Revisiting Hannah Coulter

Considering the Deep Work of Motherhood

Welcome to Reading Revisited, a place for friends to enjoy some good old-fashioned book chat while revisiting the truth, beauty, and goodness we’ve found in our favorite books.

Earlier this month I finished my second reading of Wendell Berry’s Hannah Coulter. It’s not lost on me that I finished one of the most profoundly honest and striking portrayals of motherhood I’ve encountered on Mother’s Day weekend. This book hurts in the best way and inspires me to approach my vocation as a wife and mother with the fear and trembling it deserves.

I first picked up this book in 2018 when I was pregnant with my oldest. It had been recommended as a must-read by one of my close friends who was knee-deep in toddlers and still managed (and continues to manage) an inspiring reading life. Though I’m ashamed to admit, my first foray into Port William was not a success.

My feelings towards Port William were much like those of Hannah’s grandchildren. She says of their visits to P.W., “They don’t much like any of it. By no fault of theirs, they don’t know enough to like it” (p.125).  I, too, will plead ignorance as my excuse. I didn’t know enough. I didn’t yet know enough of life, of motherhood, of membership, of home to belong in Port William.

I avoided Hannah Coulter and Port William for nearly five years, and for penance sobbed through nearly every chapter during this re-read. Every woman and mother who reads this book surely has the same thought: how can a man so aptly and beautifully capture the feel of motherhood? Are there any dry eyes when Hannah says: “To know that I was known by a new living being, who had not existed until she was made in my body by my desire and brought forth into the world by my pain and strength — that changed me”?

This book is about many things, but I was struck at the way Hannah’s story gets at the deep work of motherhood. The wisdom of her hindsight is the swift kick-in-the-pants that we who are in the midst of the whirlwind of mothering small children often need. Below are some moments from this lovely book that have stuck in my mind:

“By our work we kept and improved our place, and in return for our work the place gave us back our life. The children knew this. For a long time this was the knowledge they most belonged to” (p.89).

“When they were young, I suppose all my thoughts about the children started with knowing that they were mine…Now all my thoughts about them start with knowing that they are gone” (p.111).

“To be the mother of a grown-up child means that you don’t have a child anymore, and that is sad. When the grown-up child leaves home, that is sadder. I wanted Margaret to go to college, but when she actually went away it broke my heart. Maybe if you had enough children you could get used to these departures, but, having only three, I never did. I felt them like amputations. Something I needed was missing. Sometimes, even now, when I come into this house and it sounds empty, before I think I will wonder, “Where are they?” (P.116)

“It used to be that we sort of knew, we could sort of guess, how the lives closest to us would end, what beds our dearest ones were likely to die in, and who would be with them at the last. Now, in this world of employees, of jobs and careers, there is no way to even imagine” (p.133).

These quotes, and really this whole story, offers a glimpse into the paradoxical inner life of a mother. We cling to our children while pushing them towards independence, we dream and hope for them while trying not to burden them with our expectations, we strive to remain steady in the midst of their changes. 

In one of the last scenes of the book, when the wayward grandson, Virgie, unexpectedly arrives at Hannah’s doorstep, she immediately prepares a dinner for the two of them. The brief scene that follows is my favorite of the whole book:

“When we had eaten, I said, “Well, what brings you back?”

He started to say, “You,” and couldn’t, and said, “This.”

“This”…the work of motherhood that so often feels unseen and under-appreciated is the offering we give to God and to our families, and Hannah Coulter reminds me to offer it with gratitude through both the joy and the pain.

Keep revisiting the good books that enrich your life and nourish your soul.

A Few Reminders

• The Remains of the Day Reading Schedule

• If you are wanting to get in on the in person or virtual community please contact me!

• Here is the whole list of this years book selections

• Book lists from previous years can be found here.

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