Product Description

An inspired reflection on the bond between wild creatures and the human imagination, told as a chronicle of four seasons with a band of rare desert bighorn sheep.

Among the steep cliffs of Utah’s canyonlands a band of rare desert bighorn sheep simply vanished. Although the word “extinct” was bandied about, their passing seemed to fit the downward spiral of native wildlife in the Southwest that began in the early twentieth century. Remote, isolated, and elusive, this band slipped through the cracks. The bighorns were gone. Then they came back.

We have allowed ourselves few places and scant ways to witness other species in their own world, Ellen Meloy writes, an estrangement that has left us lonely and spiritually hungry. Now, with generous empathy and wry humor, the award-winning author of The Anthropology of Turquoise describes the mystery of the bighorns’ self-rescue. In the role of an “amiable, nosy neighbor,” Meloy matches her seasonal geography to theirs, observing cycles of breeding and birth, predators and death, the exquisite match of animal to place, of blood and bone to a magnificent redrock canyon.

On backcountry hikes, downriver floats, and travels to Mexico, the Great Basin, and the Chihuahuan Desert, Meloy roams the rugged habitat of these intriguing and precarious natives. Throughout, we revel with her in the air, light, and dazzling colors of the high desert. Most of all, we come to understand why she finds that watching wild animals intensely is very much like prayer.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #932474 in Books
• Published on: 2005-09-13
• Released on: 2005-09-13
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 352 pages

From Publishers Weekly
It takes a bit of obsession to sit on sandstone ledges and watch desert bighorn sheep through a telescope for a year. This is just what Meloy (who died last November), shortlisted for the Pulitzer for her The Anthropology of Turquoise, did to slake her thirst to understand a group of sheep in Utah's canyonlands—a group she nicknamed the Blue Door Band. In this record of her study, Meloy, like the best naturalists, is a keen observer of the landscape and the habitat it provides. The band, just back from the brink of extinction, clings to the edges of the cliffs suspended in what Meloy calls "an island" of "deep landscape." She is concerned with the impact of the loss of the wild on humans' ability to exist, once wondering if losing species will "leave us brain damaged." However, a surprising levity punctuates the book, as when she writes, "Only sheep and lions fully understand sheep-lion dynamics." This humor balances her darker observations about the crushing footprint of humanity on the wild. In emotional, visceral prose Meloy makes no apologies for anthropomorphizing the rams and the ewes, writing, "I wanted the sheep to adopt me, a kind of reverse Bo Peep arrangement."
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist
Meloy, adventurer and keen observer, has sharpened our ecological perceptions in her previous books, including The Anthropology of Turquoise (2002). Here in another masterful synthesis, she offers more uncommon insights into our relationship with the wild in a vivid study of desert bighorn sheep. These wondrously adapted animals live on the most arid and rugged of terrains. Hidden, mythologized, and coveted, once abundant, then nearly extinct, bighorns have staged a stupendous comeback in spite of dwindling habitats. After spending a year closely observing these ruminative and light-footed creatures in Utah, Mexico's Chihuahuan Desert, and the Sierra Nevada, and reading up on their biology and lore, Meloy animatedly describes supermodel-perfect rams, alert ewes, and lambs given to springing "straight up in the air like a piece of toast." Between witty, self-disclosing, and metaphor-spiked field notes, Meloy offers provocative reflections on restoration ecology and the "politics of wildlife" and muses over how the loss of animals and wilderness diminishes our imagination and sense of wonder. Sadly, this enlightening and invaluable book comes to us in the wake of Meloy's sudden death. Donna Seaman
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Review
“Ellen Meloy’s Eating Stone is an incomparable work of power, beauty, wisdom, tenderness, and great humor. This book reminds me of what it is I love about reading great books: time stops, and a deeper understanding, a deeper way of being, inhabits the reader. Ellen is missed deeply, and all the more so when reflected in the beauty of these pages.”
–Rick Bass, author of Caribou Rising

“In nearly every writer’s life, one book stands out from the others. While all of the books might be fine, one proclaims the writer’s energy and passion, all of her heart and all of her soul. Eating Stone is that book for Ellen Meloy. It is her prayer, her elegy, her song for mountain sheep and for all of life in this wondrous, breakable world.”
–Nora Gallagher, author of Practicing Resurrection
and Things Seen and Unseen

“If you are lucky enough to glimpse the bighorn sheep, invisible and nearly invisible along the ledges and against the rocky hillsides, and if you are watching from a very great distance, you may see her, a lanky wind-whipped woman, moving among the herd, touching flanks, taking notes. And when we have lost the bighorn sheep forever–through destruction of habitat and other thieves–they will still reside here, as shimmering holograms in Ellen Meloy’s moving story of the Blue Door Band.”
–Jo Ann Beard, author of The Boys of My Youth

