My grandfather died this
summer.  It wasn't a bad death, but nor was it a good one (can these
things be measured in such terms?).  In his last days there was only
one thing that really gave him peace and joy: A Sand County Almanac.  I
read it to him in his bed, in his chair, and in his hospital room.  His
reaction was always one of pure joy and awe at the language of holistic
conservation and the verbal diary sketches in this book.  It gave him
hope and excitement.  He would interrupt the nurses and ask them to sit
and listen, he would stop passing visitors and offer them a break to
take some in.  He asked all the family members if they had their own
copy.  The copy I read him had a note in it, written to a woman who
would eventually become his wife.  It was the first gift he had given
her.  It was the first book he gave me.

While the essays and writings describe a time and place some
distance from here (Wisconsin in the mid-Century), the themes and
language endure.  Leopold presents a rich world in which humans are
involved in their surroundings, as with all animals: not managers, not
divested actors.  While some ecologists may be critical of some of the
themes in this book (such as hunting), Leopold's perspective is one to
hear.  His writing has even influenced a new genre of back-to-the-land
musicians, perhaps most notably the band Brightblack Morning Light, who
live off the grid in New Mexico.

The last chapter I read of A Sand County Almanac, was October.  It
was about changes and seasons and golden Tamaracks, a fitting tribute
to my Wisconsin grandfather and the land he loved.

Themba