THIS SIDE OF A WILDERNESS: A Novel - Tapa blanda

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Daniel J. Rice was born in Wiesbaden, Germany, in 1979, and moved frequently during his youth. In 2006 he earned a degree in Watershed Science in Ely, MN, and began working as a Hydrologic Technician for the U.S. Geological Survey, first in New Jersey, and then Wyoming. In 2011 he resigned from his position and moved alone into a tent deep in the forests of northern Minnesota. While spending an extended amount of time living alone in the wilderness, he wrote the novel, This Side of a Wilderness, and the journal, The Unpeopled Season. He is the founder of Riverfeet Press and Jumping Off Point: Adventure Provisions. Currently he lives in Livingston, MT, where he spends his time camping and fishing the Beartooth Mountains.

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He never cared too much for parties or people, but misanthropy could easily be cured by several alcoholic drinks. pg 8

The mountains knew the definition of freedom. They provided a place where he could find his mind. pg 28

There was a wildness inside him; someday he would capture it. Not to be tamed, but to be released. For only by understanding his mind could it be freed. pg 33

What man does not seek the power of his dreams, and believe in his ability to match the grace of his illusions. pg 34

The truth of existence was a happiness separated from the easy happy life. There was music in the forest. There was clean air where nobody could hear him breathe. pg 68

He was sad for all the people he saw who were never free. All the people walking around thinking they were free, but were bonded to so many possessions and responsibilities, so much dispassion and anger, that freedom had become a mirage, like a mythical figure or a god, something they worshiped and followed, but never truly understood. pg 117

Outside is the only place we can truly be inside the world. pg. 149

It has always been my understanding that truth and freedom can only exist in wild places. pg 154

Every man should wake up alone and spend thirty minutes outside. He should spend thirty minutes with the rising sun listening for birds while pacing back and forth in ponderous thought, with a cool breeze on his nose and his arms stretched into the open air. He should spend thirty minutes alone with whatever view is available. Then he should go back to sleep. pg. 185

Only lost photographs that were never taken know what my mind speaks of when we are alone together. pg 193

The trees show definitions of themselves subtly like the face of a man. pg 197

Every falling leaf reminds me that I too will soon be separated from these trees. Trying to capture freedom is like trying to catch a falling leaf. Occasionally you may grab one out of the air and hold it in your hand, but now what? pg 231

He wasn’t really sure what that meant, recivilize. Did it mean he had to forget about the forest? Could he pretend like it never happened? Would he be required to wear a tie and speak politely of societal bliss? pg 238

A man without enemies is a dishonest man. pg 257

He felt the freedom of knowing nothing but natural sounds and peaceful walks, the sight of a deer, and the touch of a cool flowing river. pg 290