Brookings resident Carl Kline is an ordained clergyman, part-time teacher and occasional blogger.

Brookings is fortunate to have the Festival of Books come to town now and again. It’s not often a community can be flooded with books and authors from all over the country, with something of interest for almost everyone.

As a book addict, the only problem with this occurrence is I come home with more books to fill the shelf of my “next” reading, that is already full. I do believe I might have to live to be 110 to finish all the ones I’d like to read. Either that, or perhaps I can do with an hour or two of sleep at night and eat all of my meals with a book in hand. Of course, that would not go over very well with my wife, who might occasionally want to talk with me. Fortunately, the library always has its yearly book sales, so I can deplete some of my shelves in donations, with the promise to myself, not to buy them back.

One question that arose for me, on both days of the festival was, why there were so few younger people present? Weren’t we on a college campus? In the sessions I attended, there was no-one younger than (let me guess) 30? 40? Or maybe I just naturally gravitated toward “senior” sessions.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there is a new addiction abroad. Young people walking by our home are not reading a book as they walk, but scrolling on a phone. Besides, you can get an excellent summary of “To Kill a Mockingbird” or any other book on the internet. Why waste time reading? But walking phone scrollers also suggest that a book addict like me, should start taking a book with me when I walk. It would help me clear that “next” reading shelf quicker. Although, I generally walk the most in the evening when it is dark and I’m not always sure footed on broken sidewalks. Perhaps I could get a miner’s hat?

There were three sessions with festival authors I wanted to mention in this column. The first was a poetry reading with three poets from the University of South Dakota Law School. As I greeted one of them, Frank Pommersheim, a friend of many years, I questioned what kind of law school this was, with so many faculty writing poetry. One doesn’t usually associate law with poetry. Frank demurred, saying he’s retired! The last poem Frank read was about a neighbor appreciating their beautiful backyard, which reminded me of our backyard. He handed me that poem after the reading and I handed it to my wife, who makes our backyard beautiful.

The second session was about “Indigenous Literary Sovereignty.” This session also had a friend of many years, Edward Valandra. All three speakers helped me to better understand the way words are used to define others from our point of view, often minimizing or even demonizing them in the process. For instance, it makes a difference if you say Indian reservation or Lakota homeland. After this session I gave Edward a copy of my memoir. In it, I used the words Rosebud Reservation. As I pointed out to him how he helped me learn something new and important, he responded with good humor (as the Lakota often do; if we can find our own humility).

The final session I wanted to mention was with Richard Moves Camp. He is the author of “My Grandfather’s Altar.” I bought the book on Friday and after reading the prologue and introduction was convinced I had to attend his presentation. I’m glad I did!

He reminded me of the mantra in Lakota country, “All My Relatives.” As children of Mother Earth, we humans are all related to each other, but also to the other relatives: the winged, the four legged, even those who have gone before us. He reminded me of my relationship with Toby, our one-time dog. Our relationship was closer than with many humans, and in a unique and special way. He taught me much about non-verbal communication, patience and growing old.

Moves Camp pictured for me the lone buffalo, separated from the herd, because it was in transition, on its way to the fpirit world. I’ve seen that “alone one” buffalo before, out West, and wondered. And I’ve seen that again and again in human persons. There’s a time of separation, before leaving. There’s a need to be alone for the final leg of the journey.

And I was told by this fifth generation spiritual leader, that those who have gone before are still in us; in our spirits, in our soul! “Yes,” I said to myself. “That’s true!” We carry them with us, and sometimes they offer a word of advice, or a memory, or a gesture of love. We just need to be aware, and not too busy to notice.