FROM THE BOOK JACKET
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