Dear friends,
For those of you who follow our newsletter with at least a passing interest, you might recall our adventures this past spring with the old, broken down shed, and the mama raccoon who lived there. This week, we finally put together our brand new shed (which is plastic, and small, more of a tiny storage closet than a shed), and this brought to mind Mrs. Raccoon. We couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her.
This meant a visit to the river flats, where we had a chance to chat with old Orville, a beaver who sells books out of the dry upper echelons of his elaborate dam, which he has successfully disguised as a pretty, heritage designated bridge for many years. The spot has been passed down through generations of beavers who took up the task of selling books to the local population of ignoramus humanoids.
Orville served us a cup of fennel tea and then avoided our questions about Mrs. Raccoon by putting piles of intriguing hardcovers and paperbacks under our noses, all of which were bought at a reasonable discount to resell this week.
He then went on to explain, after wisely securing our funds via e-transfer, that Mrs. Raccoon and her brood had ventured far across the downtown core to the East Village, where they knocked on the door of our poet friend, Tom Cull, who also works as an environmental activist and conservationist. He brought them inside and, taking a note from Orville, had them listen to a lengthy reading from his latest published selections of verse before telling them he knew the perfect spot for them to find a happy home. He drove them even further east, to a safe spot in a happy grove where they could eschew the sunlight and come out at night to feast on a fortuitous pocket of wild foragery—mushrooms, berries, and the like—and scoop fish out of the river with their tiny paws at an inlet that acts as a natural trap on a northern branch of the Thames.
Mrs. Raccoon was dismayed not to have any handy, unlocked green bins about, but had to admit, the diet was probably better for her growing kids.
Three cheers to Mrs. Raccoon. We envy her success, and think of her fondly as we tuck our lawn mower away in the confines our of new crooked shed (it’s crooked because we assembled it, and we are booksellers, not doctors, dammit Jim).
Enjoy this week’s crop of beaver-sourced New Arrivals.
Much love,
Jason & Vanessa
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