Lately I have been struggling with
whether or not to sell my 1992 Ford Ranger truck. I have an F 150 that is
roomier, has more muscle and has all the bells and whistles I like. But the
Ranger was my dad’s. He’s been gone a little over three years now and it makes
me feel connected to him.
It’s amazing how things connect us
to people, places and other times. Maybe it’s an old Case knife or a ring or a
piece of glassware you inherited. I have guitars that attach me to songs which
attach me to the people I wrote them with and the time and place we wrote a particular
song. I have old duck decoys that connect me to hunting pals and sunrises over
marshes when the cold morning dripped icicles off those decoys’ bills.
Sometimes just picking up an old
baseball glove transports me instantly to a game of catch with one of my
daughters or further back in time when I still had dreams of being Sandy Koufax
or Mickey Mantle. Maybe this is the motivation for all the little collections I
have: staying connected.
There is a box full of snowglobes
in my attic. I used to pick one up everywhere I went. And I also have a book
full of Do Not Disturb signs from hotels from all over the world. I have
collections of autographed photos and collections or musical instruments. My
gun collection is pretty small compared to some of my friends. But,
importantly, it includes my first Daisy BB gun as well as my first Remington
semi auto. An important piece of that collection is my dad’s Browning Sweet 16.
I cannot begin to tell all the memories I associate with that gun and being a
youngster sitting by my father and learning to watch and listen to the woods.
I have old baseball, football and
basketball cards that I keep in hopes a grandson will be interested someday.
Many of the cards are fairly valuable. But their real value to me is the fact
that I was the one who carefully chose the pack, opened it up, chewed the
bubble gum and saved those cards all this time.
My latest collection I have begun
is old bibles. You can find them overseas at booksellers or auction sites (in
Europe a 200 year old book is not nearly as coveted as it would be here). I
like to think about the people who opened them and read the words or gathered
them up and went to Sunday services on the wagon with the book beside them. One
of the bibles I bought is a little pocket bible that belonged to a Civil War
soldier. The American Bible Society made thousands of them to pass out and
because of their compact nature many became an important part of the contents
of a knapsack when I young boy headed off to muster in to the army. The one I
have has a lot of illegible pencil writing but I can make out the name Collins.
And there is a poem written in it that looks like it might have been part of a
presentation. It says “Apples are good, but peaches are better, if you love me
rite me a letter” it is signed “Sara”. It is easy for me to imagine a 17 year
old boy named Collins leaving for war and his girl Sara giving him this as an
important parting gift.
Having opened the bible I am now
connected to these two people. And having read this, so are
you. We’ll probably never know the real story. But the book is a connection to
people and places and another time. That is the whole motivation that drives
collectors.
