by Mitch Lee
November has always been the month that I find myself reading more books than any other month of the year. I suppose it’s because it’s an in-between season sort of month when it is too chilly outside to enjoy without snow and most often too wet to hike the woods.
As an eight-year-old boy, it seemed to take nearly the whole month for my body to adjust to the frigid air and blustery winds.
Starting in my grade school years I would eagerly await the arrival of the Bookmobile.
That great traveling library bus brought new and exciting works of literature right to our school.
We had the chance to peruse the bookshelves filled with books that appealed to many interests.
Most importantly we could request books on subjects we thought we might like.
It was like Christmas morning each time the maroon and white Bookmobile pulled up in front of the school.
Behind the library travel desk were stacks of books that my fellow Inlet schoolmates had requested.
Each stack was strapped with a thin piece of canvas and labeled for each grade level.
I stood on my tiptoes as the library lady unbuckled the stack and pulled the blue cards out to show me five or six books on buildings.
One, a most memorable book, was Eric Sloane’s Diary of an Early American Boy, and another book by Sloane, A Museum of Early American Tools.
I had asked the library lady a month earlier if there were any sketchbooks by other artists so I could draw some cool stuff.
I also asked if there were any books on tools, as my friend Eddie and I were building a fort in the woods.
As I opened the books I found some of the most impressive things to sketch, pour over, and read; to this day they are almost unmatched.
Each of the books was more like a colored multi-page pamphlet than a true book. I admired the way Sloane looked at the world and recorded it.
To this day I collect his works and try to emulate his drawing style. His, however, is much more advanced than I ever achieved. And it was all inspired by a visit by a large maroon and white bus.
November is still the season of reading. I find myself curled up in a quilt with a book in hand and three or four more on the end table beside me.
Now that I am older I squint a bit and move a lamp close.
I read for an hour or two and reflect on what I read, sometimes making research notes or hopping on the web to discuss it with others who are reading it or have previously read it.
The weather outside is still too chilly to get used to.
The books I like are harder to procure, as most are original diaries from the 1770’s.
And while I stir my tea pausing between chapters for a sip, I still wish the old Bookmobile would show up in my driveway.
I would climb the three steps and stand on my tiptoes looking over the counter wondering what might be in the stack of books labeled for me.
—
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com