A dear person sent me a book titled American Lambs, by T Yamamoto. It’s subtitled “Poems and Stories about Working Border Collies, Sheep, Family and Life on the Land.” The author explains that it is a mix of real life and fiction, but is all based on a real island off the North West coast in which sheep were allowed to graze the pastures and beaches until the rural land slowly, inexorably, evolved into a landscape of urban dwellers who, in the author’s words “didn’t realize that they were changing the exact things they loved about the land.”
But don’t think this is a sad book. It is a rich and moving celebration of our connection to animals and the land. I loved it, absolutely loved it, and I don’t think you need to have sheep or herding dogs to love it too. I read it in one night, and was sorry to turn the last page.
I also just finished The Art of Racing in the Rain. It’s a best seller, gotten rave reviews, but I was, uh, well, not equally impressed. Have any of you read it? It’s a novel primarily about a man and a dog, told through the voice of Enzo, a lab-terrier mix. I’ll be the first to agree that the story is gripping–a race car driver’s struggles to maintain custody of his child–but the use of the dog as the speaker comes across to me as just weird. I can see that it’s a handy literary device to describe the action from an “outsider’s” perspective, but there’s just nothing “dog-like” about what the dog says or thinks. Enzo’s dream is that he’ll come back as a person when he dies if he is a good dog now. Perhaps I’m taking this too seriously, but presenting dogs as little more than a stepping stone on the path to being human just doesn’t work for me. Can you spell egocentric?
In the book, the dog Enzo seems to have no problem understanding the most complex of human interactions and intentions, and yet does nothing dog-like himself. You’ll have to look hard to find a reference, for example, to the sense of smell, which surely is the foundation of a dog’s perception of the world. Enzo is an interesting and endearing character, I just can’t find the dog in him.
I am clearly in the minority. Publisher’s Weekly and Entertainment Weekly loved it (every author’s dream), and its site on Amazon is full of raves. Is it just me? Am I getting churlish in my dotage? Did you read it, and if so, what did you think?
MEANWHILE, back on the farm: How could it be mid summer already? Where did June go? Time seems to speed up as we age (my mom said just wait: in your eighties it goes by so fast you get dizzy), but this is ridiculous. I think between my knee and Jim’s arm and a puppy who has to pee every 10 minutes (better now), we lost time-related consciousness for a month. But it’s glorious here now. The endless rains have paused, and it is Ireland-green and lush and now cool and sunny. Sweet.
We are surrounded now by food, growing and ripening all on its own. As a woman who grew up in the Arizona desert, this still seems miraculous to me. Luscious food that just appears by itself and waits for you to pick and eat it? Is it a trick? Is there a witch behind the berry bushes?
The existence of free, wild food is amazing enough, but now? Wait, isn’t it still May? I can’t believe that the black raspberries are already ready, and that the wild plums behind the house are ripening. Dozens of stems of wild mint has been picked and dried, and I’ve managed to get 6 quarts of strawberries and 6 bags of rhubarb into the freezer. It all seems too early and I want to tell the summer to slow down please.
This afternoon I take Hope in for his last vaccination. Cross your paws for me. I’m not willing to skip his last shot, parvovirus is a constant threat around here and it is fatal far too often. I’ve done what I can: Hope is on chinese meds and lots of cooked greens (and has been a very sweet boy lately, more on that later in the week.) Wish us luck, I am hoping to skip the 24 hours of frantic, growley dog that Hope turned into after his last vaccination.
Here’s some berries I photographed this morning, waiting for me and the birds to gobble them up. Tonight I’ll pick another quart or two. It’s so kind of them to ripen in stages!