Without Straw

In 1901 the Great Fire of Jacksonville burned over 400 acres of the city’s core. Immediately afterwards reconstruction began. This time, instead of heart pine boards, the builders constructed many buildings of brick to avoid having the place burn down again.

In their rush to rebuild, they mixed a light, sandy mortar to hold these bricks together.

Thank God.

Because over the past few weeks demolition crews have been knocking down some of these after-the-fire downtown buildings and when a crane hits a turn-of-the Century brick wall, it crumbles in a pile leaving most of the old bricks intact.

Guess how Ginny and I spent our weekend.

We wanted weathered brick to line some flowerbeds and for a walkway and other projects around our house, so we visited a demolition site and salvaged bricks.

What fun to prowl through the rubble collecting bricks and looking at old papers and fixtures the demolition brought to light.

Rain hampered our efforts and we got soaked and filthy with demolition dust, but we now have plenty of weathered brick.

Some folks might call us Dumpster Divers; we prefer to think of ourselves as salvage recyclers.

We recycle a lot of things. Last Thursday I sent a pickup truck load of clothing and household good to a mission for the homeless. A dozen huge black leaf bags and cartons of goods can be reused by folks who need them.

We are also in the process of culling our bookshelves. Over they years I have accumulated eleven bookcases stuffed with arcane volumes; and there are books in our closets and boxes of books beneath our bed.

We spent last night sorting which of these to keep and which could go to the used bookstore (again) or to the Friends Of The Library book sale.

This process is painful for me.

When I give up a book, I feel loss. I cling to my books. I think that I’m sure to need this reference tool in the future. I fully intended to get around to reading this other book someday (I’ve intended to read it for the past 30 years). But this book has such great illustrations. And that one has a classic tooled-leather binding. And this one may help me grow spiritually if I were to read it. And that book on Kourion tells about an ancient ruined city (destroyed by an earthquake on July 21, A.D. 365) which I’ve always wanted to visit. And Mr. Darby gave me that book… Er, he didn’t exactly give it to me, I borrowed it from him ten years ago and haven’t returned it yet.

I can’t get rid of this book; it has that poem by what’s-his-name, the poem about the girl in the yellow dress, the poem that made me feel haunted the first time I read it and still give me goosebumps. And here’s a copy of Bomba The Jungle Boy that I read so much instead of doing homework that I almost failed third grade. And here’s that copy of Dracula, the first book I ever stole. And here’s that Stephen King first edition of the story I enjoyed so much and want to re-read. And here’s a Bible study book on Esther that I marked with notes and here’s the book that….

I can find some reason to never let go.

Never!

But, I have to.

Rats have gotten into the boxes of books stored in the shed.

If I do not cull, dispose of, recycle, make room for — these books will be lost forever, shredded by rodents, silverfish, termites.

This distresses me.

I do not own these books.

They own me.

Maybe by recycling and passing these volumes on to some younger person, I will enrich his life. I remember how pained I felt when I was young and could not afford to buy the books I needed for school. I remember how deeply I coveted certain books which over long years of collecting I now own (but still haven’t read).

I draw my identity from the books I read — and from the ones I write.

So instead of culling my bookshelves, I’d rather carry bricks.

Bricks are lighter.

Much lighter.