When her 30-year marriage broke up, Hubbell retreated to the country where she found solace in the natural world.

David Kline has been called a "twentieth–century Henry David Thoreau" by his friends and contemporaries; an apt comparison given the quiet exuberance with which he records the quotidian goings–on on his organic family farm. Under David's attentive gaze and in his clear, insightful prose the reader is enveloped in the rhythms of farm life; not only the planting and harvesting of crops throughout the year, but the migration patterns of birds, the health and virility of honeybees left nearly to their own devices, the songs and silences of frogs and toads, the disappearance and resurgence of praying mantises in fields–turned woodlands, the search for monarch butterflies in the milkweed. There's rhythm in community, too—neighbors gathering to plant potatoes or to maintain an elderly friend's tomato garden, organic farming conferences and meetings around family dining tables or university panels. Interspersed with local lore (when the spring's first bumblebee appears the children can go barefoot) is deep technical knowledge of cultivation and land management and the hazards of modern agri–business. Kline records statewide meetings of district supervisors, knows which speakers and committee chairmen are in the pockets of the oil and gas lobbyists, stands up and says his part. At a time when America's population is being turned toward the benefits of small, local farming practices on our health and our environment, Kline's daybook offers a striking example of the ways in which we are connected to our environment, and the pleasure we can take in daily work and stewardship.

A richly textured history of the resilience and adaptability of western Kansans to survive two major depressions and the epic Dust Bowl years--separated only by a brief "golden age" of war-related prosperity. Miner, known as the "dean of Kansas history," vividly relates the people's negotiation with the high plains environment, which happens to teach harsh lessons of mutability and perseverance better than most places.

* NOW WITH A NEW CHAPTER * 'A hugely enjoyable romp through the pleasures and pitfalls of setting up home in a foreign land.'- Guardian Given the opportunity of a new life in rural Jutland, Helen Russell discovered a startling statistic: Denmark, land of long dark winters, cured herring, Lego and pastries, was the happiest place on earth. Keen to know their secrets, Helen gave herself a year to uncover the formula for Danish happiness. From childcare, education, food and interior design to SAD and taxes, The Year of Living Danishly records a funny, poignant journey, showing us what the Danes get right, what they get wrong, and how we might all live a little more Danishly ourselves. In this new edition, six years on Helen reveals how her life and family have changed, and explores how Denmark, too – or her understanding of it – has shifted. It's a messy and flawed place, she concludes – but can still be a model for a better way of living.

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A “delightful, witty” memoir about starting over as a beekeeper in the Ozarks (Library Journal). Alone on a small Missouri farm after a thirty-year marriage, Sue Hubbell found a new love—of the winged, buzzing variety. Left with little but the commercial beekeeping and honey-producing business she started with her husband, Hubbell found solace in the natural world. Then she began to write, challenging herself to tell the absolute truth about her life and the things she cared about. Describing the ups and downs of beekeeping from one springtime to the next, A Country Year transports readers to a different, simpler place. In a series of exquisite vignettes, Hubbell reveals the joys of a life attuned to nature in this heartfelt memoir about life on the land, and of a woman finding her way in middle age. “Once in a while there comes along a book so calm, so honest, so beautiful that even the most jaded or cynical readers have to say thank you. . . . This is such a book” (The San Diego Union-Tribune).

The changing seasons make grandly visible not only nature's recurring miracle of life, death, and rebirth which enfolds and nurtures us all but also the special character of a particular region observed over time, its secret beauties and sudden terrors, the coursing life of the place itself. Jim Bones' magnificent photographic record of a year in the Texas Hill Country chronicles that sequence of natural details which mark the year's passing in a part of Texas many Texans have come to revere as a kind of heartland. Complementing the photographs, John Graves's essay on the region tells the history of the land and those who have lived on it, evoking both the special qualities of the Hill Country and the nature of man's kinship with his soil. Stretching to the north within the curve of the Balcones Escarpment, the Hill Country lies close to the center of the state, but something other than geography engenders the heartland aura. Its carved limestone cliffs, its scrubby eroded hills, its gushing springs and clear-flowing streams and its abundant wildlife hold strong appeal for Texans from more fertile but flatter land east and more spectacular but barren land west. Man's hand upon this earth has not always been gentle, but change has come slowly to the Hill Country. It is rough terrain, not rich enough in soil or minerals to have tempted much exploitation, and this, together with its remarkable varied natural beauty, explains its special power over the heart and mind. Finding unique patterns of the place in the seasonal changes of weather, water, and light, of the land, its plants and its animals, Bones' photographs capture those fleeting phenomena which define the permanent meaning and value of the natural world and reveal the singular charm of this small and relatively undisturbed part of it. His work eloquently affirms a truth too often forgotten in an increasingly mechanized and urban world--that in making peace with nature we make peace with ourselves. Most of the photographs were taken while Bones was resident fellow at Paisano, a 254-acre ranch along Barton Creek that belonged to J. Frank Dobie and now serves as a place where Southwestern artists and writers can live and work. The Dobie-Paisano Fellowship is offered annually by the Texas Institute of Letters and the University of Texas at Austin. A refugee from technical fields more concerned with exploiting than preserving nature.