Tag Archives: Books

Epilogue: New Free Book Bench

by Woody

Woody’s award-winning novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Let me begin by borrowing the signature phrase of the late, great radio broadcaster Paul Harvey, “And now the rest of the story…”

Two weeks past in this space I shared the tale of a unique bench I happened upon while out for a run on a woodchip path in Redondo Beach. Situated in the shade of trees, with the salty perfume of the nearby ocean in the air, what made this bench special was that three mornings in a row I found a single book, different each day, resting on the wooden slat seat and bearing a Post-It Note reading: “Free! Good Book. Enjoy Me!”

The first two offerings – “Tuesdays With Morrie” and “Angela’s Ashes,” good books indeed – I had already read. The third book, on the final day of my visit, “The Old Man by the Sea” by Domenico Starnone – not to be confused with Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea” – was new to me so I took it.

I also took away something else: inspiration to leave a free book on a bench for someone to take and enjoy.

And I knew the perfect bench.

It is about a mile, as the crow flies, from my front door and indeed has crows – and hawks and hummingbirds, osprey and owls, gulls and geese, on and on, even an occasional golden eagle – flying overhead, for the bench is in Ventura’s Harmon Canyon Preserve.

More specifically, this bench is a five-minute stroll from the preserve’s Foothill Road entrance, a relatively flat walk on a dirt pathway wide enough for hikers and trail runners and mountain cyclists. Tucked around a bend, and northwestward facing, it is an idyllic spot to sit and watch the sun set behind the foothills. Directly behind the bench is a sycamore tree, too young now to provide shade, but one day, Nature willing, it will grow into a Joyce Kilmer poem and afford a canopy of coolness to those who find respite here.

All of which is to say this is a most lovely bench, as it must be, for it is a memorial for a most lovely person, Suz Montgomery, who five years ago at age 73 succumbed to cancer after a lengthy courageous battle.

Not long ago, after a long fundraising effort, Suz’s Bench became a reality and a dedication ceremony was held with nearly a hundred family members and friends – Suz had a magical gift of making the latter feel like the former – gathering during a sunset that was so gorgeous it made you think Suz was somehow responsible, once more making those who loved her smile.

Suz’s Bench has become one of my favorite sanctums, a place to escape the busyness of life, a place to savor fresh air and postcard scenery and listen to avian symphonies and watch birds float on updrafts like feather kites and, of course, a tranquil place to read.

Inspired by the free book bench on the woodchip running path in Redondo Beach, I have started leaving books now and again on Suz’s Bench, one at a time, each with a Post-It Note: “Free! Take Me! Enjoy!” Because my dear friend died before my debut novel “The Butterfly Tree” was published, it was my wistful first offering.

I hope the recipients have enjoyed these token tomes and that other hikers follow in kind in giving so this becomes the littlest of Little Free Libraries – Suz’s Free Book Bench – because I think she would have liked that.

“And now you know,” as Paul Harvey would conclude, “the rest of the story.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

“Free! Very Good! Read Me!”

by Woody

Woody’s award-winning novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Good books can help you run away from wherever you are, but the reverse happened to me a short while ago: running brought me to good books.

Here is how it happened…

While spending a few days visiting my son’s family in Redondo Beach, I went for my daily run on a local woodchip path that is popular for good reason as it so near the ocean as to carry salty perfume in the air and furthermore is amply lined on either side by trees whose canopies form a tunnel of shade.

The pathway stretches for some four miles in a park-like median between two heavily trafficked roads. The cross streets are few and far between and not very busy, sans just a couple with stoplights, making the soft trail idyllic for clearing the mind and getting lost in one’s thoughts without worrying about four-wheeled vehicles.

Along the footpath are numerous wooden benches, all on the eastern side and facing toward sunset, most with memorial plaques on the backrests. On this recent morning, azure-skied and summertime-warm by 10 o’clock, one of the benches caught my attention. Specifically, I noticed a book resting on the slatted seat, all alone, its owner apparently having stepped away for a moment or, perhaps, accidentally forgot it behind entirely.

