Time For Honesty

You know us. We've always made a point of being positive in The Wild.

Since it opened in 2005, our store has been one built on a philosophy of inclusion, tolerance, acceptance and subsequent creativity. Our goal was to open the kind of place that would contribute to our community in a way that leaves folks better off for having experienced it.

So when the economy started to nose dive this time last year, we didn't complain. When it continued a downward spiral into the fall and we started to watch the weakening of our neighborhood's small businesses, we threw our shoulders back, determined to dig our heels in.
When the New Year came and went and people started to ask how we were doing, we smiled, nodded and explained that we're way too stubborn to let all of this get the best of us.

But from the front door of The Wild, we can now see 10 vacant storefronts. That should be relatively easy for everyone to see. It should be cause for thought about where we as a community are placing our dollars. We considered e-mailing our Wild family earlier than now, reminding folks to think of their purchases as though they were votes--votes to keep their favorite places in tact. We didn't because we didn't want to seem self-righteous or preachy.

But then came word that this week alone, at least 4 more independent bookstores are closing:
Shaman Drum Bookshop, Ann Arbor, MI; 30 years old
Conkey’s Bookstore, Appleton, WI; 113 years old
Babylon Falling, San Francisco, CA; 2 years old
Hidden Room Book Shoppe, South Haven, MI

We can place blame on the big box stores, internet competition, shrinking school budgets, weak business plans and more, but the bottom line is this: fewer and fewer people are stepping up to the counter in independent stores and spending their money. People like the idea of having independent shops in their town. And in their defense, maybe they think someone else will spend enough to keep things going. Maybe they think that most business owners must be wealthy or they wouldn't be business owners in the first place. Maybe they think that because we're always positive and energetic, things must be okay.

Whatever the justification, the truth is simple and it is this: we are the only ones who can save the independents. If we commit ourselves to being deliberate with our business, this time next year we might still be able to order our favorite dish in our favorite restaurant, pick up our favorite microbrew at our favorite neighborhood pub, grab a unique piece of jewelry at our favorite boutique, enjoy a coffee at our corner coffee shop and, yes, drop by our favorite bookstore for story time or recommendations for great reads. If we continue to chase the deepest discounts and the biggest parking lots, we will be left with big boxes, mediocre products and no service.

Sean Stewart, owner of the closing Babylon Falling, said this in his blog:
"My worry for the future of bookselling is not what people are buying or even the amount they are buying, but rather how they are buying," wrote Stewart. "The idea of the bookseller in a curatorial role as a member of the community seems to be completely foreign to a culture that demands convenience above all else."

We've lost count of the independent booksellers that have gone since the beginning of the year, two of which were in our own backyard; the number is heartbreaking.

For more information on how 1 person can make a difference visit www.the350project.net
To find out how much local businesses give back to their communities visit www.indiebound.org

Solemn Times in The Wild

On April 23, 2009, we posted the following message:

"It is with heavy hearts that we send along to you the sad news of the passing of Louise Wild, our friend and half of our famous Wild hissing cockroach duo. When we arrived in the Wild this morning, we found Louise had passed peacefully, on her back, in her sleep, during the night. Her partner and habitat mate of eight months, Thelma, survives. Louise is lying in state through Friday in The Wild. In lieu of flowers, please share a book with a child today. Louise would have wanted it that way."

Since that solemn day, we have experienced numerous ups and downs in The Wild. It seems many of our animals have struggled with the mourning process, each dealing with it in his or her own unique way. Toad, half of our fire-bellied toad couple Toad & Toad, stopped eating. He grew weak and simply sat, thinking, for days. He let himself go, refusing to bathe, even. We carefully rinsed him with warm water and talked through the grief until he began to regain his strenth. He is not 100%, but we are hopeful that he has turned a corner.

Bunnicula Dewey Booklet, the four-year-old rabbit who has called The Wild home for three years now, began a spontaneous molt. He has lost enough hair to knit a sweater. Fortunately, he appears to be nearly through the process and with the addition of extra fiber and papaya to his diet, hairballs haven't been cause for alarm.

Unfortunately, the outcome for Elvis, our giant suckerfish, was not was not so positive. Elvis came to us in April 2006, in a tank of reject fish someone had decided they no longer wanted. One by one, the motley school passed on to the big tank-in-the-sky. But not Elvis; he hung in there. We added a school of nine little mollies for him to play with. Over time, they were each called Home too. Elvis didn't let it get to him. He kept a stiff upper sucker and continued his dedicated fight against algae overgrowth. Louise's passing, however, was more than he could bear. On May 29th, he went belly-up, alone in his tank.

Feeling like you, our loyal Wild family, might think we were using the deaths of our beloved pets as cheap publicity opportunities, we decided to let Elvis's passing go unannounced. Until now. You see, yesterday we cleaned out his tank, too sad to fill it with with new fish. Instead, we dried the tank and lined it with fresh bedding. We made a little teepee of sticks and hot glue, intending to move Louise's partner Thelma into the Park Avenue of hissing cockroach habitats.

Thelma had been silent since Louise's passing. When we tried to move her, she dug her little legs in and held tight to her old bark as if to say, "just go, please, just go." We explained that a fresh start in a new place would be good for her. She hissed. It was her first hiss in weeks. We told her good-night as we closed the store for the evening.

The next morning, we checked on her first thing. She was gone. Not dead, just gone. We spent the majority of the morning looking for her. We brought in more people to search. We fanned out and tried to think like Thelma. Where would a grieving, angry, depressed hissing cockroach go to get away?

It is time to close the shop for the night and we still haven't found her.

It's possible that when we arrive home tonight, we will find her atop the flowerbed grave of Louise, just like the ending to her favorite book: Where the Red Fern Grows. It would be no surprise to us if she spent the entire day making the two-block trek to rest in peace next to her soulmate.

But if you see her, please call us. Even if she doesn't want to come home, we just want to know that she is okay. She left wearing nothing but her shell. She is a beautiful deep, golden-brown; approximately 2 inches in length and about half an inch tall when she's on the move.

As for Pages, it's all good.