Books vs. Wild

From the center of Potsdam, NY, drive South, then east. Continue on snow-covered country roads and follow the brown wooden signs with "books" written in white paint nailed to telephone poles along the way. After a few miles, provided you don't miss a turn, you'll eventually end up at this place.

 

The BirchBark Bookshop, on the edge of the woods in Parishville, NY, is a sight to behold for a used book lover--a weathered old building (a converted barn, perhaps?) filled with 50,000 books (according to the sign by the road) neatly stacked on bookshelves held up by birch tree beams. It is a warm and cozy place, with antique chairs placed in snug corners, next to windows, and beside woodburning stoves; rough, unpainted wood paneled walls with old articles and advertisements afixed with thumbtacks; and creaky old floors.

In spite of the fact that the rate at which I buy books greatly exceeds the rate at which I read them--which means evergrowing clutter in our small apartment--for some reason, LSB tolerates my used book problem. I still don't know why she not only allows me to go to these places, but is an active participant in these excursions. She doesn't even like used books.  They don't have that new book smell she enjoys and she feels like a voyeur if she sees something that a previous owner may have written inside the cover (i.e. "Carl, may this book remind you of our trek through Lapland so many years ago..."). 

I've had good luck at the BirchBark. In the past, I've picked up a copy of an interesting, and beat up, Paul Theroux book, and a rare book from my favorite Polish writer (doesn't everyone have a favorite Polish writer?) Tadeusz Konwicki. On this trip, I found Walking Words, by Eduardo Galleano. LSB was even tempted to buy a hefty and worn, leatherbound copy of A History of St. Lawrence County from a period in the 1800's, but the $150 price tag gave her pause, even though the stories of 19th century life in the NoCo were so compelling.

While Progress may have consumed my sand pit, I'm thankful that, for now at least, this little anomally has been spared by our modern world. In fact, it has even expanded: BirchBark books now fill the top floor of a hardware store in Potsdam and a odd little cafe/travel center in Canton even has a few shelves.
Long live the North Country!