Curious of its title, but not so much so as to stop and look, I continued on my way without pause, enjoying the ease and rhythm of my stride, enjoying the sunshine, enjoying the shared company of numerous flitting monarch butterflies here and there as well as more than a few other runners plus many, many walkers. The latter were generally side-by-side in pairs, friends with slight spacing between them as they talked; couples closer together holding hands; moms pushing strollers; folks with dogs on leash; and, most memorably, an elderly woman alongside a younger man – her son perhaps, or a healthcare aide – lovingly helping her take a slow stroll using a wheeled walker that did not roll well at all on the woodchips.

After reaching the path’s distant endpoint, I turned around and headed back whence I began and when I came to the bench again the abandoned paperback was still there. Curiosity now got the better of me and I stopped, stepped close enough to see its title – Mitch Albom’s “Tuesdays With Morrie,” a memorable book I read years ago – then quickly resumed my run.

Next day, same path, same bench, but a different orphaned book: “Angela’s Ashes” by Frank McCourt. Newspapers discarded in public are common, even today as newsprint editions become more rare, but an abandoned book brings to mind a lost puppy in need of rescuing. Looking around and seeing no likely owner, only fellow runners and walkers and dogs, I picked up the hardback edition and on the back cover found a blue Post-It Note: “Free! Good Book. Enjoy Me!”

Having already read this Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir, I left it for someone else to find and enjoy for it is indeed a good book. The curator of this Little Free Library Bench was two-for-two in my eyes.

Third day in a row on these knee-friendly woodchips, my last run of this visit, I was greeted by an abandoned hardcover I initially thought was Ernest Hemingway’s quintessential “Old Man and the Sea” but in a beat realized it was actually “The Old Man by the Sea” by Domenico Starnone. Another blue sticky note read: “Free! Very Good! Read Me!”

Intrigued, I jogged off with it in hand.

Epilogue: It lived up to its Post-It Note review.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Books, Butterflies, Botanical Beauty

by Woody

Woody’s award-winning novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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The most wonderful thing happened when I was four years old, so thrilling it imprinted as one of my very first memories that to this day remains golden as a summer sunrise, so life-changing it planted the seed for becoming a writer – for before one becomes a writer, he or she must first be a reader.

Before I even entered kindergarten, my mom took me to the local public library to get my very own library card, which goes a long way in telling you I had a masterpiece mother.

While I cannot remember the first book I checked out, the first unforgettable one was “Where The Wild Things Are.” Week after week, I re-re-re-checked out this illustrated treasure by Maurice Sendak until the librarian finally told me I needed to return Max and his wild creature friends for other kids to enjoy.

So it was that my love affair with libraries began, a romance that has grown and not diminished six decades later, for I agree with the great author Pat Conroy who once noted: “I was born to be in a library.”

His and my enchanted experiences seem to be the norm, not the exception. Indeed, it is rare to meet an adult who does not fondly recall going to the library as a child.

Long before he became a silver-screen storyteller, Robert Redford was a storybook reader, having recalled before his recent passing: “I don’t know what your childhood was like, but we didn’t have much money. We’d go to a movie on Saturday night, and then on Wednesday my parents would walk us over to the library. It was such a big deal, to go in and get my own book.”

Public libraries remain a big deal, and a free deal, providing not just books at no charge but also Wi-Fi and, here in Ventura County in the summertime when school is out, free lunches for kids, and so much more. For example, in addition to enjoying listening to storytimes, my young granddaughters love reading aloud to therapy dogs at the library.

“I discovered me in the library,” said author Ray Bradbury and I feel likewise. It is fair to say I would not be a journalist, nor have authored the novel “The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations,” if I had not been a library-goer.

As the title suggests, butterflies and botany are woven into its pages; additionally, a public library has a meaningful role; thus, I am especially honored to be a speaker and have a book signing at the “Books, Butterflies & Botanical Gardens” fundraiser benefiting the Ventura County Library Foundation on October 19, noon to 4 p.m. (For tickets or to be a sponsor: https://bit.ly/4gmQXVP )

My daughter Dallas Woodburn, an award-winning YA author who got her first library card, also at age four, at the bygone H.P. Wright Library, will join me as we discuss writing and reading, favorite authors and books, and such.

Also, Jana Johnson, a renowned conservation biologist, will discuss the two-decade-long recovery efforts to save the critically endangered Palos Verde blue butterfly.

