I don’t know why I have written all this down, as if it were a letter to someone interested in all our doings. I suppose gathering it all up for a moment does make me feel a sense of the whole tapestry of life, and not just a thread here or there. What Joel and Cathy cannot see is the struggle, of course. They see the reality of it all as beauty, wildness, and freedom—“escape,” as Eben would say. When Joel thinks of Willard, he thinks of wild animals and untamed people like Old Pete and Nick. He doesn’t see Cornelius’s fearful daily struggle to get himself up and going, or notice that I have to lie down on one thigh to garden because kneeling is just not possible these days, or Ellen’s poor eyes red from fatigue, or Ed Taggart when he comes in here—so rarely these days—absolutely frantic because he can’t get help, or the fierce struggle Eben makes not to let loneliness eat into him. We know Eben better now than we ever did, I think. Under that surface of bitterness, there’s something fine, a keen edge to his mind still. Cornelius has come to value him.

There is a whole tapestry here and sometimes I get the feel of it very strongly. But it is not a place for romantics like Joel. Even these naked spring skies, so immense, windy, tower overhead and make demands on the spirit. And the prayer really has to be, “Dear God, keep us tough, ornery, and self-reliant enough to live here,” for it takes some doing.

Part Four: A Celebration

PART FOUR

A Celebration

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1