Barn Owl Society

I was 12 when I decided girls were just as smart as boys if not smarter, we just don’t feel the need to tell everyone. Definitely not something you shout out in the 1950s unless it’s into a cave or a bottom of a ravine.

My mother, a stay-at-home mom, is very smart but my father felt her place was in the house, cooking, cleaning, organizing, looking after me and my siblings. She says she doesn’t mind as her books give her lots of places to travel and things to think about. I guess this is where my love of books came from. We both love the smell of the paper and the feel of it in our hands, always in control of when we will read the next page. Sometimes I stay up, unbeknown, to my mother to the early hours of the morning to read just one more chapter.

My mother attends a book club every Friday night, it is her only outing once a week. This is usually how I learn about new books; she shares stories and thoughts from the other women in the group. It makes me feel like I am a part of the gathering.

After begging my mother for months to attend book club night with her, I decided this week to follow her instead. I wanted one glimpse of the women we talk about; she never used their real names but in my mind, I have created images of each of them. They talk about books and current events, to see them in person, can no longer wait.

To keep things routine, I walk into my parent’s room and sit on my mother’s bed as she is getting ready. She combs her mid-length brown hair with the silver-handled brush my grandmother gave her; it is her prized possession. Dressed in a slip, she finds a long navy-blue skirt and her Sunday blouse, she tops it with a long grey sweater to keep her warm in the spring air. She pins up her hair in a bun and then she puts on a subtle amount of makeup to finish off her look. My mom is beautiful in a plain and simple kind of way. She wouldn’t be selected for a beauty contest, but she always looked smart. To finish the look, she placed her brooch of a small owl on the left just above her heart.

She bends over and kisses my forehead and in her soft voice, "be mindful of your father, watch your sister and two brothers, I will be back at nine", and with a wink and smile, she leaves. I watch her walk to the living room from the doorway, she stands behind our brown couch near the front door. The TV is on and my father relaxing in the chair, “see you later honey”, she said in a bit of a whisper not to disturb his show. “Yes, see you later dear” he replies halfheartedly.

She slipped out the door and down the walkway. I quickly put my plan in place. “Father I am going to go down the street to help Mary with her homework, I will be back around 9:00”. “Sure, Kathleen” he replied solemnly, “bye”, and with that, I headed out down the street after my mother.

She is a lot quicker than I thought, I had to move up to a sprint to catch her. when I caught up to her I watched her move from one side of the street to the other and then around the bend and up a road to a house, I have never taken notice of. The entrance was covered with a canopy of trees, lush greens, and rose bushes not quite yet in bloom, it covers the edges of the gate, it keeps the house safely tucked out of sight.

She snuck through the gate and up the winding driveway. Once I stepped past the gate and start walking up the path I could see that it was a mansion. Bright white color, two maybe three stories tall, with large black widow shutters, a grand black door with a fancy knocker, and windows as big as our front door.

My mother didn’t approach the front door though she slipped around the back to the grey barn just a few hundred feet west of the exterior of the house. Well, that’s peculiar I thought maybe this book club has a secret clubhouse. As she approached the door I slipped into the cover of the tree line, it was getting dark enough for me to melt into the shadows of the trees.

As I watched my excitement grew and then the question of how I was going to spy on this group comes to the forefront, I guess I will figure that part out when I get there. I inched my way around the trees to get a closer look.

My mother knocked on the door three times and hooted like an owl. I quickly covered my mouth to mask my laughter. My mother turned her head just as the door opened and Mrs. Riley from my school greeted her. She stepped in and for a moment I could see there were at least ten or more women in the barn from around town, The door closed and it snuffed out the light.

I make my way around to the side of the barn trying to find a gap in the woodwork. There was one small hole near the rear of the building that allowed the light through. I stepped closer to it ever so gingerly as not to snap a twig on my approach. I crouched down and placed my eye in line with the hole. Inside was the most wonderful sight, women gathered around stacks of books. One of the women from the bank, Mrs. Lawrence, was very intrigued at the selection, “Rose how did you ever collect all of these books? They have been banned for years”.

