January's Speaker, John Daniel

Some of us may have wondered to ourselves, or even aloud, why a writer of poetry and prose should have been invited to speak to the Eugene Natural History Society. We may also have wondered why the writer said yes. That improbable acceptance of an unusual invitation promises to benefit all who come to hear John Daniel’s presentation, “An Evolutionist’s Faith,” on 18 January 2008.

John Daniel’s development as a writer was not a smooth process. Steven J. Gould’s take on evolution comes to mind. Gould reckoned there were long periods when nothing much changed, punctuated by much shorter periods during which there were many changes: punctuated equilibrium. In Daniel’s evolution there was a lot of punctuation, and in his recounting of his youth and early adulthood in his most recent book, Rogue River Journal: a winter alone,* there also were several “equilibrium” years, years when no writing was taking place. Even in those non-writing periods of equilibrium, John Daniel was bringing in the wood that would fuel the future fires: going to the wilderness, rock climbing and mountaineering, gardening, fishing pure streams, and taking the time to observe life—from old-growth trees to microscopic fungi, from rats and gophers to turkeys and deer and other humans. Of particular interest to natural historians might be his repeated retreat into solitude in remote settings to whet his already keen writing skills.

John was born in South Carolina. His father and mother were both dedicated union activists and organizers, so he grew up surrounded by persons who spoke and wrote with passion and verve. His father’s employment by the CIO led to several moves early in his life. From South Carolina the family went to North Carolina, then to Colorado, and then to the suburbs of Washington, D.C., where he grew up. He was an excellent student in high school, receiving a Presidential Scholar award upon graduation. (He recalled that at the awards ceremony in the White House he thought President Johnson had the biggest ears he had ever seen, but Lady Bird was lovely.)

Accepted by Reed College after high school, he came west and was immediately in love with the landscape. He lasted three terms at Reed before deciding he had to go find himself. His timing was poor since the Vietnam War was going on and the Selective Service was hungry for young men. (For more about this period, consult his Rogue River Journal.)

Fast forward to the early ‘80’s when he had a railroad job in the Klamath Falls’ area (where he met his wife, Marilyn) and was living in a “rustic” cabin on a nearby ranch, writing poetry. He sent an application to Stanford for a Wallace Stegner Fellowship. At that point he hadn’t published anything, so he was surprised by the return mail saying he was accepted. He was at Stanford for six years, one in the Fellowship, five as a teacher. While there he also earned an MA in creative writing. So he has an MA from Stanford, with no BA from anywhere.

His first book, a collection of poems titled Common Ground, came out in 1988, the year he left Stanford. The Trail Home, a collection of essays, was published in 1992 and won the Oregon Book Award for Literary Nonfiction the following year. Another of his books, Looking After: A Son’s Memoir, also won the award. (It focuses on his mother and her influence on him; he calls it his momoir. Rogue River Journal is his popoir.)

It must be true that every aspect of a writer’s life informs his writing. But some aspects must be more informative than others. Two that John Daniel shares with us are gardening and fishing. First, gardening: He watched his father garden in just about every place they lived and it rubbed off—John’s been at it himself for over 30 years. His description of the garden he kept during his winter on the Rogue shows how attuned he is to the many dangers tender plants face—frost, rodents, and an untrainable, indefatigable hen turkey are among the most notable during that winter—and to the deep satisfaction that attends growing one’s own food.

Next, fishing: John taught himself to fish; his family had a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, and he learned to catch smallmouth bass and bluegills from the nearby streams and ponds. During two extended stays at the Dutch Henry cabin on the Rogue River, John used this knowledge to augment the protein content of his diet as well as to nourish his soul. His ruminations on the constancy and the ever-changing nature of flowing water reveal a deep connection to our natural world. He says, in Rogue River Journal: a winter alone, “… fishing is a way to touch our unknown depths. … Writing, like any art, is a kind of fishing. Poems and essays and stories arise from unconscious depths. … Like a fish on a line … they approach in resistant glimpses … and the glimpses carry intimations of an unseen wholeness of which they are part. To realize the wholeness takes luck, patience, and usually a long interplay between consciousness … and the darkness beneath the surface – the deep river of the human psyche, fed by weathers of experience and springs of innate knowing.”

This man knows how to fish.

On Friday, 18 January 2008, John Daniel will talk to us about his sense of evolution. He will talk about science and faith, and how there may not need to be a struggle between these two ways of seeing. He will read from some of his essays and poems in Common Ground and The Trail Home. A Presidential Scholar, draft resister, rock-climber, choker-setter, mountaineer, Wallace Stegner Fellow, and author of some profound books, John has thought deeply about questions of vital importance to natural history. I commend his books and urge you to come hear his presentation, “An Evolutionist’s Faith.”

John Carter

* Winner of a 2006 Pacific Northwest Booksellers Award. Published by Shoemaker & Hoard, May 2005.

In John Daniel’s most recent publication, The Rogue River Journal: a winter alone, he recounts some of his father’s life—a man so passionate about “economic justice” that he throws himself into what turns out to be his life’s work, organizing workers. Daniel doesn’t just weave but entwines this life with the journal entries he makes during the winter he spends alone on the Rogue River. Yes, natural history entries about the osprey, the wild turkey, the bear, but perhaps, more importantly, entries about the nature of John Daniel.

Winner of a 2006 Pacific Northwest Booksellers Award