Feeding the Good Wolf

A grandfather is speaking with his grandson. He tells his grandson, ‘I have these two wolves always fighting within me. There is a good wolf, full of kindness, and generosity, and gratitude, and compassion, and then a bad wolf, full of anger, and jealousy, and resentment, and they are always fighting each other.’ The grandson asks him, ‘Well grandfather, which wolf wins?’ and the grandfather says, ‘It is the one that I feed. — A Navajo tale told to me by Ferial Pearson during our gratitude conversation

I had never heard this Navajo tale prior to Ferial’s retelling late in 2018. When “Canis Rufus” (the image above) was installed in 2023 outside our back door, I immediately saw it as a daily reminder to feed the good wolf. I have been fascinated by it ever since. I have even written about it. During the writing process, I fell deeply in love with the story and decided to pitch an oral history project around the sculpture and the space. 

The Project Pitch

I am an applied researcher putting together a proposal for the PEN Jean Stein Grant for Literary Oral History. In short, I live in Atlanta across the street from a beautiful, historically designated, renovated-so-people-can-live-there brick factory, the B.Mifflin Hood Brick Company. B. Mifflin Hood was an activist industrialist committed to standing against convict leasing, a prevalent industry practice in the early 20th century.

I desire to tell the story of the space that ties together art, history, and activism. It will answer the questions: What can/does resistance look like? What role can/does art play in resistance, creating community, and pursuing justice? What can a building teach us as a conduit for history, testimony to justice, and substance of/for resistance?

After years of living next to the space and insightful conversations with the artist/activist couple who renovated it, the architect who designed it, the artist who created “Canis Rufus,” and collecting primary documents from Hood speeches and writings as well as contemporary writers like Douglas Blackmon, the author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning, Slavery by Another Name, I am taking a big swing. The grant would allow me to pursue this story.

Stay Tuned.

MONDAYS ARE FREE 046 — 050

EXERCISE 046: DREAMWORK

between sleep & wakefulness

Transcribe a dream exactly. Don’t comment, don’t let us know if you don’t remember this part of that part. Just transcribe what you have

We traveled to Fun City to escape into the woods behind my elementary school. Maybe 5 of us — the brave ones — explored Fun City on the regular. There was Chris, who lived next door and was gifted and talented. There was Becky, who put unpopular girls underwear in the freezer at sleep overs. There was Scott, who I briefly “went with” in 3rd grade. There was Mindy, who was perfect. We rode our bikes to the edge of the woods. In slow-motion-action-hero time, we ran to the house where the Old Man lived. Nestled behind a chicken coop without chickens, a weathered shed without purpose, and a metal jungle gym on which children had obviously died, barely stood the Old Man’s house. On tip toe, we swore we heard screams. We could see it. The smell of wet cat and fear hung in the air. No magic beans would save us. No crystal shoe would fit. No kiss would wake us up. It was just us and the Old Man.

Time after time we got close. Always seeing him move between broken windows. Always being too far away to see his face or smell the stench of his flannel shirt or feel our hearts explode. We stewed in our belief that he was deadly. We imagined his horrible story. We created elaborate plans. We kept secrets within our group.

I mostly woke up after summoning the courage to knock the door.

Canis Rufus

I don’t know much about wolves. Biologically, they are related to dogs — both members of the genus Canis. They are also related to coyotes — though coyotes are generally heftier with pointier, foxlike snouts. They are social creatures that travel in packs. They howl at night. I once house sat on a small lake in Washington State and it was common to hear wolves howl. Howls call and chill and warn. Howls scare and hover and sing. If you have heard them, you know what I mean. They haunt. Haunting in the way that being alone makes me light candles. Haunting in the way mystery creeps and oozes and shakes. Haunting in the way it is impossible to forget the sound. The mythical import of wolves fascinates me, too. Cultures from all over the world tell wolf stories and have wolf legends. Like witches protecting their young. Like warriors carrying the weight of Gods into battle. Like wanderers deciding to feed good or evil.

Taking A Walk #11

Taking a walk with Mary Oliver

I don’t remember when I fell in love with Mary Oliver. Maybe it was when I listened to her On Being episode, “I got saved by the beauty of the world.” Maybe it was the hundredth time I heard the line from Wild Geese, “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting./ You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” Maybe it was hundredth time I heard the line from In Blackwater woods, “To live in this world// you must be able/ to do three things:
to love what is mortal;/ to hold it// against your bones knowing/ your own life depends on it;/ and, when the time comes to let it/ go,/ to let it go.”

Weekly Wide-Awake #1

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