A Sand County Almanac - by Aldo Leopold

I'd been meaning to read this for a long time. It had been just sitting there on my shelf for ever so long. My husband read it decades ago, and although my intentions were always there, there was always something else I wanted to read. Now its time has finally come.

This was really a mood piece. The nature descriptions were soothing and poetic. I felt much like I was simply floating in a dream, awakened now and then by the word "library". Often this is used metaphorically. Leopold understands that landscapes, like so many things can be "read".

The autobiography of an old board is a kind of literature not yet taught on campuses, but any riverbank farm is a library where he who hammers or saws may read at will. Come high water, there is always an accession of new books.

...he who owns a veteran bur oak owns more than a tree. He owns a historical library, and a reserved seat in the theater of evolution.

        A farmer and his son are out in the yard, pulling a crosscut saw through the innards of an ancient cottonwood. The tree is so large and so old that only a foot of blade is left to pull on.                Time was when that tree was a buoy in the prairie sea. George Rogers Clark may have camped under it; buffalo may have nooned in its shade, switching flies. Every spring it roosted fluttering pigeons. It is the best historical library short of the State College, but once a year it sheds cotton on the farmer's window screens. 

    This state of doubt about the fundamentals of human population behavior lends exceptional value, to the only available analogue: the higher animals. [Paul] Errington, among others, has pointed out the cultural value of these animal analogues. For centuries this rich library of knowledge has been inaccessible to us because we did not know when or how to look for it. Ecology is now teaching us to search in animal populations for analogies to our own problems.

Perhaps, though, my favorite was this:

If I were to tell a preacher of an adjoining church that the road crew had been burning history books in his cemetery, under the guise of mowing weeds, he would be amazed and uncomprehending. How could a weed be a book?

Librarians know well that books themselves can be weeds. Our shelves are gardens, and outdated books are removed in order to make our gardens grow.

Literacy can take many forms. The ability to read, and interpret the printed word is but one. The ability to read and interpret our surroundings is another. It is a literacy that even when this book was written over 70 years ago we were losing. We have lost more ground since.

Like Rachel Carson's Silent Spring and Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass, this work uses exquisite prose to explain science to the layperson.