Ventura’s Botanical Gardens afford a lofty panoramic postcard scene of our slice of paradise – ocean, iconic pier, islands, mountains – worthy of mailing to the most beautiful locales on earth to make the recipients a little envious. And yet the views inside any public library surpass this or even Yosemite Valley at its Ansel Adams’ best because the books in the stacks can take you anywhere and everywhere in the world – and beyond, to worlds only imagined.

Thanks, Mom!

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Part II: My Top Top-Shelf Book

by Woody

Woody’s debut novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Picking up where I left off last week in answering the question, “What is my favorite book that I own?”

While my previously mentioned 1885 first edition, seconding printing, of “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” is monetarily the most-valuable volume in my Favorite Books Bookcase, a short stack gifted by friends and family are more priceless to me largely because they were thoughtful presents.

While my very favorite of favorites will surely come as a surprise, it is no surprise that “Wooden: A Lifetime of Observations and Reflections On and Off the Court” by John Wooden is on the elite shelf. This little blue book is big-time special because of the story behind it: when I politely told Coach I would instead buy my own copy because he had already given me too many gifts on previous visits, he grinned wryly and said he could not very well give it to someone else because he had already inscribed it to me…

…but, after a moment’s reflection, Coach encouraged me to go ahead and buy a second copy and give it to a friend for no reason.

Writers who, like Coach Wooden, have made friendship a fine art with their own gift books now residing on my special shelf include Ken McAlpine, Roger Thompson, Mimi Herman, Geoffrey Simpson, Jacinda Townsend, Tom Hoffarth, Tavis Smiley, and Chuck Thomas.

Dog-eared paperbacks of “The Old Man and the Sea” and “Travels With Charley” have brought me great reading joy, but “good” condition hardcover first editions as gifts from my daughter make her Old Man’s heart Travel to the moon.

So dearly do I love “The Snow Goose,” which I have read a dozen times at least, that I gifted myself a volume signed by its author, Paul Gallico. Still, my favorite copy of this little-known 58-page novella is a 1941 first edition, its pricey value multiplied many times over because my friend Nick Sarris searched it out as a gift.

While first editions and signed title pages are indeed special, emotional provenance is no less so. Hence, three muddy-moss-colored cloth-covered obviously often-read hardbacks by John Steinbeck are exceptional beauties to my eyes because they were long-ago treasured by the father of my college dorm pal Mikey Weinberg-Lynn, who wanted me to have the family heirlooms because of my great admiration for the author.

Similarly, an age-worn collection of “The Bedtime Story Books” series by Thorton W. Burgess that belonged to my dad as a boy reside in my Favorite Books Bookcase.

But my all-time top top-shelf book is not a storybook, although it does indeed have myriad marvelous color illustrations; nor is it a novella or novel.

Rather, it is a textbook, placemat-sized and thick as “Ulysses” at more than 500 pages, and heavy as a cinder block because of the glossy paper throughout. The black hardcover, especially its spine, shows the wear from countless late-night study sessions, three successive generations in fact, for the book originally belonged to my grandfather Ansel, whose name is on the first inside page, then my father, and in turn my eldest brother – doctors all.

Why in the world would “An Atlas of Anatomy” by J. C. Boileau Grant, a 1947 second edition, be my most cherished book? Because two days before my big brother passed away – exactly a year ago this week – during my very last bedside visit with him, Jimmy gave it to me along with these whispered final words:

“You’ve been a great little brother.”

And so it is that I learned, on page 440, about orifice of naso-lacrimal duct – the tear duct.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

This Favorite Book Will Surprise You

by Woody

Woody’s debut novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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“What’s your favorite book?” I was asked the other day, a simple question that is calculus-difficult to answer.

Hemming a moment, I finally replied I would need to think about it. Now I have, long and happily, retreating a lifetime into memory back to my first favorite book that I checked out of the library myself, at age 5, “Where The Wild Things Are,” and then browsing forward through a hundred books that each merit a color in my rainbow of all-time favorites.

Scarlet or violet or gold or…?

“The Old Man and the Sea” or “The Grapes of Wrath” or…?

I decided to reframe the conundrum to: What is my favorite book I own? My answer, without question, will surprise you.

