I was left with a house filled with books. Not just a few overstuffed shelves, but rooms so rich with books that one needed caution when entering. A librarian by trade, my husband, Carl, loved books more than anyone I have ever met. One of the last things he said to me was, “Sorry about the books.” It had always been a challenge for us — I am of the organized utilitarian school, and he was a collector.
When he was a toddler growing up on East 42nd Street in Cleveland, he thought trash men had the best job, so he placed a cardboard box open to the back on his red wagon and made his own garbage truck. On the only block where he was allowed, the red wagon received bottles, cans and other sidewalk treasures that the little guy tossed in.
One of the stories colleagues tell about Carl was how I would gather up books I thought he would not miss and donate them to the Strafford Library sale. Yet every year he managed to find them among the thousands of other donated books and buy them back. It became known as the Colbeck-Yirka way of contributing.
In April, I started boxing up books and cleaning up the house. Yet with months to go in a sort of lockdown, normal channels for passing along books to their “forever homes” had vanished. Town library sales were put off for a year and used bookstores were reexamining their business plans. Schools had become virtual, with campuses closed.
So, the Sunshiny Day Book Giveaway Table was born.
I posted on the town’s Listserv that on sunny days, I would be giving away books on the front lawn. Two sawhorses and some plywood covered in floral sheets sat on my front yard. The sign read, “Free books, replenished daily.” I tried to vary the offerings, but, with an abundance of nonfiction concerning everything from the Ottoman Empire to the displaced persons of post-World War II, and many having words like “horror,” “deception” or “atrocity” somewhere on the cover, I am afraid I fatigued some readers. One day, I thinned out my own bookshelf, putting out natural history books. The field guides disappeared quickly — not so, Cellular Biology.
Occasionally, I came upon books that called out for someone special — some Modiano or Simenon in French, a collection of poetry, Irish literature or spy books. A posting on the Listserv or an email to friends brought in the right person.
As the Sunshiny Day Book Giveaway Table is winding down (yes, the library agreed to take the last 60 boxes), I will miss seeing people on the front lawn looking for books. It has been a satisfying way to connect with strangers and friends.
The dogs bark as if we were under siege when an innocent arrives to look for reading materials, but I only rarely say hello. Physical distancing is important, and I think folks like to graze alone.
Some who were mourning the loss of the Strafford Library sale this summer have thanked me for providing a sort of substitute. There is some irony in that situation. I hope Carl would get a good laugh.
Micki Colbeck, of Strafford, is an artist, a conservation biologist and a member of the Strafford Conservation Commission. Write to her at mjcolbeck@gmail.com.