Certainly many readers of Front Porch Republic have already recalled Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of Wild Things” in the last few days or weeks.

Jeff Bilbro and his students at Spring Arbor University have been reflecting on C.S. Lewis’ “Learning in War-Time.”

John Fea turned to Francis Grimké’s address during the 1918 influenza epidemic.

Joshua Gibbs recommends Isak Dineson’s beautiful short story, “Babette’s Feast,” and is keeping a running list of ideas for students experiencing home school for the first time at the CiRCE Institute.

Emily Firetog has some “bookish suggestions” for small (and large) children.

Every Tuesday at 7:30 Central for the next few weeks, The Rabbit Room is streaming the Local Show free on Facebook and YouTube (and you can catch-up on past shows on YouTube). This is a great opportunity to hear Nashville musicians play music and tell stories from their living rooms.

Last year, Matt Miller extolled the joys of reading seed catalogues. There’s still time to order seeds and till dirt and plant a garden. Maybe this year we’ll have a raft of pandemic gardens and people will rediscover the pleasures of growing food for their families and neighbors.

Readers, please share other selections. For now, we leave you with another poem from Wendell Berry:

February 2, 1968
In the dark of the moon, in flying snow,
in the dead of winter, war spreading, families dying, the world in danger,
I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.

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2 COMMENTS

  1. We shall not cease from exploring
    And at the end of our exploration
    We will return to where we started
    And know the place for the first time
    Through the unknown, unremembered gate.
    T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding

  2. Thoughts in a time of social distancing and suspended church services:

    My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,
    and my nearest kin stand far off. Psalm 38:11 (ESV)

    These things I remember, as I pour out my soul:
    how I would go with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God
    with glad shouts and songs of praise, a multitude keeping festival.

    Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?
    Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
    my salvation and my God. Psalm 42:4-5 (ESV)

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