Let me begin by sharing a handful of contenders that share a shelf of honor in my Favorite Books Bookcase. This includes the full collection – three novels, four short story collections, one children’s book – by my all-time favorite writer, with no apologies to John Steinbeck: my daughter, Dallas.

Proving truth in the aphorism to not judge a book by its cover, monetarily the most valuable book I own has a hardback front and back that only a mother – or perhaps great-great-grandmother – could love, for it looks like gaudy red-pink-gold-green-and-white patterned wallpaper from the 19th Century. The spine, however, of rich brown leather with gilt lettering tells a different tale: “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” It is a first edition, second issue (with a few corrections) published in 1885.

Ol’ Huck is not the oldest book on my special shelf. That honor, by a mere year, goes to a poetry collection titled “Red Letter Poems.” It is a handsome illustrated edition with a white leather cover protecting 647 gilt-edged pages, but its true value is in having been passed down on my mother’s side of the family.

And yet the favorite book of poetry I own is small and slim, at just 20 pages, with a cover that looks like it was once left outside through a full winter. No matter, “From Snow To Snow” by Robert Frost is dear to me because a college class studying the four-time Pulitzer Prize winner’s works partially inspired me to become a writer. Further making this 1936 first edition, first printing, all the more dear is the pencil signature inside, dark and clear, albeit a little shaky, in the author’s hand.

Nonetheless, my most-prized Pulitzer honoree’s signature is on the title page of “The Sporting World of Jim Murray” – “Keep swinging! Jim Murray” he penned – that I found in a used bookstore in Twentynine Palms for all of $6.50 according to the penciled price inside the cover. That was in 1982, my rookie year in journalism, and a few years before I would meet my sportswriting hero in person in a press box.

Even more precious, even though it is unsigned, is a 1936 edition of “Roget’s Thesaurus of English Language In Dictionary Form.” The dirty-red, well-worn cloth cover is nothing to look at – until you take a closer look. In the lower right corner, imprinted in small gilt letters, it reads JIM MURRAY and was gifted to him by Roget’s.

Making this Thesaurus more cherished – also: loved, beloved, precious, special – is that Jim’s widow gifted it to me in honor of his and my friendship.

Indeed, being gifts is a theme that makes a handful more books in my Favorite Books Bookcase truly priceless to me – none more so than my surprising answer as my No. 1 fave, which I will reveal in this space next week.

Dear New Graduates, Be ‘Stonecatchers’

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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With graduation season upon us, I would like to share with the Classes of 2025 an excerpt from my novel “The Butterfly Tree.”

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“Where’re we going, Grandpa?”

“It’s a surprise,” Tavis told his nine-old twin grandsons riding in the backseat.

“Give us a hint,” Moswen pleaded.

“What’re we gonna do when we get there?” Lemuel joined in.

“Catch stones,” Tavis said, sunshine in his voice. “You’re gonna be Stonecatchers.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Lem said warily.

“And fun!” Mos animatedly added.

Tavis glanced in the rearview mirror at the boys; their smiles contagiously jumped to his lips.

“Grandpa, are you a Stonecatcher?”

“I try to be,” Tavis said.

“Do you catch the stones with a baseball mitt?”

“We didn’t bring our mitts.”

“You won’t need your baseball gloves,” Tavis assured.

“Who throws the stones?”

“Do they throw ’em hard?”

“Are the rocks big?”

The questions came like pitches in an automated batting cage with too little time between for answers.

“Time out, time out!” Tavis interrupted. “Listen up and I’ll tell you all about the mysteries of being a Stonecatcher.”

Mos and Lem leaned forward against the restraint of seatbelts, eager to hear a magical tale.

“Stonecatchers don’t actually catch stones,” their grandpa began. “Well, I suppose a long, long time ago they did and that’s where the name comes from. When someone hurled a stone at a person who was unable to defend him or herself, the Stonecatcher jumped in and caught the flying rock.

“But nowadays a Stonecatcher is someone who helps another person who is defenseless or in need – like protecting them from a bully, or buying a homeless person a meal, or donating blood to save someone who’s ill. You can think of a Stonecatcher as a Good Samaritan.

“Lem – Mos – you boys come from a long proud heritage of Stonecatchers.”

“We do?” they said in stereo.

