Here's an excellent compendium of Davenport's — drawing over forty years of his fiction, essays, poetry, translations and his curious personal "journals." Not to be missed.
If you can't afford the book, find a library copy, or maybe your town is still lucky enough to have a bookstore (lucky you!) and you can take part of a rainy day and curl up with the essay "Finding" on page 255. Not only will the tremendous piece read like it was written by the son Thoreau never had, and despite all the good chatter about Indian arrowheads, it's really all about developing as a writer, thinker, searcher, son, hidden away neighbor, fine-feathered human being.
I read the essay aloud this evening traveling home the back roads with Sweetheart. It felt like GD had to be in the backseat.