of the Husbandmen is a good, quick read. There are some wickedly humorous scenes and accompanying dialogue, and some poignant moments (though most of these cross over a little too much for my taste into the sappy and syrupy). Some of it comes across as preachy, something I can take better in a non-fiction than in a fiction setting. Mostly, though, Logsdon knows rural Ohio in his bones and it shows in thoroughly likable characters and pretty good verisimilitude, even if he's telling a parable about the old ways of living and caring for the soil at a time of utter disruption and upheaval.


If you have never read Logsdon, start somewhere else. If you've read everything he's ever written twice, here's a great new story that you'll gobble up like biscuits and sorghum molasses.

The Gift of Good Land

Wendell Berry's The Gift of Good Land: Further Essays Cultural and Agricultural is the 1981 publication (North Point Press, San Francisco) of a collection of essays hailing mostly from the 1970s, the environmental crises of which are a prelude to the same and similar questions now--and crises that have mostly only been exacerbated, not improved, by the passage of time.

It goes almost without saying that Wendell Berry's reputation as a thinker and writer was made by such essays and that the essays are well worth the reading, even now, for their obvious attention to the craft of writing. It is enjoyable, not just informative, to read Berry. This collection in particular was a followup to Berry's critically acclaimed The Unsettling of America, which is indeed where readers should start, if they haven't already, in reading Berry's work.

About the Essays:

"An Agricultural Journey in Peru" is a travel essay in the spirit of F.H. King's Farmers of Forty Centuries: Or, Permanent Agriculture in China, Korea and Japan. Instead of eastern traditional modes of farming, Berry focuses on what can be learned from traditional Peruvian potato farmers, especially what can be learned of preserving soil using terraces for hillside farming. The contrast between the traditional modes of preserving the soil and the methods promulgated by the "International Hill Land Symposium" (the subject of chapter 4) is obvious to Berry, and therefore also to the reader. Throw in such classics as "Horse-Drawn Tools and the Doctrine of Labor Saving" (Berry thinks labor saving leads to poor employment, as in a dearth of good work to do well.) or "Agricultural Solutions for Agricultural Problems" (i.e., industrial solutions to agricultural problems are no solutions at all) or "The Reactor and the Garden" (no, nuclear energy is no safer a bet now than it was when Berry first wrote the essay) or "A Good Scythe" (for anyone whose ears hurt after using a gas powered 'weed eater') and you've more than recovered the cost of the book.

Better yet, save some trees and check it out from your local library. I just returned it to ours for safe keeping. (I'm running out of shelf space.)

The book does include Berry's usual paeans to the Amish way of living. These are available elsewhere in many of Berry's non-fictional books. From Berry's own Foreword, the most compelling reason to read the book is for its presentation of many "exemplary practices" in farming and living. That's surely reason enough!

Farming for Self-Sufficiency: Independence on a Five-Acre Farm

Farming for Self-Sufficiency Independence on a 5 Acre Farm, John and Sally Seymour (Introduction by Mildred Loomis, The School of Living, Freeland, Maryland). Schocken Books, NY 1973.

"Give any man, anywhere in the world, his fair share of earth's surface, and--if he survives one harvest--he and family need never be hungry again." (p. 14)

In 1973, only seven years after I was born, already the basic structural problems for early 21st century society from industrial farming had been mostly identified and articulated: "depletion and erosion and disease were resulting from the chemical-pesticide regime and the commercial, mono-crop agriculture, sometimes called agri-business." (p. 2) As Loomis says, the Seymours offer a report on twenty years of living differently, organically and sustainably, locally, what "in the 1920s, Ralph Borsodis had christened 'modern homesteading.'" (p. 12) The strength of the book is the depth of experience shared in it; there is a "lived-with" feel, in which the rougher bumps and hard edges of life have been worn down and softened by apprenticeship and long practice, so that knowledge and experience have yielded a weathered wisdom. There is much of common sense, age, and hard work here, the results of which are freely and graciously shared with good humor.

The writing is strong. Chapter titles are mostly simple, one-word affairs: "Horse," "Cow," "Pig," and the like. What the internet now has the potential to provide--a resource for reporting and exchange of information with others who are engaged in a similar way of living--was once the purview of journals and newspapers and paper journals like The Interpreter and books like this one by the Seymours. The problem with paper publishing is its limited availability. And the problem with a book is that it carries a single perspective and limited experience, however relevant and important that particular perspective may be. It takes many books of this sort to provide a truly ample view of the self-sufficient life as it might be lived in suburban central Indiana, for example. But the Seymours' books are out of print, available only at the library or via used book sales at Amazon and the like. The good news is that there is an explosion of such writing and sharing going on now in blogs, on websites, and via sharing of online videos (with gardening and farming "how to's"); it merely needs some coordination and careful vetting to be more useful. I suspect that we are on the verge of forming a network of small-scale, diversified, suburban "experiment stations," designing and carrying out tests, and reporting results. Together we can discover what works, what is sustainable, and what flops.

