In his late twenties, John Ridland began teaching in the English Department at UCSB. Some years later, I was in his English 105 class. He had good handwriting. The first time I read it, the handwriting said, approximately, “This reminds me of a song I heard on the radio, a country and western song.” I understood.
There is a way of being in the natural world without harming nature — you leave the place pristine, meaning wild. John gave that kind of attention. He would think all the way around something and leave it whole. He was against too much analysis of things. The poem is dead if you pull it apart. And emotions. And deeply felt events.
When possible, the Ridlands spent part of each summer in the mountains. For John, music seems to be all over the place but normal, like toast.