Rogue River Journal: A Winter Alone

I was encouraged to read this book by the cover quote from Mary Oliver and was rewarded appropriately. A beautifully written, thoughtful journey of self discovery. And a special gift at the end for anyone exploring their own path in becoming a writer, the author offers insight and direction that resonates as true.

This is a great 'get-away' book. It conveys what it must really be like to be alone in the wilderness for months, in a beautiful place, and the journey of a person's thoughts without the distractions of modern life. It also is a powerful story about the author's relationship with his father. Highly recommended.

I loved this book, and I'm glad the author brought us along on his journey. I have often wondered what it would be like to take off for awhile, and leave the bustle of everyday life behind. From reading I discovered that I would never really be alone, because all of the people that I have been fortunate to know have shaped my life. They are part of me, and hopefully I am part of them. Our friends and family are there in spirit all of time - good and bad. It all makes up a portion of the fabric which is us, which makes nothing bad. It's all good. The natural setting for the adventure is top-notch, and I do plan on exploring the Rogue River. I certainly need to bring my fly-rod. Thanks for sharing your life with us, John.

Poet and nonfiction writer John Daniel spent four and a half months living by himself in a cabin in the Rogue River canyon of southwestern Oregon. Though his original intent was to go there to write, he did some nature observation and terrain exploration as well. He chose to make his retreat during the winter of 2000-2001, beginning just after election day. We who were stuck back here in civilization can only envy his self-made cocoon of quiet, blissfully removed from the incessant media analysis of the Bush-Gore-Florida quandry. We can merely shake our heads, remembering. Memory comes into play quite a bit here. After taking care of his immediate needs and taking in the natural world around him, Daniel spends much of his alone time considering the past. Or two pasts, really: his father's and his own. Something he sees or thinks about at the cabin will remind him of something else from the past, and he follows that tangent. He writes about his father and traces the man's work in the American labor movement as well as his struggle with alcoholism. At the same time, he reveals much about his own life and about growing up in a 1960s culture that was both anti-Vietnam and pro-drugs. "Rogue River Journal" is as much about Daniel's voyage of self-discovery as it is a temporary escape from society. By the end of his sojourn, it seems as if he has come to terms with all of it: his relationship with his father, his own varied and sometimes illegal activities of his younger days, his writing career, even the choice to enforce this self-imposed confinement. Daniel gets *very* personal, yet this is not a pure autobiography. It's funny, it's sad, it's thought-provoking, it's Life. Daniel writes, "I thought I might find two books here -- one about the experience of solitude, the other the story of my coming of age and my father. From the start though, the two wanted to loop and weave together, and I saw no reason, and see none now, to discourage their union." (p. 301) The result honors both men. Obviously Franz Daniel passed the story-telling gene onto his son John. He has a knack for offering vivid descriptions and the tales to go with them, knowing just when to bring one segment to a temporary close so that we'll want to turn the page to discover what happened next. Baby Boomer readers will have no problem reminiscing on their own, inspired by Daniel's candid ruminations. This book is more contemplative than most "Walden" wannabees. John Daniel uncovers two truths for us: We need occasional solitude in order to understand who we are as individuals. And we also need distance from the past in order to comprehend its contribution to our personalities and lives. Thanks for the reminders, John!