“Oh, yes,” Tavis resumed. “Your many greats-great-grandfather, Dr. Lemuel Jamison, was a Stonecatcher who adopted identical twins when they lost their mother and father. He had actually saved the twins’ lives when they were born and thus they were named Jamis and Lemuel – your namesake, Lem – in his honor.

“Those twins’ real father, Tamás – that’s where your middle name comes from, Mos – was a Stonecatcher by helping your five-times-great-grandfather, Sawney Jordan, escape from slavery on the Underground Railroad. Sawney, in turn, was a fearless Stonecatcher because he swam into bullet fire trying to rescue Tamás who had been shot.

“Yes, the Jamisons and Jordans have been filled with Stonecatchers. Your Grandpa Flynn was a Stonecatcher for America in the Vietnam War. And Grandma Love was a Stonecatcher for your daddy when he was young and lost and needed a roof over his head – and, most of all, needed some love.

“I’m definitely proud of the Stonecatchers your parents are. They’re always helping others in big ways and little ways – sometimes it’s the small acts that turn out to be the biggest ones.

“For example, it’s hard to imagine a simple Hello, how’re you doing today? being important. But to someone who’s having a bad day, that small gesture can mean the world.

“I read a story about a boy who was planning to run away from home because he had no friends. That very day at school, during lunch, a classmate saw him sitting off by himself and went over and ate with him. They had a nice conversation and the dejected boy changed his mind because he no longer felt so lonesome. You see, being a Stonecatcher doesn’t always require bravery – sometimes kindness is all that’s needed.

“Mos – Lem – I expect you boys to be Stonecatchers. I want you to go sit with the person who’s all alone. I want you to cheer for the teammate who rarely gets off the bench. I want you to stand up to the bully who picks on others.

“And right now, I want you to help me paint the kitchen for a lovely elderly lady. Her name is Jewell. That’s how we’ll be Stonecatchers today.”

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Dear newly minted graduates, as you venture out into the world and pursue your dreams, please be Stonecatchers along the way.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Toasting My Favorite Books This Year

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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“Do you want sixteen ounces?” the waitress at a local craft brewery asked. “Or twenty?”

“Sixteen’s good,” I said before Gary Tuttle, my happy hour companion, followed with his ale selection, specifying: “I’ll have the twenty.”

When in Rome – or drinking with a long-distance legend who surely wore Adidas Rom running shoes in the 1960s: “Make mine a twenty, too,” I revised.

“Then I want twenty-four ounces,” Gary interjected playfully…

…and yet, in a nutshell, the humorous interaction unveils the serious competitive spirit that made Ventura’s native son a two-time NCAA steeplechase champion, three-time American record holder, and runner-up finisher in the prestigious Boston Marathon.

A new book that prominently features Gary throughout – “Running Behind The Redwood Curtain” written and compiled by Vince Engel – has a gem of a story that pairs perfectly with our beer orders. It took place Gary’s senior year at Humbolt State and, edited slightly for space, here is how he tells it in the pages:

“At 9:30 p.m., as I was preparing for bed, Vince made an announcement: ‘It’s the end of January and I have been sneaking daily peeks at your (Gary’s) running diary. For the first time in our five years of running together, I have tallied more miles in a month than you. I have one more mile total – I finally beat you in total mileage for the month.’

“I said nothing, but after a glance at the clock I began to put on rain sweats and running shoes. Vince’s smug smile turned to chagrin as he stammered, ‘What are you doing?’ I replied, ‘I’m going for a two-mile run in the rain – January has two and a half hours remaining.’

“Vince, with a worried smile, responded: ‘It’s pointless – I will just run with you, we will get wet and cold for no good reason, and I will still have one more mile than you.’

“I replied, ‘Darn, you’re right. I guess I will run hard for all two hours and thirty minutes left in January. I just need to beat you by over one mile to win the mileage – you are the middle-distance runner, I’m the distance man, so you know I will do it. Be prepared for the toughest run of your life.’

“By now Vince is getting very upset with me. ‘Can’t you just let me win once?’ he said.

“I said, ‘Nope. Are you coming?’ ”

After running the two extra miles needed, alone in the rain, Gary stayed up guarding their front door until midnight to make sure Vince didn’t sneak out to one-up him. Tuff plus mettle equals Tuttle.

