In the tradition of John McPhee and Kathleen Norris, a wry, moving memoir about a family farm, a father, and a daughter, and why it's so hard to go home again

Debra Marquart grew up on a family farm in rural North Dakota-on land her family had worked for generations. From the earliest age she knew she wanted out; surely life had more to offer than this unyielding daily grind, she thought. But she was never able to abandon it completely.

In this distinctive, beautifully written memoir, she chronicles this process of flight and return-not only from and to a particular landscape, but to respect and admiration for her father. Complex, lyrical, utterly unsentimental, often funny, Marquart's singular voice offers a deeply intelligent rumination on the meaning of native ground, on freedom and security, and on the forging of identity. It brings to mind the very best of those who have written about the natural world and a sense of place-John McPhee, Wallace Stegner, and Kathleen Norris among them.