Most of all, the book is a guide book, a "how-to-live-on-the-land" book. As such, it offers complete instructions for every crop and livestock project imaginable (and some that aren't imaginable for people with an acre or less in the suburbs)--and offers recipes for cooking and preserving the food produced on the farm. There are some difficulties for the U.S./North American reader caused mainly by the difference in locale. The Seymours were British farmers, meaning that there are climatic, historical, social, and legal (then U.K., now EU) differences on the two sides of the pond. ...not to mention linguistic differences, especially in using the Queen's English. It is not insignificant that John Seymour had lived in both African and Indian villages at one time or another. Seymour draws on this cross-cultural experience to provide context for a "post-industrial self-sufficiency." What he intends is a partial self-sufficiency. John and Sally both worked for cash (but only a little cash) , thus not contributing much to "the development of the atom bomb," etc. I think this taking of matters into one's own life and hands is necessary in a world when it is so difficult to have a meaningful impact as an individual on such things as the 2007 Farm Bill. It is better to plant and grow and eat your own vegetables--and to buy them from local farmers' markets--than to wait for the Farm Bill to stop subsidizing industrial corn and soybean production. Seymour suggests that for periods of time, for two years perhaps, and with a severely restricted diet (all beans all the time!) one could, like Thoreau at Walden, approach self-sufficiency more nearly even than the Seymours or the Nearings or others of the more recent vintage of self-reliant individuals and couples.

Partly, the case for self-sufficiency is one of anticipated necessity. (See the 1970s Resources and Men, W.H. Freeman and Co., San Francisco; National Academy of Science and National Research Council of the U.S.) Fossil fuels will eventually be used up. Today we might add that Global Warming will catch up with us. But the case for self-sufficiency is also a case for enjoying life. It is enjoyable and rewarding and the diversity it enforces on the production of what we eat is more interesting and less boring--or can be--than industrial corn and soybeans (or Thoreau's all-bean diet). For the purpose of the book, it is clear that for the Seymours and their children, a "fair share of the earth's surface" was five acres for a family of six. Another part of self-sufficiency, even on as many as five acres, is managing one's affairs carefully. There are also, obviously, dietary restrictions. For example, in Indiana it will mean eating a substantial number of root crops in the winter. It wouldn't necessarily mean that in California.

There were some disappointments in the book for me. For example, Cobbett (a favorite of Seymour) says that you can keep a cow alive and productive on half an acre with Swedish turnips and cabbages--but Seymour recommends two acres per cow. I guess that rules me out of the cow business--even if the neighborhood association would grant me the livestock exception. And it is somewhat ironic in a book on self-sufficiency to find--as in books by the Nearings and others of similar genre--the nearly universal praise and high veneration of community. The desired community is defined usually as like-minded neighbors living in a similar manner. Of course I live in a community of like-minded neighbors, they just aren't minds like mine. There is too little land (1/2 acre or less usually) in a suburban lot and the community is like-minded in its consumerist focus, a way of living that is diametrically opposed to the values of self-sufficiency.

There are lots of things that can't be learnt from books or web sites, and plowing with a horse is one of them, but Seymour recommends a tome anyway. (George Ewart Evans, "The Horse in the Furrow," Faber and Faber) But, of course, it will be a blue moon--and hades frozen over besides--before I get a horse. Seymour points out the difficulty of finding implements for sale for horse plowing and harness for sale. In this country it is good to start your search in Amish country, where you'll have not only the opportunity to buy but also the opportunity to observe and learn.

Perhaps my favorite recipe, and one I'll try this summer (stay tuned to the website and Tumbledown Farmer's Blog) is the one for dried yeast. The yeast is used to make either bread or beer and appears on p. 148.

3 oz. hops
3 1/2 lbs rye flour
7 lbs corn or barley meal
1 gallon water

"Rub the hops and boil them in the water for half an hour. Strain. Stir in rye flour, then corn or barley meal. Knead and roll out very thin. Cut into circles with a tumbler and leave to dry hard in the sun. Wild yeast will infect the biscuits. To use it, crumble a biscuit and soak in warm water with sugar and salt in it and next day use as yeast."

Already familiar with the Seymour book? Why not try this one?

