GINKO

Our town's pubic library, a building expanded by a generous oilman donor, was originally a Carnegie building when another more famous, more generous man gave to erect libraries all across the country.

It was a stereotypical library, brick with lots of good smelling old wood. Also good smelling old books. Not like the dust in antique shops selling old books. Not like mildewed paper or whatever that universal smell of old book shops emanate. This smell was almost aromatic. It was the smell of knowledge.

I know that doesn't help. But sometimes great smells are hard to define. Hard to delineate, to separate from the not good smells. Campfires are another example. Just don't throw an old elm branch on it, if there's even one to be found anymore. Black oak is another wood that doesn't send off a good smell.

But besides that, the library had a ginko tree in the front yard. It was a gift from some Chinese dignitary that had visited years prior and had brought along a small tree. It grew into a whopper. Science classes all knew where to score a great leaf for their collection. Unfortunately a storm felled the tree about a decade ago.

The last time I visited the library, there was a different smell gone, too. It smelled more like an office with all the computers in the basement where they house a great genealogy department. Useful, I'm certain.

But something was lost. Besides the great tree.