Designed to define nature terms, 'Home Ground' does far more

Barry Lopez was stumped. And being stumped is not a state of grace for this intense perfectionist, one of the country's most acclaimed writers on the natural world.

All he needed was a definition of a single landscape concept, "blind creek." That should not be difficult.

So Lopez scoured through the extensive library in his home beside the McKenzie River, 40 miles east of Eugene, Ore. No luck. So he set out to the University of Oregon library. No luck there either. What he heard was there was no single book providing that sort of definition.

There is now, thanks to the efforts of Lopez and dozens of others. "Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape" (Trinity University Press, 399 pages, $29.95) is a stunning new volume, part dictionary, part art book, part guide to the natural world.

But, most of all, "Home Ground" is a celebration of nature and writing, the product of an extraordinary collaboration with 45 of the country's finest writers contributing individual definitions, including such luminaries as Charles Frazier, Barbara Kingsolver, Jon Krakauer and Bill McKibben, plus advisory geographers and folklorists.

Books often are described as "labors of love," but that is no passing nod with "Home Ground." It was a labor of love for the writers only paid $1,000 for 20 definitions, what Lopez describes as a "ridiculous amount" considering the research required, sometimes as much as reading three books for a single entry. And it was especially a "labor of love" for Lopez, since this was the 61-year-old's first project with his partner for a decade, Debra Gwartney. The 49-year-old freelancer served as managing editor and prime magician on the three-year project.

Never before had Lopez, winner of the National Book Award for "Arctic Dreams," relinquished so much control on a project that would carry his name. As he said last week in Seattle, "One of the first things I had to learn was how to defer to a large idea that was mine, but would include many others. I had to learn what it is to be part of a community -- it's not all about you. ... And I am not an editor. It takes a real gift to be an editor. Debra has that; I do not."

Gwartney had her own challenges on the project, but foremost was Lopez. As she said from Portland, "Barry is such a huge force and huge intellect. I knew he would want to put a big profound stamp on the project, but I was not going to spend years on it without putting my own stamp on it as well. So we had to figure out how to respect each other's work in ways that would be needed to shape the book. ... It all worked out pretty well, although not without its tension."

Lopez was in charge of lassoing fellow writers into the project, relying on his contacts from years on the road. But it was not just his nature-writing friends, although there were some notables from that special field: Terry Tempest Williams, Gretel Ehrlich and Robert Michael Pyle, the only Washingtonian.

Lopez and Gwartney had other aims. They wanted "Home Ground" contributors to reflect a 50-50 split between women and men; they wanted some contributors from many states (26 states finally); they wanted some well-known contributors but also some who merit more attention.

Lopez was stunned by the enthusiasm generated by the project. One writer even declined his fee so another could be added.

Once the writers were secured, Lopez took what was the crucial step in the book's formative period: "I sensed that the book wouldn't work if writers heard one thing from me, another thing from Debra. So I decided to take two steps back and didn't look at any of the material for three years. I was helping the project, if asked, but that's it."

The logistics for the book were a nightmare. Lopez, a detail fanatic, had a list of 1,500 terms for possible use in the book, and that was cut in half. Then 20 terms were picked for each contributor, terms that mixed the familiar ("river," "reservoir," "switchback") with the more obscure ("sugarloaf," "fell field," "chockstone"), plus a few from where a contributor lived.

William Kittredge of Missoula produced the shortest definition, just 24 words for "finger drift." Patricia Hampl of Minnesota produced the longest, 366 words for "lake."

"Lake," Hampl writes, "is unobtrusively onomatopoetic, the l and the a together forming a plangent, serene sound, combined with the kick of the k, like the soft lapping of a wave."

These were not Webster's definitions, dry as desert air. "Home Ground" entries have a style and personality as individual as the writers. Krakauer's reflect his mountaineering experience that was central to "Into Thin Air," Frazier's reflect his roots in Southern storytelling that enriched "Cold Mountain."

Lopez stepped back into the project in the last year, doing some final editing, writing a dozen "orphan" definitions that never made the lists of other writers, including the term that had provided the book's original impetus -- "blind creek" ("where a creek once flowed and after a rain will likely flow again").

But when he finally got to read the entire manuscript, Lopez found himself overcome by what the generosity and efforts of so many had wrought. That has prompted him to liken the book to a project by the Works Progress Administration during the Depression when writers and artists came together to create enduring work. He describes "Home Ground" as "the highest act of patriotism for America, but not in any way political."

Still, there was some apprehension when Lopez and Gwartney turned in the first draft to director Barbara Ras at Trinity University Press. The academic publisher in San Antonio was revived by a major contribution, and "Home Ground" is its first book.

As Lopez recalled, "Debra and I couldn't help but wonder: Had we just blown it? Then Barbara called me and there was a quiver in her voice when she said, 'All I want to tell you is that reading this book became a spiritual experience for me.' "

Now, "Home Ground's" first printing of 17,500 copies has almost sold out in days, with a second printing likely to be ordered today. And the first accolades have come in, not only from critics but also contributors.

Krakauer, the former Seattle resident, received his copy in Boulder, Colo., unprepared for what he discovered.

"I was kind of shocked by what a good read it is," Krakauer said via e-mail. "I always thought I'd probably enjoy dipping into it randomly -- but I had absolutely no idea that I would find such pleasure, as a reader, in opening it up and reading it straight through. It sounds ridiculous, I know, to call a book like this a 'page-turner.' But that's what I found it to be."

Lopez and Gwartney have their own sense of wonder about the project. It is a tangible testament to their joint efforts facing a huge challenge, but also to the strength of their relationship.

Lopez has been married once for 28 years, with no children, then had lived happily alone for years after his divorce. Then he met a fellow writer, discovered they had "great rapport," although there was much more to the equation this time -- Gwartney has four daughters.

As Lopez recalled, "If someone had told me that I would get involved with someone who had four children, I would have said, 'Are you out of your mind?' "

But the new family has endured, welcomed a first grandson, turned the once-solitary writer into a doting grandpa who shares many experiences with the first toddler he has ever known. Lopez likes nothing better than trading barbs with him, such as "You have a potato nose!"

To which young Owen Knight responds, "You are a cauliflower head!"

"Home Ground" is the latest expression of how Barry Lopez and Debra Gwartney have established their own home ground.

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