The Ghost of Five Owl Farm: How one nine year old single-handedly paid for the refurbishment of the Malden Public Library

Just yesterday I found myself cornered in the Queen Anne bookstore in Seattle by two eager, wide-eyed children. There was a small crowd looking on; two retired grandmas, one stay at home dad, one precocious two year old toddler and a middle aged woman who bore a strange resemblance to Dr. Teeth from the Muppets. I could feel the sentiment from the crowd, and they weren’t on my side. “Mom,” one of my children started bargaining, “If you let me buy this book, I will pay you three dollars toward it.” I broke into a sweat; I knew what the crowd was thinking, What’s wrong with this woman, why won’t she buy her children a couple of books? I retaliated rather loudly, “We just bought a bunch of books in Portland on Wednesday,” which happened to be 100% true. “But we already finished those books mom,” my other child chimed in, which also happened to be 100% true. Four or five chapter books purchased on Wednesday had been devoured in the course of a three hour train ride, a couple of hours of downtime and finally a forty minute ferry ride. Even with this new insight, the crowd, showed no mercy as they silently chided this low-class mom who refused to buy her children books. Still, I knew that by the time the weekend was over, my dear children would have read through the two books in hand and then what? If only there was a place that you could take a book, read it, and then bring it back when completed. But where on Earth would that be?

Oh come now, I know what you’re thinking. You are suggesting the library aren’t you? Well, believe me, I love the library, truly, I do. It’s just, well, things are complicated between us. There’s a long history between Aimee Decker Allen and the public libraries of the U.S.A. In hindsight it was a doomed relationship from the start, costly and filled with loss. Still we have had some fine moments, but let’s not play games; you aren’t interested in the good times. You are here to learn of the anguish. Here goes. The real heart ache began in 1982. The details are painful and you needn’t know everything, but let’s just say the incident consisted of, among other things, two unhappy parents, one extremely unkempt bedroom, one threatening yellow slip from the Malden Public Library, one bewildered nine year old and the callous judgment of Mr. Phil Collins transmitted via In The Air Of Night on the family record player.

Up until this point, I loved the library and frequented it often. It was, and still is, arguably the most beautiful building in my home town. It was built in the 1800s and housed thousands of books, encyclopedias and even art work. The library also catered to kids with a huge children’s section taking up the entire bottom floor. I loved that place. As a general rule when checking out books I was allowed two or three. I believe this was a library rule, but it could have been a parental one, not sure. One visit, for some reason, I chose to get only one book and that was a book called The Ghost of Five Owl Farm, even though it was a little dark for my usual taste. I can still see the cover, a purple book with some menacing owls on it. I brought the book home, but it didn’t keep my interest. I set it down in my room one afternoon and that was that. Who knows where the book journeyed after that. Perhaps, the toy box, under the bed, my closet, another room? No matter, in the Decker household The Ghost of Five Owl Farm was forgotten, that is until months later, the library notice… Let me cut to the chase, even after my dad, who has a talent of finding absolutely anything, combed through my bedroom and then the entire house, The Ghost of Five Owl Farm was nowhere to be found. A true mystery.

Remember I was nine when this happened so some details are sketchy, but what I know for sure is my library card was suspended. Though my parents and every other adult on Earth have refuted this claim, I am pretty sure I paid a nickel a day, plus interest, for the next 14 years, paying all my fines off just in time for the Malden Public Library to open their multi-million dollar addition in 1996. Coincidence? I think not. I’m a Gen Xer and I know a conspiracy when I see one.

My story should stop here, lesson learned. But it doesn’t. I just can’t seem to break the pattern. More libraries, more overdue books, more yellow slips, more revoked library cards, more shame, more shame, more shame! Yet I still go back- a new town, a new library. I applied for cards in many libraries and to my surprise each time, I was approved. But part of me always feels an imposter. I alternate library entrances, sometimes I go with the head tuck/eyes averted approach. Other times, I try to bluff them, making eye contact. But they know, oh those wise librarians know. They can spot a girl like me a mile away. Right before I push open the library doors they are probably saying things like “Hey Trudy, bolt down the classics, here comes another riff-raff.” The smart librarians, though, I’m talking the really shrewd ones, they welcome girls like me, they say things like “Never mind on that bake sale Franny, this little hot shot’s going to be paying for story hour for the next three years!” (Feel free to insert a cackle here, I know Trudy and Franny would). They’ve got my number. Oh yes they do, filed away in that covert code they call the Dewey Decimal System.

Nowadays things have gotten simpler. When I have an overdue book, I get a gentle reminder from the library. One of the libraries I belong to even allows you to renew on-line and pay your fines that way, too. Sure, I still have to face the Trudies and the Frannies of the world when I do finally return those books. That’s why whenever possible I return my books to the outside slot in the cover of night. It’s so peaceful at those times, just the quiet whirr of my car engine, the chirping songs of the crickets and the slightly haunting chorus of hoots coming from Five Owl Farm.