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I've reached the conclusion that I don't actually read books so much as I devour them. If a nibble convinces me that they're tasty, my brain opens up and swallows them whole, and they become a part of me forever. This is why I'm sometimes hard to disturb when I'm reading (witness the marathons of Harry Potter).
So. New book, just arrived Saturday. Bought it used and very cheap, though in quite excellent condition, and plowed through it yesterday. The book in question is Hawks Aloft: The Story of Hawk Mountain, by Maurice Broun.
My copy is actually the "millennial reissue" of the book, which was originally written sometime in the 1940s by Broun, who was the original warden and curator of my beloved mountain. It's sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, and always interesting. He talks about the early days of the sanctuary, how he and his wife came from New England to guard Rosalie Edge's property purchase from the hunters who for generations had climbed the mountain to pick off the migrating hawks. He pays special tribute to his wife Irma's courage in the chapter "Keeper of the Gate." He talks about the wildlife they encountered, many of the people they met, and lots of their experiences. He and his wife actually lived in a little house which has been a source of fascination to me every time I go up there; it's very obviously old, though I didn't realize just how old, and is allegedly haunted by the victims of a man who was thought to have murdered eleven people there. No evidence of these murders was ever found by the Brouns, who contended with very different "ghosts" during their tenancy.
I think the chapter about their life in that little house charmed me the most. He wrote about how they would live in the winters -- the house had no electricity, no telephone, no running water. Their only contact with the outside world on snowy days was to listen to a wireless radio. They kept chickens, and goats for milk, and they would begin preparing for their winter hibernation in May by gathering wild berries and grapes, picking fruit from their apple orchard, and laying in other supplies. Irma would can things and make jelly, and by November they would be ready to ride out the worst of Pennsylvania's winter storms. Maybe it's because this all took place so close to where I have always lived, but that whole chapter hit a satisfactory note with me.
Obviously this book will mean more to someone who has experienced Hawk Mountain than to someone who hasn't, but if you have any interest in the pioneer days of the conservation movement, I think you'd find this a worthwhile read. On the whole, definitely one of my better purchases off the Amazon marketplace.
So. New book, just arrived Saturday. Bought it used and very cheap, though in quite excellent condition, and plowed through it yesterday. The book in question is Hawks Aloft: The Story of Hawk Mountain, by Maurice Broun.
My copy is actually the "millennial reissue" of the book, which was originally written sometime in the 1940s by Broun, who was the original warden and curator of my beloved mountain. It's sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, and always interesting. He talks about the early days of the sanctuary, how he and his wife came from New England to guard Rosalie Edge's property purchase from the hunters who for generations had climbed the mountain to pick off the migrating hawks. He pays special tribute to his wife Irma's courage in the chapter "Keeper of the Gate." He talks about the wildlife they encountered, many of the people they met, and lots of their experiences. He and his wife actually lived in a little house which has been a source of fascination to me every time I go up there; it's very obviously old, though I didn't realize just how old, and is allegedly haunted by the victims of a man who was thought to have murdered eleven people there. No evidence of these murders was ever found by the Brouns, who contended with very different "ghosts" during their tenancy.
I think the chapter about their life in that little house charmed me the most. He wrote about how they would live in the winters -- the house had no electricity, no telephone, no running water. Their only contact with the outside world on snowy days was to listen to a wireless radio. They kept chickens, and goats for milk, and they would begin preparing for their winter hibernation in May by gathering wild berries and grapes, picking fruit from their apple orchard, and laying in other supplies. Irma would can things and make jelly, and by November they would be ready to ride out the worst of Pennsylvania's winter storms. Maybe it's because this all took place so close to where I have always lived, but that whole chapter hit a satisfactory note with me.
Obviously this book will mean more to someone who has experienced Hawk Mountain than to someone who hasn't, but if you have any interest in the pioneer days of the conservation movement, I think you'd find this a worthwhile read. On the whole, definitely one of my better purchases off the Amazon marketplace.
