Before I came to Garfield County, I lived in two big cities: Chicago and Denver. I was surprised to learn that I did a lot more walking and biking there than I did in the more rural and suburban settings I’d lived in before. Cars are a hassle in the city. In the country, you have to have one. That means you spend more time sitting.
Foolishly, I did a little too much biking in Denver despite the wildfire smoke trapped in the heat inversion. It led to adult onset asthma. Since starting my job here, too much driving and sitting behind a computer edged me over into Type 2 diabetes. (I’d been borderline most of my life but kept it under control through exercise. My siblings, all younger than me, slipped over years ago.)
Let’s not even get into sleep apnea. Or dental issues.
The story is old as time, because it IS time. I’m getting old.
Last May, I started thinking about retirement. I’m just one year younger than my father when he died. Four of my six best friends have died in the last couple of years. My partner is retired, and we like to hike and bike. I’d rather keel over on a mountain than on a desk.
But at the same time, county commissioners and a group of utterly unreliable activists were trying to get me fired. This attempted bullying, as I told my board at the time, was actually and ironically what was keeping me here.
As I approach my four-year mark, and believing that the library has mainly survived its political crisis, I think it’s time to pay more attention to what my aging body is telling me. So as required by my contract, I have given my 90-day notice. I will retire on April 9, 2026.
That decision, naturally enough, prompts some reflection.
During my tenure the library stood firm on its core values. Libraries are founded on the freedom of the mind, the courage to investigate many viewpoints. No one has the moral authority to silence or wall off the minds of others. Over the past few years I believe the library — here meaning both board and staff — consistently offered thoughtful and measured responses to various inflammatory challenges. We also showed true civic grit, holding to institutional purpose, statute and policy. Today that example is more important than ever.
But the larger narrative is more accurate and important: in that period, we moved close to a million books through people’s houses and minds. County residents attended our programs by the hundreds of thousands. You just know that many of them experienced personal or community transformations. That knowledge, that information plus context, helps make meaning of the world. Libraries liberate our imaginations.
Meanwhile, the library is financially sound and forward-focused. Our buildings are beautiful. Our technological infrastructure is managed with intelligence and competence.
Our branches deliver warm and enthusiastic service. We proffer a curated cornucopia of global content to our community. We poke our neighbors to talk to each other. We partner with like-minded people to accomplish shared goals. Our internal leaders are also community leaders. We make our neighborhoods, towns and counties better. That’s what libraries are supposed to do.
Too, I’m impressed by the persistent talent and ability of our Hispanic community. Our staff recruitment, collection development, and community outreach have tried to acknowledge and build on those gifts. We’ve made progress. There’s more to be done.
Professionally, I have been lucky twice. First was finding “Right Livelihood.” For me, librarianship has always been a calling. Second is working with people I love. The passion, creativity and endless potential of our staff remains the core strength of the district. I expect that to continue.
Over the next three months we’ll be working on various transition plans. But I am confident that the future of the Garfield County Public Library District is very bright. It has been an honor to add my story to its catalog.
Foolishly, I did a little too much biking in Denver despite the wildfire smoke trapped in the heat inversion. It led to adult onset asthma. Since starting my job here, too much driving and sitting behind a computer edged me over into Type 2 diabetes. (I’d been borderline most of my life but kept it under control through exercise. My siblings, all younger than me, slipped over years ago.)
Let’s not even get into sleep apnea. Or dental issues.
The story is old as time, because it IS time. I’m getting old.
Last May, I started thinking about retirement. I’m just one year younger than my father when he died. Four of my six best friends have died in the last couple of years. My partner is retired, and we like to hike and bike. I’d rather keel over on a mountain than on a desk.
But at the same time, county commissioners and a group of utterly unreliable activists were trying to get me fired. This attempted bullying, as I told my board at the time, was actually and ironically what was keeping me here.
As I approach my four-year mark, and believing that the library has mainly survived its political crisis, I think it’s time to pay more attention to what my aging body is telling me. So as required by my contract, I have given my 90-day notice. I will retire on April 9, 2026.
That decision, naturally enough, prompts some reflection.
During my tenure the library stood firm on its core values. Libraries are founded on the freedom of the mind, the courage to investigate many viewpoints. No one has the moral authority to silence or wall off the minds of others. Over the past few years I believe the library — here meaning both board and staff — consistently offered thoughtful and measured responses to various inflammatory challenges. We also showed true civic grit, holding to institutional purpose, statute and policy. Today that example is more important than ever.
But the larger narrative is more accurate and important: in that period, we moved close to a million books through people’s houses and minds. County residents attended our programs by the hundreds of thousands. You just know that many of them experienced personal or community transformations. That knowledge, that information plus context, helps make meaning of the world. Libraries liberate our imaginations.
Meanwhile, the library is financially sound and forward-focused. Our buildings are beautiful. Our technological infrastructure is managed with intelligence and competence.
Our branches deliver warm and enthusiastic service. We proffer a curated cornucopia of global content to our community. We poke our neighbors to talk to each other. We partner with like-minded people to accomplish shared goals. Our internal leaders are also community leaders. We make our neighborhoods, towns and counties better. That’s what libraries are supposed to do.
Too, I’m impressed by the persistent talent and ability of our Hispanic community. Our staff recruitment, collection development, and community outreach have tried to acknowledge and build on those gifts. We’ve made progress. There’s more to be done.
Professionally, I have been lucky twice. First was finding “Right Livelihood.” For me, librarianship has always been a calling. Second is working with people I love. The passion, creativity and endless potential of our staff remains the core strength of the district. I expect that to continue.
Over the next three months we’ll be working on various transition plans. But I am confident that the future of the Garfield County Public Library District is very bright. It has been an honor to add my story to its catalog.
[This column originally appeared on January 15, 2026 in the Sopris Sun.]
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