Finished reading: Distant Neighbors by Wendell Berry and Gary Snyder. 📚 Berry to Snyder, 1978:
I am, I believe, a “non-violent” fighter. But I am a fighter. And I see with considerable sorrow that I am not going to get done fighting and live at peace in anything like the simple way I once thought I would. So how to keep from becoming evil?
Maybe the answer is to fight always for what you particularly love, not for abstractions and not against anything: don’t fight against even the devil, and don’t fight “to save the world.”
It would have been nice if I had read that before I wrote this essay. It also would have been nice if I had remembered this quotation from Berry:
The problem, as it appears to me, is that we are using the wrong language. The language we use to speak of the world and its creatures, including ourselves, has gained a certain analytical power (along with a lot of expertish pomp) but has lost much of its power to designate what is being analyzed or to convey any respect or care or affection or devotion toward it. As a result we have a lot of genuinely concerned people calling upon us to “save” a world which their language simultaneously reduces to an assemblage of perfectly featureless and dispirited “ecosystems,” “organisms,” “environments,” “mechanisms,” and the like. It is impossible to prefigure the salvation of the world in the same language by which the world has been dismembered and defaced.
Also this from Gary Synder:
Bioregional awareness teaches us in specific ways. It is not enough just to “love nature” or to want to “be in harmony with Gaia.” Our relation to the natural world takes place in a place, and it must be grounded in information and experience.

The Rio Grande at Big Bend National Park. Some people want to build a Big Beautiful Wall right there.
Over at Personal History, I wrote about photography.

Chisos Mountains, 2014
George Saunders (yeah, I'm breaking my vow, but this is too funny not to quote):
Think of it this way: there’s plenty to do, right now, with just these minds we’ve been given: fight our anxiety, temper our cruelty, foster loving-kindness, try to figure out just what a mind is and what sort of trap it’s making for us in every moment. (Or: learn to skate, make a better omelet, play Bach, etc.) These things make up the (honorable, pleasurable) work of a lifetime. In what way does AI make life better, really? And for whom? In the end, will AI be there to guide us across to the other side and soothe our fears? (God, I hope not, but maybe we’ll all have DeathCope 3.0 loaded into our MindChip, and the last thing we’ll hear will be Claude, going, “You’ve got this!”)

The pre-dawn walk with Angus is one of the best times of my day, especially as I usually listen to the Church of England’s service of Morning Prayer as we walk. This morning’s service was especially lovely.

Yesterday evening as I was setting the table I experienced The Transfiguration of the Watermelon.
Watched: High and Low — for the third time. An absolutely bonkers and absolutely brilliant movie, profoundly influential on everything from Schindler’s List to modern heist movies to any number of animes. 🍿

