The Idea of Mules, or a Critique of the Interstate Highway System

Wendell Berry writes about going from mules to tractors and what it means in a typically elegant essay in Orion Magazine.

Mechanical farming makes it easy to think mechanically about the land and its creatures. It makes it easy to think mechanically even about oneself, and the tirelessness of tractors brought a new depth of weariness into human experience, at a cost to health and family life that has not been fully accounted.

I don't always agree with Berry's sometimes cranky world view, but the man writes so clearly and well that it makes you realize just what an affront to the English language most modern writing is.

Maybe in time to come we will rip up the interstate highway system and, like in some post-apoctalyptic novel, turn them into long, thin community gardens. Poets will ride around on mules and recite epics based on old newspaper clippings from the age of oil.

There is a park bench with a plaque on it that reads, "For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free". It's a quote from Wendell Berry, and the plaque is dedicated to the memory of my brother, who died two years ago this Christmas. We're put here to be free, not slaves of technology, not "inputs" or factors in an economic equation. I may never be a farmer (or a poet), but I wouldn't want to live in a world where they don't exist. Nor mules either.

When the Other Shoe is Tied to an Anvil (That's Tied to Your Heart)

Can you ever be ready for the death of a parent? It seems unreal because she has as yet shown very few symptoms. We try to talk about what's going to happen, what needs to be done, in short bursts because that's as long as we can stand to think about it. We try to preserve a shadow of normality. I find myself thinking about what I'll do afterward, the logistics, whether I can have that painting of the sunflowers. Am I heartless? I haven't cried yet. I suppose I will.

I'm going to move this thread over to the Shark Tank, where I post more personal stuff. I'll try to keep this space devoted to matters more suited for outrage, bafflement and scorn.

I scarcely have the heart for politics right now, but I can't help but pay attention. I read somewhere tonight that Bush wants his mommy. Well, so do I--but I ain't the leader of the so-called free world. Get a grip, son.

(I'm linking to a post about the original article, because I'll be damned if I'm going to subscribe to the Washington Times.)

End Time

My mother has been diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer, so that time I spoke of hoping to be ready for is here, ready or not.

More later.