Wendell and I first became friends in the spring of 1998. I had recently moved to Kentucky to teach, and a friend said, “You should pick up some books by Wendell Berry. I think you’d like him.” I had no idea that my life’s work was about to change. My family had raised me in the ways of farming, but it was Wendell, who died today, who convinced me to become an agrarian.
I soon learned that it was Wendell and Tanya’s custom to host visitors Sunday afternoons at their farm in Henry County. I wrote him a letter to ask if I might come out for such a visit. He sent me directions and a hand-drawn map. The drive up took me through rolling hills, woodlots, and meadows, much of it meandering along the Kentucky River. It was beautiful country. Wendell and Tanya’s home sat perched on a hillside, overlooking the river. A bit down the hill were their barns, a storage shed, a huge garden, pasture for their sheep, and Wendell’s “long-legged” writing shack, with its woodstove and its 40-pane window. It was a farm that showed multiple signs of loving attention. I was nervous as I made my way to his porch.
I shouldn’t have been. Wendell welcomed me with a warm hand and his signature big grin. Before I knew it, we were either laughing, as he told tales of his home community, or deep in conversation, as we discussed authors that we thought to be essential for our time. Little did I know that I had just met the most gracious, insightful, and funny person I would ever know. In the phone calls, meals, and family visits that followed, I became convinced that agrarian sympathies and skills are crucial for the healing of our communities and world. Agrarianism has the power to correct and redirect the fundamental philosophical and theological categories by which we live. It has no better teacher than Wendell. Here’s why.