“Through the lens of mountain sheep, Ellen Meloy looked on the earth and saw that it was good. About her fellow humans, she was less pleased, yet compassionate and wry. There’s fire in this prose, the energy of a writer in love with language and with our stony, watery planet.”
–Scott Russell Sanders, author of Hunting for Hope

“In telling the story of a lost flock of mountain sheep, Meloy leads us through that ‘spellbound threshold between humanity and the rest of nature.’ There, in the radiance of her patient, enthralling observation, we encounter the mortality of the natural world, that increasingly familiar place where ‘deep landscape falls farther and farther away, always at the point of loss.’ ”
–Honor Moore, author of Red Shoes

Customer Reviews

Quirky Nature Writing
Many write gorgeously about deserts and mountains, but few inject self-conscious weirdness, of the absurdist variety, into their lyricism. Ellen Meloy does. In Eating Stone: Imagination and the Loss of the Wild, she describes her obsession with a band of desert bighorn sheep near her home in a small town on the Colorado Plateau and her wider explorations of the species in Baja California, on Navy bombing ranges, and around uranium-mining ghost towns. Readers can loll about in rhythmic, biblical prose, in sentences like, "The late afternoon light comes from the bedrock, from within the mountains themselves, pouring amber from granite and dust, wicking up through the trunks and out the branches of the foxtail pines." Then Meloy exclaims, "The next time you buff up the Hummer with an auto-detailing cloth that came from the skin of a petite rupicaprid, bond with the ungulates that share with us a molecular past."

Meloy welcomes the reader without pretension, so her bizarro sallies seem flirtatious. They tease, tantalize, and keep us alert even as they run the risk of annoying us. For my part, I enjoyed the jarring mysteries. It was like finding Dali touches in the corners of a grand Bierstadt landscape. For Meloy, the road along the Hoover dam becomes the "hair-thin rim of a giant potato chip." A diorama of bighorns in a museum "sounds as if its grinding up fresh loads of zirconium monkeys." She casts "a Giacometti shadow," invoking the uncanny yet familiar weirdness of those elongated statues. Like other nature writers, she exhorts us to wake up and pay attention, but she does so with these curious injunctions: "Admire the male midwife toad," "Master a hyena's laugh and use it when in the presence of politicians" and "Quit badgering your tax attorney." She observes a poodle's entrance into a small church in Baja California and then declares, "I am too snobby to share a church with a poodle."

Meloy seeks to mirror the strangeness of the world and of the mind. The very randomness and uncertainty are the point. As she finds herself in intimate contact with the desert and the sheep, her response is flailing, voracious, bewildered. She wants "to rise up and bite the desert to bits." Like Virginia Woolf, Meloy finds meaning in "moments of being." She seeks "the occasions when jolts from the universe fly open. This jolt, in this desert with these animals, is a belonging so overwhelming, it can put deep cracks in your heart." At the moment when she finally belongs, when she comes home, the experience breaks her. The wilderness makes her whole as it accepts her discontinuities. Perhaps this is the meaning of the subtitle, "Imagination and the loss of the wild." Wilderness embodies and welcomes chaos, the chaos that gives rise to imagination and spirit. In the wild, Meloy feels at home in the wildness of her mind.

Prehistory Come to Life
Ellen Meloy was a patient woman, judging from this book. How many of us could spend a whole year tromping around desert slickrock in not-too-close pursuit of an illusive animal? Until the 1990s, she tells us, no one knew that ancient long-horned desert sheep near her home had survived modernity. But they had, and Meloy hung out for a year, tracking them.

The book begins with wild sex--a rut which will produce the next year's crop of ewes and rams. Then it follows what she calls the Blue Door Band as it disperses across the rocky landscape and fills us in on all kinds of sheep facts.

Like the best nature writers, Meloy has an almost unending store of fresh metaphors that help us see through her trained eyes what we otherwise might overlook. And we learn enough about her to understand her thirst for this quest--a childhood spent partly in England, where a big game-hunting relative's trophy of a tiger skin fired her imagination and an ancestral background of California ranching, among other things.

It's not until she has enticed us to see the profound meaning of these magnificent animals' survival that we get to the nitty-gritty facts of all the work required to preserve them. Her argument for its continuation is highly convincing.

Eating Stone - an interesting read
this is the story of Ellen Meloy's personal infatuation with desert bighorn ship and how she tracked a particular band over the course of a year. Her descriptions of the canyon country is without equal. Although an interesting read, the subject matter seemed to grow a bit tiring towards the end of the book.