John Daniel

These essays include meditations and arguments on becoming a writer; on old-growth forest and the practice of clear-cutting; on the fluid dynamics and biotic diversity and mythic resonance of rivers; on the writers Ken Kesey and Wallace Stegner; on the literary genre of "creative nonfiction"; on death and dying and the consolations of mortality; on the al-Qaeda attacks of September 11, 2001; and on my allegiances to the places and region and country I call home. So writes John Daniel in the introduction to his latest book of essays, The Far Corner, Daniel writes from the ground he walks on and the landscape he inhabits, spinning narratives that seek to define how he belongs to the land and to life itself. He takes his readers to beaches, old-growth forests, and deep river canyons--wild places, and places scarred by human exploitation--and leads us also through inner landscapes where he explores mortality, creativity, and spirituality. This collection extends John Daniel's earlier work in the personal essay form that Richard Nelson has called "wise, deep, passionate, meticulously informed. An important contribution to the legacy of insight, beauty, and hope shaped by a new generation of American nature writers."

NOW IN PAPERBACKIn November of 2000, after the presidential election but before the final results had been handed down by the Supreme Court, John Daniel climbed into his pickup, drove to a remote location in Oregon's Rogue River Canyon, and quit civilization. The strictures were severe. No two-way human communication - not even with his wife - no radio, no music, not even his cat. He would isolate himself in a cabin sure to be snowed in soon after his arrival, intent on hearing no human voice but his own until spring thawed the road. This experiment in solitude was an attempt to clarify his identity while pursuing daily life without the distractions of the world at large. Daniel had spent a week or two alone before, but this would be an entirely new challenge, and as he drove off into the mountains he felt a fear-tinged freedom. This book chronicles his journey in solitude, a season of memory, and his search for a coherent place to stand on the earth.

The creek behind John Daniel’s home in western Oregon disappears underground in the summer months. Using this creek as a metaphor, Daniel reflects on his own seasonal changes — from days as a student on LSD, rock climber, logger, and railroad worker, to life as a writer attentive to the “evidence of the unseen.” Winter Creek is John Daniel’s disarmingly honest story of his restless, rootless, disaffected youth, looking for meaning in drugs and an active outdoor life in the West. From time spent fishing, climbing, and making a living logging—as well as through friendships with writers including William Stafford and Wallace Stegner—Daniel developed a personal and artistic ethos based on a long view of evolution and the glory of living with one’s senses and an open mind. Daniel also speaks for the need to value small farmers and ranchers—“authentic human communities” that are as threatened as the plants and animals environmentalists strive to protect. “[Daniel’s voice is] fresh, self-reflective, and free of cant ... shows considerable originality, force, and descriptive art.” — Kirkus Reviews on John Daniel's The Trail Home

A discussion of how the knowledge media can contribute to the renewal of universities, particularly through the development of distance education. It looks at universities which have risen to the challenges of cost and accessibility using technology.

A discussion of how the knowledge media can contribute to the renewal of universities, particularly through the development of distance education. It looks at universities which have risen to the challenges of cost and accessibility using technology.