Field Note 002

The Relic, the Revelation, and the Maine Book Scout Origin Story

Record Scratch -

You’re probably wondering exactly how I ended up here. If you aren’t, too dang bad. I’m going to tell you anyway.

It’s not a particularly exciting story, but it’s special because it’s mine. Because it ignited something in me that I didn’t realize I’d allowed to simmer away like alcohol when you sauté mushrooms with wine.

It all started with a school summer camp in Maine. Underfunded? Perhaps. Lacking in creative solutions? Absolutely not. During the storybook themed week, we were preparing to make a village out of papier-mâché houses. We were trying to figure out any way to elevate the craft. Make it cuter, more fun, memorable for more positive reasons than the feeling of gluey fingers and the plain printer paper and cardboard boxes we had to work with.

That’s when I remembered the boxes. Stacks of them. Hundreds of books, shoved in a room with the lights off and the door shut. I asked the principal who they belonged to, and he responded that they were a donation. That the woman who donated them was so happy to share them, he couldn’t bring himself to say no despite the lack of space and need. He said, “Feel free to put them to good use.”

So, I did.

With a copy of The Borrowers that looked like it barely survived a losing fight with a bull shark, we crafted our storybook houses. They turned out adorable, if I do say so myself. Most importantly, a book that would have certainly gone into the recycling bin was given a new purpose. The pages were torn, but the illustrations and the words are now a lovely decoration that the campers made and took home. Maybe their parents will keep it for some time as one of those long surviving keepsake crafts that we all find when we’re older. How do parents decide what is worth saving anyway?

I went back to the books at the end of the day. If you point out a mountain of free reading material to me, the chances of me not circling back are subzero. That night, after looking through a few boxes, I went home with a copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I’ve read all of the C.S. Lewis tales countless times, and it’s a staple in my reading-to-kids rotation. Needless to say, I was excited about the old copy.

Turns out, it was a treasure in disguise.

Which is not to say that I don’t regard all old books as treasures in their own right.

It’s just that, this one specifically was a first edition. Not only that, it was a first printing. Of a book that is so beloved to me. So dear. I did not bring it home because it was worth a lot of money. I didn’t pick it up because I recognized the title and wanted to display it. I chose it specifically because it is a story that is meaningful to me.

Excited by my discovery, I went back to work the next day and a few of the kids went treasure hunting with me. I took down the boxes and we set aside anything we thought was beautiful or any books we loved. I looked later for the extra special attributes, of course, but in the moment, it was not about finding a jackpot. It was a moment of connection. A moment of joy. And it sparked a passion I didn’t know I had.

Loving storytelling is part of who I am. It’s integral to how I move through the world. Loving the container of the story is a new love of mine.

I have already found ways to share it with others. To connect. To create. To care. And I can’t wait to see what more is left to come.