The Snowy Owl (August 2)

One spring day Robbie and his grandmother returned to the cottage from a ramble along the edge of the Wash…

“We slipped quietly into the living room. The hearth gave off precisely the right warmth for an early May afternoon. A roll-your-own smouldered between my grandfather’s dozy fingers. On his lap I saw a spreadeagled Bruce Graeme novel. Granny reached out and rescued the cigarette. He opened his eyes as if he had never nodded off.

“‘You’re back. Was there anything?’

“‘Tell him, Robbie. You saw it first.’

“‘An owl in a tree by the water. I think it was sleeping.’

“‘A snowy owl. Like that time in the old days. Remember? I wish you’d been with us out there, dear.’

“‘Well, we’ll make a note. Good for you, Robbie.’

“He stood up to open an elderly loose-leaf ledger. As long as I could recall, it had occupied a prominent place on the fireplace mantel. … In it he recorded the date of all manner of notable events: a summer hailstorm, a wounded gull in the lee of the cottage, or an unusually early frost. And each spring he documented the re-appearance of leaves, plants, flowers, and migrating birds. The owl was duly registered.”

Providence Point, pp. 90-91

In this age of computers and digital communication, it might seem that record-keeping should be simpler and more efficient than ever, but apparently not. The days of the personal diary are long past, along with the era of respect for carefully preserved memories. So much of what we experience is forgotten for lack of ever being written down.

All the same, there may be exceptions. Does anyone you know still adhere to the practice of keeping a journal? The comment section might be a good place to offer them well-deserved recognition.

(Illustration generated by AI)