While “Running Behind The Redwood Curtain” is not for everyone, hardcore running fans, and especially fans of Gary Tuttle whose storytelling highlights the 459 pages, will definitely enjoy it.

Of the 59 other books I crossed the finish line reading in 2024, here are my top recommendations, beginning with three nonfiction home runs: “Home Waters” by John N. Maclean; “The Bookshop” by Evan Friss; and “Perfect Eloquence: An Appreciation of Vin Scully” edited and compiled by Tom Hoffart, whose own chapter introductions alone are grand slams.

On the fiction bookshelf, shamelessly I shall lead off with my own debut novel, “The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations,” sharing company alongside “The Adventures of John Carson in Several Quarters of the World” by Brian Doyle; “Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk” by Kathleen Rooney; and “A Walk in the Sun” by Henry Brown.

Also, “Water for Elephants” by Sara Gruen; “Horse” by Geraldine Brooks and “The Horse” by Willy Vlautin; “Wandering Stars” by Tommy Orange and “Night Came With Many Stars” by Simon Van Booy; “North Woods” by Daniel Mason and “Kingdom in the Redwoods,” a middle-grade novel by Keven Baxter; and “Kunstlers In Paradise” by Cathleen Shine.

Bookend thin-paged offerings that measure up big are “Until August” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and “Crossing Delancey” by Susan Sandler.

Lastly, let me raise a toast – with 20 ounces, not 16 – to my runner-up and favorite novels I read this year: “James” by Percival Everett and, with understandable bias and unimaginable pride, “Before & After You & Me” by my daughter Dallas Woodburn.

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“Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” ends soon! New sports balls can be dropped off through Dec. 13, or online orders delivered to, Jensen Design & Survey at 1672 Donlon St. in Ventura, 93003. Please email me about your gifts at woodywriter@gmail.com so I can add your generosity to this year’s tally and acknowledge you in a future column.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Part 2: The Man Who Loves ‘Ulysses’

by Woody

My new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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There was no tinkling bell above the door. Instead, my entrance was greeted by a singsong voice as warm as a Writers’ Tears toddy: Helloooo, and where are you from?”

It was not the last music the proprietor of Sweny’s small bookshop in Dublin, Ireland, would treat me to. Shortly thereafter, he retrieved a handsome guitar and sang—in Gaelic, so I have no idea what the words meant, much like reading James Joyce can sometimes feel; yet nonetheless, again like Joyce’s prose, was lovely to the ear.

Patrick Joseph Murphy, introduced in this space two weeks past, is as Irish as his name suggests; so Irish his family founded iconic Murphy’s Stout Brewery in County Cork, some 150 miles southwest from Dublin, in 1856, its dark nectar becoming the first beer transported around the world on refrigerated ships; so Irish his accent makes you think of leprechauns.

Patrick James Murphy, proprietor of Sweny’s bookshop, in song…

In appearance, however, “P.J.”—as he prefers to go by—brings to mind America and Hollywood and “Back to the Future” movies, specifically the charismatic mad scientist, Dr. Emmett Brown, with longish wild electrified white hair and the enthusiastic verbal energy of a lightning bolt.

Also like Doc Brown, and in a nod to his fourth-great-grandfather Frederick William Sweny, who originated the store as a pharmacy in 1853, P.J. always wears a white lab coat at work. Too, on this day, P.J. wore an easy smile and a bowtie as colorful as a stained-glass window.

His family continued to own and run “F.W. Sweny & Co. Ltd. Dispensing Chemists” through 1926, at which time it remained a pharmacy in other hands until 15 years ago when it was sold to become—“Great Scott!” as Doc Brown would say in exasperation—a dispenser of upscale coffee. Unable to bear that thought, P.J., then in his late 60s, reacquired the store and turned it into a bookshop devoted solely to famed Irish writer James Joyce, who frequented the original Sweny’s and included a lengthy encounter within in his epic novel “Ulysses.”

At well over 700 pages, treading fully through the tome is the literary equivalent of climbing Mount Everest; many who begin the journey do not reach the summit—or final page. P.J. admits he quit in the early going the first time, at age 18, he set out to conquer the voluminous volume. Many years later, he tried again and succeeded, and has kept climbing as untiringly as Sisyphus ever since.

