The world lost a moral compass with the death of Wendell Berry on August 31 at the age of 92.

Berry was a farmer, writer, poet, activist and man of great faith. I am not sure when he came into my life, but I have a brochure for my catering company from 2006, with a quote of his saying: “Eating is an agricultural act.”

I believed then and I believe now that every meal can connect us directly to the land and the people who grow our food. A lecture by Berry at the Schumacher Foundation at graduate school in the 1980s taught me about the ideas of true communities. And perhaps that is why I found Martha’s Vineyard and stayed, because there was a connection to land and community here.

Forty years ago, we built a shack in the woods, and we have lived in that shack for two months out of every year since. I sit in my 8” x 10’ shack, on top of Ridge Hill, with a wrap-around screened-in porch, an outhouse, and an outdoor shower that faces south — to the south shore, to woodness. My nakedness faces the openness of wild things. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. If I climbed a tree, I could see the ocean.

There is something in the teachings of Wendell Berry that has given me permission to live the simple way, of hearing and then feeling a flock of birds come through the woods, or the vibration of a bee swarm, or the startling screech of owls calling each other at night, calling me to their attention.

When I read his words, I see a picture of him at a wooden desk, writing in his 12x16 writing cabin with no electricity, a choice and a reminder that electricity came from energy companies that were destroying the mountaintops of Virginia, West Virginia and Kentucky — his home — and polluting the rivers and lakes.

His writing has helped me navigate the complicated and often conflicting parts of the world and our own place in it, where our comfort depends upon the suffering of people, communities and the natural world somewhere else.

Berry’s writing also reminds us of the importance of neighbors, of community, of diversity and the value of our differences.

I remember the first time I drove down Middle Road. I felt its familiar close-in of wisteria, the open fields with cows, distant views of the ocean and fragments of stone walls peeking through overgrowth. It all felt like something I wanted, something within reach that I could have. For 45 years I have lived on Middle Road, and I find its preciousness in everyday life, probably because of some glimmer Wendell Berry has inspired in me.

He has been my spirit guide, the person who is spiritual in daily life because he brings nature into everything and reminds us of its preciousness, and warns us when we fall out of balance with it.

I sit in my shack on top of the hill and take it in. If I climbed a tree, I could see the ocean. There is something in knowing that there is a distant view, and that is good enough.

Jan Buhrman lives in Chilmark.