In a time when trust feels thin and civic life increasingly fragile, journalism has an opportunity—and a responsibility—to help rebuild what has been quietly eroding at the neighborhood level. A recent piece from the American Press Institute, Reporting That Builds Community: A Blueprint for Neighborhood Engagement , offers a timely reminder that strong local reporting begins not with headlines, but with place. That idea resonates deeply with me. Earlier in my career, I edited a weekly newspaper for five years. Among all the reporting I did—school boards, city councils, budgets, and local news—the most popular feature I wrote once a week and was unapologetically small. It was called The Country Neighbor . Each week, I simply told the story of a local resident. No controversy. No urgency. Just a neighbor’s life, work, quirks, and contributions.  Readers loved it because they recognized themselves and the people they passed in the grocery store. It was journalism at walking spe...

  In his essay " The Work of Local Culture ," Wendell Berry invites the reader to pause beside an old, battered bucket hanging on a fence post. Over the years, rain and snow, fallen leaves, nuts, animal droppings, insects, and time itself have worked together inside that bucket to create rich, dark soil. Berry calls this slow accumulation “the greatest miracle that I have ever heard of”—not because of the bucket itself, but because of what it reveals about how cultures and communities flourish when left to their own rhythms and attentions.  At first glance, the bucket’s transformation is a simple natural process. Left alone, the contents rot and regenerate into humus—the very basis of life for soil-dependent ecosystems. But Berry immediately, and intentionally, turns this natural phenomenon into a parable for human cultural life. Just as the bucket collects leaves and organic matter over time, so must a viable community collect its own stories, memories, values, and shared la...