Human Limits and Unlimited Hubris

Wendell Berry. The Way of Ignorance: And Other Essays, Shoemaker & Hoard, 2005. (contributions by Daniel Kemmis and Courtney White)




Collections of essays are never as tightly constructed or coherent as a reader might wish, but this is one of those rare cases--and rare authors--for which one can truly say it does not matter. The subject of human limits--and our need to recognize and honor those limits--is of such importance and so permeates every essay in the book that the reader forgives what disjunctions do occur between individual essays. There is not a linear progression from beginning to end, but in the end who cares. The subject has been addressed thoughtfully from many directions.

Part I is the least satisfying section of the book. It is also the most political (in the stupid sense of that word), but short enough to be tolerable. Berry has written more and better about "Contempt for Small Places" and "Rugged Individualism." Tumbledown was gratified to see Berry endorse the growth of farmers markets, community supported agriculture (CSAs), sustainable agriculture, Slow Food (using all of the "movement" monikers) and the like as an alternative to "competing on the global market" and as an indicator that indeed "We Have Begun." The pace picks up toward the end of this section with one good (Compromise, Hell!) and one better ("Charlie Fisher") essay. The latter, the story of a man logging and using horses to do it, is vintage Berry.

Part II is the reason to buy the book, 98 work-horse pages in 8 little essays. The first, "Imagination in Place," tells us that Berry is a farmer-writer and a writer-farmer, and that both vocations are shaped by (and shape) the land on which he lives. A wondrously brief bibliography (library) illustrates the shape of Berry's "philosophy" of farming:

F. H. King, Farmers of Forty Centuries: Organic Farming in China, Korea, and Japan

Sir Albert Howard, An Agricultural Testament (Special Rodale Press Edition)

Sir Albert Howard, The Soil And Health: A Study of Organic Agriculture (Culture of the Land: A Series in the New Agrarianism)

J. Russel Smith, Tree Crops: A Permanent Agriculture (Conservation Classics)

Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

If these have influenced Berry's thoughts, you can bet they'll be on Tumbledown's shelf and on his nightstand soon. How better to understand Berry's influence on my own thoughts than to read his sources (in the sense of wells and springs) independently.

The title essay, "The Way of Ignorance," first written as a conference paper for the Land Institute, Marfield Green, Kansas, is about "our old friend hubris, ungodly ignorance disguised as godly arrogance. Ignorance plus arrogance plus greed sponsors 'better living with chemistry,' and produces the ozone hole and the dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico." The thesis is that there is a congenital human ignorance and a a willful ignorance of our own ignorance (theologians would speak of original sin) that makes one shudder at the thought that our response to global warming and exhaustion of fossil fuels will be to build many, many more nuclear reactors. Having seen what gets "skipped" or "done poorly" at too many construction sites, Tumbledown has to agree that nuclear physics "'applied' by ignorant arrogance resembles much too closely an automobile being driven by a six-year-old boy or a loaded pistol in the hands of a monkey." All of that is on the first page of this dynamite essay that rings the changes on what we don't (and can't) know and why we should respect our limits. "The Purpose of a Coherent Community" is mostly a lament that we no longer have one. "Quantity vs. Form" is another demonstration that we transgress our limits at our peril--at the peril of appropriate human scale and a propriety of technological application. Medicine should be practiced by human standards (not by the standards of what machines can do). The same goes for agriculture. Limitless production is not a good thing. Limits provide the "formal completeness, grace, and beauty" of a part related to the whole. "Renewing Husbandry" is again a caution against boasting of "technological feats that will 'feed the world.'" Husbandry, according to Berry is the more comprehensive term; science the narrower, more specialized term. (Husbandry includes science.) Yet more is claimed for the much narrower science than the more comprehensive husbandry would ever dare claim. "The Burden of the Gospels" was of special interest to Tumbledown (a professional interest). It is heartening to see such straightforward readings of Scripture--especially the rejection of interpretations that come "perilously close to 'He didn't really mean it'" (Luke 14:26).

Part III consists of a letter by Berry to Daniel Kemmis (former Minority Leader and Speaker of the House in Montana, and mayor of Missoula), a reply from Kemmis to Berry. Both essays are worth reading if readers already care about the Democratic Party. If not, don't bother. The best essay of this final section is Courtney White's "The Working Wilderness: A Call for a Land Health Movement." Courtney is not predictably on any side except the side that offends both ranchers and environmentalists (and therefore probably best protects the land).

All in all, an awesome read. A book to read a second time (or at least major sections of it). A book to provoke thought. (And shouldn't every book be that?)