Wendell Berry Explains Me

Elton never felt that any mistake was affordable; he and Mary were living within margins that were too narrow. He required perfection of himself. When he failed, he was like the sun in a cloud, alone and burning, furious in his doubt, furious at her because she trusted in him though he doubted. How could she dare to love him, who did not love himself? And then, sometims accountably, sometimes not, the cloud would move away, and he would light up everything around him. His own force and intelligence would be clear within him then; he would be skillful and joyful, passionate in his love of order, funny and tender.

Contemporary author Wendell Berry is well respected for his poetry, his plays, and his prose. Not many authors can claim acclaim for all three varieties of literature.

I was reading his beautiful short story "A Jonquil for Mary Penn," and the above quote leapt out at me. How can Wendell Berry know how I think? (Well, maybe excepting the "love of order" part.) How can he summarize and encapsulate so perfectly how furious I get when I make a mistake?

This past week, I realized late at night that I needed to order rootstocks. I was already behind and more behind, and various things conspired against getting them ordered. But at 11:30pm, the expected online ordering system didn't actually exist: for these products, a phone call is required.

Then I couldn't figure out where to order grafting tape; I lost the product name for grafting goo (Doc Farwell's Graft Seal is the name, I discovered today). Phil came in, after a half hour of disappointed hope after fruitless internet search, to find me seething and furious.

It was helpful to read Wendell Berry's words. The volcanic rage I sometimes feel towards my mistakes: I haven't understood it. How can I normally be so cheerful and more-or-less stable, but then have a moment of intense self-loathing?

It's because for me, living on the margin requires perfection. Phil doesn't require it or ask for it. God doesn't either. But I require it of myself. I'm hopeful that seeing this set out so succinctly will help me have grace for myself in the future. (More than one or two people have told me over the years that I need to have grace for myself, but I never really understood what that meant. Shouldn't I be hard on my mistakes? I suppose the answer is, if I wouldn't be mad at Phil had he made the mistake, then I probably shouldn't be mad at myself.)

And so, three days later, I have all three varieties of rootstocks ordered, along with a grafting knife, the freezer tape I need, and a little jar of Doc Farwell's Graft Seal. When the rootstocks arrive, I'll be ready.