You Can't Fight Mother Nature

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Every year in the spring we begin what we call "sea gull vigilance." The idea is to keep the gulls from building their nests on the roof of the library. You can break up the nests while they are building them, but once they lay their eggs you are not supposed to disturb them until the chicks leave.

One year we didn't pay attention to what was happening on the roof--and the roof was a mess by the time the birds left. It was dirty, messy work to clean up the debris.

This year, with the end of the Elks building, the birds have been numerous and determined as they look for other nesting places. We thought we were doing really well--no nests on the roof. An observant patron, however, has pointed out that an enterprising gull has built her nest in one of the planters on the west end of the library. It's not much of a nest, but there are eggs in it, so she's there to stay for a while. I took some photos of the mother and the nest (such as it is).

The Big Read

I've been thinking a lot about reading these days. One reason is because I've been cleaning out my father's house. He died in January, and his house is full of books. When he retired about 30 years ago he began frequenting used book stores and library book sales. He was interested almost exclusively in mysteries, and mostly older mystery writers. He kept a handwritten catalog of his purchases, organized by author, so he wouldn't duplicate something he already had in his collection. At one point, everything was on shelves, alphabetized by author. But soon his collecting obsession overtook the available shelf space. So he added more shelves, and when those were full he put shelves into his seldom used workshop. Finally, he just left them in boxes on the floor. I don't think he can ever have read most of what he bought, although I don't know that. I do know that about a year ago my husband had read about an old mystery that intrigued him. He asked Dad if he had heard of it--and even though my father was not well and his memory was failing, he said he thought he actually owned it. And he was right. And even better, he knew where it was.

My father was almost always reading something, until the very last weeks of his life. When I think of him now, it's with a book in his hand and a cup of coffee or glass of wine by his side. As his health declined he stopped reading books, but continued to read newspapers and magazines. I think I can trace his physical and mental decline by the length of what he chose to read, although I didn't think about it that way at first.

He loved his family, but seldom seemed to feel the need for much conversation away from the dinner table. He enjoyed sitting among us, reading a book for his book club, or just for pleasure. I think you could truly say that he would almost always rather be reading. So I think of him as I go through his library. The family has all gone through it, and picked books we will add to our collections. And there is so much left. It's plenty dusty, and most of it is not great literature--but it made him happy to buy these books, read them, and have them around him. I've found his "catalog," and think I will keep it, even as I disburse many of the books he spent some much time accumulating.

The book cover on this post is just one of his many treasures, and I thought I would share it with you just because it tickled me to come across it.