May 2025. Northern Illinois. 41° N, 88° W. Earth.
It is May 2025 and the earth is awake once again. It is time to live through another beauitiful season, with the vibrant greens and golds and the smell of evergreens and sage, and the perfume of short-lived honeysuckle flowers. And not to forget building fences to stop the rabbits from wrecking everything! How fortunate for me to live through it all another year.
So, the gardens have been planted a little early this year. When I first moved here I had one vegetable garden but in April I have added plot number seven. But alas, this is the unpredictable May and it has gone cold again.
I have had a few good days working in the hot sun and I feel alive again. But the cold and rainy days have returned and sent me back down to the cellar into the comfort of ale and books.
The dark forest awaits my evening stroll, but it’s time to start a new book so back to the cellar I’ve gone to find a suitable story for cold, dark, rainy nights.
The cellar is a reading room, bar, and library all in one.
It’s the bar here in the pub, complete with old posters that I purchased in England and Paris decades ago. The place is mostly inhabited by ghosts of the distant literary past, and myself of course and a few other sentient beings including several who walk on four legs. For a few nights there are no thoughts of sunny days, but rather a pint of ale, a hazy smoke and a mystery in the rainy evenings. This means selecting another volume from British Library Crime classics.
Fuller London Pride. (‘Pale Ale’ in the bottle or ‘Bitter’ on draft). Davidoff Winston Churchill Petite Corona, and It Walks By Night.
The British Library Press has released an alluring series of British Crime novels, from the classic period between the wars. These books are reprints of long lost and forgotten titles from the 1920s and 30s. Many of them were popular in their time but all have long been out of print. It is a collection of treasures for people who love the crime classics. The book pictured here is from the one American writer in the series, John Dickson Carr. Like several other American writers of that era he spent much time living in England, and his stories are set in England.
I love books and they have been overflowing my table until recently when I bought a new bookshelf to keep them tidy. Or, what passes for “tidy” at my house. I have many which I purchased decades ago at Barnes and Noble, and other book sellers. I miss those places. There are still bookstores in America and you can order many on-line. But older books are better quality, and bibliophiles love to collect them.
Now, I have found the best way to live is to have many interests, and preferably those which bring you great pleasure and also stimulate your imagination. And, sometimes you can learn more about the world both past and present.
But even small pleasures such as the taste of classic English ale are a treat while reading a story. This makes me appreciate my past, and what I have found along the way through life. My present good experiences make me anticipate more simple pleasures in the very near future. Say, tomorrow I hope.
Sam Smith India Ale. Classic Yorkshire Ale and my favorite.
So, I am not thinking about the slight delay in my outdoor activities now that I’ve turned my attention to the “locked-room mystery” in an old house from the distant past.
I don’t think I am very successful at guessing the criminals in these stories, as the brilliant detective always uncovers some fact which no one else could have seen. The language of that era was beautiful which is a prime reason why I read old books. But additionally, I can travel back to live in another era for a short time. Or, in this case I can make an attempt to solve a mystery. Travelling through time is a satisfying way to spend several grey and wet days in May.
After this I really do need to finish that lovely hard cover I started last year, entitled The Great Plague. What a mess that was! I can say I am relieved that my brief time of human existence was not in the 17th century where the plague victims had to be stacked outside the house front door because the church yards were full.
But until then, It Walks By Night.
The Civilized Man 