Enjoy fast, free delivery, exclusive deals, and award-winning movies & TV shows with Prime
Try Prime
and start saving today with fast, free delivery
Loading your book clubs
There was a problem loading your book clubs. Please try again.
Not in a club? Learn more
Join or create book clubs
Choose books together
Track your books
Bring your club to Amazon Book Clubs, start a new book club and invite your friends to join, or find a club that’s right for you for free.
Download the free Kindle app and start reading Kindle books instantly on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required.
Read instantly on your browser with Kindle for Web.
Using your mobile phone camera - scan the code below and download the Kindle app.
Something went wrong. Please try your request again later.
Book recommendations, author interviews, editors' picks, and more. Read it now
About the author
Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations.
Reviews with images
This Book Is A Treasure
Few books I come across manage to convey a profound reverence for nature and life's simple pleasures. In a time when we are racing and grasping for the latest, the fastest, the trendiest, My Journey Begins Where The Road Ends, serves as a vital link to what truly matters—lasting values and relationships, appreciation for our place in the cycle of seasons, a bountiful harvest and the fruits of one’s labors. Thomas Conlan writes with the wisdom of age and the enthusiasm of a barefoot child on a summer day of outdoor exploration. He brings to mind the joy of discovery, the profound satisfaction of self-reliance. No better exemplified than by his recounting of cultivating grapes, picking them, carefully removing each stem before kneading them by hand, to transform a crop into jelly and wine. “But I have never used someone else’s grapes in my wine,” he writes—a testimony to the depth and determination of his characters. The entire book is a trove of thoughtful prose, interspersed poems, and graceful sketches, making for an aesthetically pleasing arrangement. And after some searching, I found the artwork attributable to the author’s wife of forty-four years, Glenda Catherine Conlan. Her addition is sizable to the overall effect of a book which I will surely pass around to my adult children, and wayward friends who have lost contact with the soil, with their imperative ties to Mother Earth.
Top reviews from the United States
There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.
Reviewed in the United States on April 20, 2019
Few books I come across manage to convey a profound reverence for nature and life's simple pleasures. In a time when we are racing and grasping for the latest, the fastest, the trendiest, My Journey Begins Where The Road Ends, serves as a vital link to what truly matters—lasting values and relationships, appreciation for our place in the cycle of seasons, a bountiful harvest and the fruits of one’s labors.
Thomas Conlan writes with the wisdom of age and the enthusiasm of a barefoot child on a summer day of outdoor exploration. He brings to mind the joy of discovery, the profound satisfaction of self-reliance. No better exemplified than by his recounting of cultivating grapes, picking them, carefully removing each stem before kneading them by hand, to transform a crop into jelly and wine.
“But I have never used someone else’s grapes in my wine,” he writes—a testimony to the depth and determination of his characters.
The entire book is a trove of thoughtful prose, interspersed poems, and graceful sketches, making for an aesthetically pleasing arrangement. And after some searching, I found the artwork attributable to the author’s wife of forty-four years, Glenda Catherine Conlan. Her addition is sizable to the overall effect of a book which I will surely pass around to my adult children, and wayward friends who have lost contact with the soil, with their imperative ties to Mother Earth.
Thomas Conlan writes with the wisdom of age and the enthusiasm of a barefoot child on a summer day of outdoor exploration. He brings to mind the joy of discovery, the profound satisfaction of self-reliance. No better exemplified than by his recounting of cultivating grapes, picking them, carefully removing each stem before kneading them by hand, to transform a crop into jelly and wine.
“But I have never used someone else’s grapes in my wine,” he writes—a testimony to the depth and determination of his characters.
The entire book is a trove of thoughtful prose, interspersed poems, and graceful sketches, making for an aesthetically pleasing arrangement. And after some searching, I found the artwork attributable to the author’s wife of forty-four years, Glenda Catherine Conlan. Her addition is sizable to the overall effect of a book which I will surely pass around to my adult children, and wayward friends who have lost contact with the soil, with their imperative ties to Mother Earth.
Images in this review
Reviewed in the United States on June 16, 2020
Reviewed in the United States on September 11, 2021
Reviewed in the United States on July 31, 2017
