“I am done with apologies. If contrariness is my
inheritance and destiny, so be it. If it is my mission to
go in at exists and come out at entrances, so be it.
I have planted by the stars in defiance of the experts,
and tilled somewhat by incantation and by singing,
and reaped, as I knew, by luck and Heaven’s favor
in spite of the best advice. If I have been caught so often
laughing at funerals, that was because
I knew the dead were already slipping away,
preparing a comeback, and can I help it?”
— Wendell Berry, “The Mad Farmer’s Revolution.”
Hay barns are cathedrals to me, sacred places, the wind and dust carrying more stories than I can possibly grasp. (me)