I sat back to ponder, banned books, why would my mother want to read banned books? What makes a book banned for that matter? I placed myself in front of the hole and gazed around the room for my mother. She was laughing at the back with a dear friend of hers Sarah Gallard, then Rose Brooks announced, “ladies please take a seat, thank you all for joining me tonight. As you know in the past, we have had some great books to read and those we tell our spouses about” the ladies all giggle. “But this week I am going to share with you my private collection of banned books and news articles. I can’t express the need for your discretion, so if you are uncomfortable, please feel free to leave I don’t wish to make anyone uneasy”. Mrs. Brooks paused, and no one moved. “Alright let’s get started. On the left are the books and on the right are the articles, we will break up into three groups and read silently first and then decide as a group which one to share with everyone.”

You could feel the excitement in the air as each lady went up to the table and gathered a piece of literature. They are so gentle with them you would think they were picking up newborn babies, they studied them, held them, and then landed on the one they wanted to read. Each of them stepped away and read for an hour I just sat and watched them all. Pouring over the pages like it was the last time they would ever see a word. The envy welled inside of me as I tried to read the titles, but I was too far away. I watched my mother's face, the joy she expressed spilled into my heart. I wanted to share that joy with her so desperately. Each group decided which book or acritical to read. My mother’s group was chosen first, thank goodness as I would soon have to leave before she did.

She moved to the front near the table stood up tall as she prepared to present the piece her group had chosen. With the light from the candles, and the light hanging above my mother had this glow, at this moment she made me so proud, she was doing something she loved, and I could feel the confidence come over her, she was alive. In a clear voice “Ladies these are quotes from The Sun Also Rises, by Earnest Hemmingway”. She paused between each to give them a dramatic effect;

“Don't you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you're not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you've lived nearly half the time you have to live already?”

“I did not care what it was all about. All I wanted to know was how to live in it. Maybe if you found out how to live in it you learned from that what is was all about.”

“She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after everyone else's eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth, she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things.”

The women nodded to each passage, and you could feel that this was just the tip of change, something in the air made you feel like you stepped into a secret society.

My mother pulled the book close to her chest, it touched her in a way that I could see in her eyes that was more than just words it was like she shared a piece of herself. With that, I hear a bell ring and then a door close, and I quickly jumped up, I could hear the women in the barn stirring around like bees in a honey pot through the cracks in the barn. Mrs. Brooks whispered, "hide the books and collect your church notices from Sunday". They placed themselves in a perfect position of interest and deep thought.

A gentleman began knocking at the door, I panicked and slipped into the woods just back far enough to hear Mrs. Brooks greet him at the door. “Ladies diligent as ever I see, I have brought up some tea and biscuits I hope my Rose hasn’t brought you all here without a bite to eat?”. “No darling John, the gesture is welcomed but they did all have a bite to eat before they came”. The ladies laughed lightly and thanked him. As the door shut and he made his way through the night back into the house I took one last look into the room. Their faces were a bit pale and then soon rosy with laughter. The barn owl in the rafters flew down and perched on the windowsill. “Well ladies I think this is an end to our evening the owl has spoken, please grab a biscuit on the way out”. With that, they bid each other goodnight, with hugs and smiles, gathered up their things; and slowly left one by one into the night, each with a smile and a skip in their step. I arrived ahead of my mother by sheer minutes but that is all I needed.

My pride in my mother swelled. For I knew every Friday, she was a bit daring, more educated, and had joy all her own in her Friday night book club. I nicknamed the group the Barn Owl Society. In the years to come, I would spend many Friday nights nestled outside the barn listening and learning. In my first year of college, I created my own Barn Owl Society, where we discussed difficult topics, oppression of women, minorities, rights for all, anything that gave us fire and passion. I never told my mother she inspired the group, but I would often share our stories and latest readings.

When she was close to her final days she called me to her home, she lay there with a smile she handed me her brush and owl pin. “I know daughter you will do many great things and you have learned so much, share your love of books with your children”. She reached for my hand, “thank you, Kathleen, for sharing your society with me”. “Hoot, hoot dear mother”, she laughed, touched my hand “hoot Kathleen,” she said with a sly smile, “thank you for keeping my secret”, and "thank you for keeping mine mother" we both laughed.

I think back on those nights of listening to my mother speak, it kindles hope that women could be anything and do anything they want and one day it wouldn’t have to be hidden in a barn but in the homes on my street, in the classrooms, and in politics. For women are smart, sometimes smarter than men, I guess we do need to tell everyone.