The Notebooks

I have recently relocated to a new place; a mountain home, on 5 acres in a wind tunnel blown canyon.  Some nights I feel as if I'll be blown away to Oz or worse, thrown down in heaps of splintered wood and glass into the canyon, only to crawl out of the heap of a mess to be devoured by a mountain lion that has been actively pursuing local pets for the past few months.  9 dogs to date, and no end in sight to its ravenous appetite for domesticated meat.  The fear of the beast has had me walking to the shed with a sharpened shovel and air horn, although my dulled senses will probably be of no use as to the sheer hunting capabilities and prowess of this thing.
So I made my way out to the shed craning and bobbing my head in all directions, most likely looking like some deranged meth head paranoid of shadow people.  I was also carrying a 5 gallon bucket full of tools that I was returning to the mess of a shed.  Once in the shed I set down my measly weapons and yanked the door shut.  Suddenly a mass of teetering boxes came crashing down behind me causing my nerves to shatter.  As I went over to pick up the mess, one of the boxes tore open to reveal a stack of notebooks and scattered papers.  I didn't recognize them as my own, though I felt a certain urge to examine their content to see who they could have belonged to and what they contained.  I collected them into a pile which I secured under my arm, grabbed my air horn and hightailed back to the house...