The Books At The Bottom Of The Pack

There I was by the side of the road. The book in my hand was open and my gaze went between the page and the plant in front of me. My posture was bent over the plant. I heard the police car pull up, but carefully made note of the page with a book marker before I closed it, and turned to greet the officer. ” It’s just a Queen Anne’s Lace, but the local variety seems different than what’s described in the guide” I said guilelessly. I walked to my pack and carefully replaced it in the bottom. the officer seemed puzzled. “I thought I saw you begging for a ride when I passed earlier. That’s against the law. Was I mistaken?” I unwrapped the whole, very legitimate sounding spiel, about being on the way to the Rocky Ridge Campground, and stopping to do a bit of plant hunting along the way. Out in the open many species grew that won’t stand the shade on the forests verge or interior shade. After I indicated four or five plants with their names and preferences he laughed and said, ” OK, I’ll buy this story, once. But the bottom line is that I’m swinging back this way in an hour. Don’t let me see you standing there with your thumb out” Thanking him, I walked back towards the patrol car with him, and waved goodbye.

Well, the plain truth was that this wasn’t the only reason why the plant identification book was at the bottom of my pack. But it was one of its uses. It lived in the bottom of my pack with the forestry textbook and a dog-eared paperback ( David Lavender’s excellent 1954 Bent’s Fort). Their worth to me far exceeded the plant identification books’ rare forays into distracting the Law. I’ve always loved botany and history. And having something to distract yourself with by the fireside or in your tiny rented room was a plus.

Somehow, those three titles survived the purge of my belongings by my mother when I was in the Navy. When I emerged from my subjugation, my guitar, the book on forestry, the plant identification book, and David Lavender’s book were all that remained. The family’s love of music and books was probably what influenced my mother to preserve them rather than trash them with my other clothes and small valuables.

Those same titles are still on my book shelves as founding members of the Carreras household library. The collection now sprawls with segments in two rooms and a branch library on the porch. The old inhabitants of the pack’s bottom probably haven’t seen each other in thirty years because they occupy different sections. But there they are as connections to the old days: Charlie, my old travel guitar hanging on the wall conveniently within reach, and the three books that were carried thousands of miles.

Daily writing prompt

What’s the first book you ever finished and still remember to this day?

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