Windmills dominate the horizon like sunflowers in a field turning their face to the sun to catch the last rays. Blades turning slowly in an elegant dance. Driven by the wind In a stately Sarabande Powerful and silent Modern yet timeless A nod to the past, to protect the future Windmills dominate the horizon. Blades turning slowly creating electricity in an elegant dance.
The Caltowie Institute library opened on Friday afternoons and when I was very young it was run by a woman with the fascinating name of Mrs Hurdy. My brother and I called her Mrs Hurdy Gurdy although we didn’t know what a hurdy gurdy was. Mrs Hurdy was by all accounts a prudish lady and hid magazines containing images of naked or semi-naked women under her desk. We attended the library with our Grandmother who was a fan of murder mysteries, an interest I was later to share. My grandmother was an avid reader so she went weekly to change her books and she often took my brother and me with her. Most of books at the library were old and well-worn and few still had paper covers. I don’t remember the library having any children’s books. Children’s books came either from the school library or in packages from the state library children’s lending service. Later, Mrs Hurdy retired and was replaced by Sheila Graham. Sheila was single and was always known by her first name never as Miss Graham, perhaps because she was a contemporary of my Grandmother’s or alternately because there was something somewhat suspect and shameful about being a single woman in a small town in the late 1960s. I don’t remember when the library shut but I do remember being surprised by the empty front room in the Caltowie hall where the library once had been.
A woman from Regis on Lyme
Had a herb garden so fine
When there was a theft,
She was bereft,
As she had no more thyme.
A preacher who offered up praises
Often kicked up the traces
An elicit affair
led to an heir
and now he has heirs and graces