At last count, P.J. has scaled Mount “Ulysses” a staggering 73—yes, seventy-three—times! Adding to this Herculean erudite feat, he has done so in all seven languages (English, Portuguese, French, Italian, Spanish, German, Russian) he speaks, often reading aloud to groups he hosts at Sweny’s nearly every evening. Not surprisingly, he readily quotes passages from the novel at length from memory.

“I’ve earned an unofficial PhD when it comes to Mr. Joyce, I should think,” Professor P.J. noted. “I’ve read everything he wrote, though of course ‘Ulysses’ is my favorite.”

Later, during our hour-long visit, he cajoled: “After being in Dublin, you must read ‘Ulysses.’ It’s all about Dublin. After you finish it you can come back from California and we can talk about it more.”

With a wink, P.J. added a nudge: “ ‘Ulysses’ is best enjoyed with the book in one hand and a whiskey in the other.”

“That’s a lot of Jameson,” I laughingly replied, then asked for a shorter Joyce recommendation. Thus I purchased a copy of “Dubliners” that, at only 202 pages, was no threat to push my suitcase overweight as would “Ulysses.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn.

Encore Excerpt From ‘The Butterfly Tree’

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here) and orderable at all bookshops.

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A good many readers in response to the column two weeks ago excerpted from my new novel “The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations” asked for more. Who am I to argue with taking the day off? And so, from the opening chapter, an encore:

Ka-BOOM!

Thunder exploded, its volume deafening, its lightning flash brilliant as the Biblical bolt that blinded Saul, shooting down from the heavens with the earthshaking power of a million hatchet blows. The blade of electricity cleaved The Black Walnut Tree as effortlessly as a honed hunting knife slicing a stalk of celery.

A life of 231 years ended in a split-second.

The regal tree was sliced cleanly in two, from leafy crown to grassy ground, the splayed halves as identical as a left and right hand. The newly exposed surfaces seemed as if a master cabinetmaker had spent endless hours sanding, varnishing, buffing.

In death The Black Walnut Tree had been a lifesaver, shielding a clan of Roma migrants from being lanced by the thunderbolt. The ensemble, encamped along the riverbank in March 1852, had sought shelter beneath the tree’s colossus canopy—most importantly, Aisha Beswick, who was in labor with her first child. Huddled alongside Tamás, the expectant father, was Dika, Aisha’s mother and a revered fortuneteller.

Half an hour before the fateful lighting strike, as moody clouds roiled ominously darker, darker, closer, closer, Dika bemoaned, on the edge of weeping: “The peril is great for Aisha and the baby. We must fetch a doctor or they shall both die, this I know.”

Without hesitation, Hanzi volunteered for the emergency errand. The teenager, as if a descendant of the wing-footed Greek messenger god Hermes, raced two miles to town with such swiftness that the falling raindrops seemed to miss him.

*

Aisha’s contractions became more frequent, more fierce, more worrisome.

The apocalyptic sky was having its own contractions, three-hundred-million-volt flashes of lightning followed by deafening whipcracks.

“Oh, Lord, please watch over my child,” Dika said softly, head bowed, “and keep safe my precious grandbaby.”

Dika’s prayers seemed suddenly answered with Doc’s hasty arrival, but just as he set down his medical bag—

—Ka-BOOM!

The fateful thunderbolt smote The Black Walnut Tree like a mighty swing of Paul Bunyan’s giant axe. Miraculously, no one was killed by the lightning strike, nor injured by the falling twin timbers. All, however, were dumbstruck with fright.

All, except Doc.

“Gentlemen, I need you to hold a blanket overhead—like a tent,” Doc calmly directed the gathering. “We want to keep our expectant mother here as dry and comfortable as possible.”

As this was being done, Doc removed his raincoat and favorite derby hat, dropped to one knee, went to work.

Another wave of contractions washed over Aisha and she wailed loud as a thunderclap.

“Omen bad,” Dika sobbed, staring at the felled tree halves. “Two sunrises this poor child will not live to see.”

Not a believer in prophecies, Doc was deeply concerned nonetheless. His heart raced like Hanzi’s feet had for this was the first baby—the very first—Dr. Lemuel Jamison would endeavor to deliver all by himself.

