Every summer Benna and I go off for a week or two to a cabin in the woods with a pile of books. It’s a ritual we have stuck to over more than 40 years of marriage—even in the years when our kids were growing up (they brought their own stacks of books)—a legacy of a love of books nurtured in our undergraduate years at small liberal arts colleges. I read nonfiction. She reads literature. Both of us do our best to ignore the headlines, the nightly news, the barrage of emails and text messages from planet Earth … even the wild turkeys running in the woods.