One year, when I was working for the winter in the Public Library, due to my contract there, I travelled to one of their central branches–the storied branches that held more than the usual books on more than the usual topics.  I noticed, quite early on in the contract, that there was a little room run by volunteers (little old ladies with white hair and light blue smocks on) where books that had been withdrawn from circulation and donated books, were being sold at the incredibly cheap prices of $1, $2 and $5.  Even, now, with inflation, these are cheap prices.  The books were not necessarily current, and they had never been on the bestseller list, but there was appeal in their timelessness, and anyone studying on any topic could probably get a very good start in understanding it–much more than taking the introductory 101  could, at the local university.

So, one afternoon, as I was finishing up for the day, I decided to see what this little room was all about.  When I say little, I mean, very small and cramped.  All it was missing was the musty smell and the dim lighting famous in many university libraries.  The two little old ladies were by the door where there was a desk and a little money box. They did not pry, as, I guess, they were not librarians.  So, I disregarded them after a smile, and proceeded to look at the shelves to see what this room was about.  Not the Dewey Decimal System.  (I was relieved.  I would have walked out without any interest lost.)  The shelves were labelled with English words (and not universal numbers) that described broadly what the subject of the books were. There was an entire book case where each shelf on it was reserved for several of the more languages in the city.  I can’t read anything other than English, so I skipped it entirely.

Even though the room was small, three walls were filled plus two long rows down the middle.  Some books were old and breaking, almost beyond repair, and I guess people looking for a gem, even if it were slightly damaged, would pay the $1 or $2 for it.  There was also a good collection of children’s books.  I did look through it, at the time, because I already had a niece, but I didn’t happen to find anything.  There were two shelves reserved for random movies, and because I am not overly interested in this genre of entertainment, I gave the most cursory glance and moved on.

I got to the bottom shelf on the bookcase against the back wall, and I gasped in delight.  It was filled with large books of photographs on various topics.  My experience with large books of photographs, even if the photographs were not taken by famous photographers, is that they are very expensive.  Many a time I have spent over one hundred dollars on any of a number of impressive books.  And, the hobby of photography is incredibly expensive, even now, in today’s world when you don’t have to rent space at a local darkroom to get the photograph you want developed.

So here, I felt as if had found the fount of gold, and the river just kept flowing out with the gold.  Even just glancing at the shelf I could see several books I was interested in.  My limitation, today, was the weight of the books, as, at the time, I had taken transit to the library (it was in the central part of the city.)  I knew that they would not be so nice as to hold on to the books I bought, and that whatever I bought today, I would have to take with me… even if I bought ten.  So, I began to calculate, in my head, the best way to solve this problem of space and muscle and strength.  In the end, I settled on three very large books, with photographs on every single page in between the covers.  They must weigh at least twenty pounds each.  The way I decided to let go of any of the others?  Easy, I chose every single book on the country.  One, about the United States, one about Canada, and one about the mid-West.  The pictures were priceless, and I only paid $5 for each book.  I find that when I go to the commercial book stores, the photography and art books appeal to the greater public and that the topics are therefore very broad and have no subjects that would involve any great and deep understanding of politics, color theory, history, or a foreign point of view.  All that is needed is the ability  to see and understand beauty.  So, now, armed with this new theory as to the type of photographers and the domain covered by certain books and experts, I found beauty in the books that day.  I still have these three books today.  They communicate, more, than what words alone can.  My favorite from the three books is in the catalogue of the mid-west.  The picture is of a winter evening on a small hill looking downwards to the small valley, and the rise beyond where the setting sun sits in command of it all.  The evening coats the thin layer of snow in a regal, purple-lish glow, and the bench in the foreground in relief as almost only a shadow.

I am quite content with my purchases, considering that they are not the usual fare.  I find the older I get, the more I value the things I couldn’t understand before.   I value what it is that others have and what others are.  So, to this July’s celebration of the incorporation of the country, grow older happier and richer in experience!