Only two weeks earlier, Doc had completed a nine-month obstetrics internship at Cincinnati’s Commercial Hospital that was affiliated with The Medical College of Ohio from which he graduated top of his class.

During his internship, Doc delivered countless babies. Always, however, there had been an experienced obstetrician by his side, ready to help—or take over fully—if things turned dicey.

Things were dicey now.

And about to turn dicier.

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Excerpt from “The Butterfly Tree” by Woody Woodburn, BarkingBoxer Press, all rights reserved, now available at Amazon and other online booksellers, and many bookshops. Woody can be contacted at woodywriter@gmail.com.

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

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Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Excerpt from ‘The Butterfly Tree’

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here) and orderable at all bookshops.

“Life imitates art,” Oscar Wilde famously asserted and his words proved eerily accurate a month ago when my 97-year-old father, a surgeon turned patient, was battling cancer to the courageous end.

One night, after Pop’s breathing had grown shallower by the day and more and labored by the hour, I read him the excerpt below from my newly released novel “The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations.”

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“What I want you to promise me,” Doc said—breathe—“is that you’ll grieve only one day for me.” Breathe. “After one day, dry your eyes and focus on always remembering our good times together”—breathe—“and never forgetting how much I love you.”

Tears bathed his twin sons’ cheeks.

“There’s something I never told you”—breathe—“and probably should have,” Doc, now 83, continued weakly, pneumonia’s grip growing strong. With effort he proceeded to share the depths of his long-ago widower’s bereavement and suicide attempt, including the exploding ether bottle that awakened him the night his house burned down. “So you see”—breathe—“you boys saved my life.”

“We had no idea,” said Lemuel.

“We’ll still never say who really started that fire,” Jamis said, impishly.

“I have my suspicion,” Doc retorted, winking intimately at Jay-Jay.

Turning serious again: “As I’ve often told you, try to make each day your masterpiece. Breathe. If you’re successful doing that most days, day after day and week after month after year”—breathe—“when you get to the end of your adventure you’ll have lived a masterpiece life. Breathe. I’ve made some flawed brushstrokes, certainly, but all in all, I’m pleased”—breathe—“with my life’s painting. Yes, I feel happy and fulfilled. My only real regret”—breathe—“is that it’s all passed by so swiftly, in a blink it seems. Breathe. I feel like I did when I was a kid on the pony ride at the fair”—breathe—“I want to go around one more time.”

Jamis leaned over and hugged Doc, embracing his Pops longer than he ever had, and still it was far too brief. Lem, lightly stroking Doc’s left arm, suddenly realized the brushstroke-like birthmark resembled Halley’s Comet—The tail of a comet that Grandma warned us would bring tears, he thought.

Doc slept for most of the next two days, awaking only for short spells—including evening shaves from the town barber, Jonny Gold. Breathing became more labored as his failing lungs slowly filled with drowning fluid. During Connie’s illness long before, and again with Alycia’s not so long ago, Doc lovingly told them it was okay to “let go” rather than suffer. But he found it impossible to grant himself similar merciful permission.

Jamis and Lem gave it instead.

“Keep fighting if it’s for you, Pops,” Jamis said, his tone tender as a requiem. “But if you’re doing it for Lem and me, we’ll be okay—go be with Aly and Connie. We love you beyond all measure.”

“We’ll never forget your love,” Lem whispered, his lips brushing his namesake’s ear.

Doc opened his eyes, blue-grey like the ocean on a cloudy day, and with clear recognition grinned fragilely at Jamis, then at Lem, letting them know he heard their lovely words. His eyelids lowered shut as he squeezed his sons’ hands and whistle-hummed, almost inaudibly, before being gently spirited away.

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When I finished reading, and then echoed the twins’ words with my own, my dad opened his ocean-hued eyes, briefly; smiled, faintly; gave my hand a tender squeeze, lengthily; and death imitated art before my next visit the following day.

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            Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Excerpt from “The Butterfly Tree” by Woody Woodburn, BarkingBoxer Press, all rights reserved, now available at Amazon and other online booksellers and many bookshops. Woody can be contacted at woodywriter@gmail.com.

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