Saturday, August 2, 2014

Book People

Until I was 8 years old, I lived in a hometown where "Crazy Days" were celebrated each summer.


Merchants would dress up in costume, pull out folding tables to the sidewalks outside their stores and hawk their wares with ridiculous prices. Around mid-day, the city officials would have a guy scoot up the pole in the middle of the courthouse square and begin greasing it down.


As children at the end of the school year, we had dressed up, grabbed the end of a long ribbon hanging from the top of the pole and, following our teacher's instructions, began a dance where the ribbons weaved in and out. But on "Crazy Days", this pole became the domain of high school kids and young adults, not children!


Once well greased, the object was to shimmy up the pole and grab the prize from the top. Usually an envelope of coupons from the merchants around the square. There could be a free pound of ground round from Fred, the butcher at the grocers. Perhaps a free magazine or comic book from the Rexall Drug store and always a $5 bill from the bank!


Once there had been a victor, the town would start lining up for the hot meat sandwiches, chips and kool-aid courtesy of the local business men's club. We'd sprawl across the town square visiting with neighbors, holding babies and talking about the upcoming fireworks.


After the last boom of the fireworks were gone, my older sister and I would help Mom put the littlest ones into the wagon, pile on whatever goods we had purchased or won that day and walk the 3-4 blocks to our house. Dad would stay and visit with "the guys" until late in the night, arriving home before dawn.


When we moved to a huge city over a thousand miles away, life was much harder and there was very little reason for celebration.


Then, twenty years ago on an autumnal day trip with a beloved Aunt and Uncle, I traveled to an upper Midwest river town. It was love at first sight. By spring, I had packed up my belongings, hugged my family good-bye and moved north. My very first summer here found me wandering the streets on an early Saturday morning, enjoying "Crazy Days." I knew then I was truly home.


This year was my 18th "Crazy Days" celebration in my "new" home town, having taken a brief sabbatical from my newly found home to attend law school. Sure, there is no greased pole or community dinner from the hometown of my childhood. And the merchants participating this year didn't have amazing deals (ahem, recession ripples).


But what this town has that the hometown of my youth didn't, is a book sale!


Throughout the year, people donate gently used books to the Library for the"Crazy Days" Saturday sale. Those "in the know" gather early and form a line from the library door to down the block. Sipping coffee from the local bakery, chatting quietly with their neighbors and sharing stories of last year's finds and maybe a bit of local politics. Finally, the doors are opened and, being good upper Midwestern folks, there is no shoving or shouts of "no cuts" - instead, we pour gently into the huge community room turned book store and begin our browsing.


We are Book People.


We may have the Kindle, Nook or Ipad app that allows us to carry a cagillion books compressed into a thin package and tout that around on vacation or when we travel. But those long cold winter nights (and there are plenty here in the high prairie lands) call for the heft and "feel" of a REAL book.


For Book People, that may be the only thing that keeps us sane until Spring.


At least, that is my   worth.