I know exactly where I was on June 30, 2014.

That was our deadline to be out of our old warehouse so it could be demolished.

“The Move”—documented in this story—had begun in September 2013 when we settled on the sprawling old Post Office sorting facility building we occupy now. It was 9 months of permits, plans and transferring a couple million books and a few thousand metal and wooden bookcases and a lots of other “stuff” from the old building to the new. For some reason, what I recall most is the driving. We had two big box trucks and several vans in play.

Vehicles were going between the two locations constantly.

Driving the roaring, bouncing box truck to and from the new warehouse countless times—filled with a herd of book-laden metal carts. Returning with a load of empty carts secured with straps so they wouldn’t roll around. At night in bed, I recall feeling as if I was still in motion bouncing up and down on the driver’s seat, which “floats” so as to prevent your back from being shocked by the bumps along the way.

How we did it, I don’t know.

A deadline can be extremely motivating—like a gun to your head.

The night of June 30 ten years ago, when the last stuff was out of the old warehouse, was a huge relief. We set off the old obsolete fire extinguishers in celebration. Since the building was going to be demolished, we didn’t need to do a throughout cleanout.

This was the last photo I took of the doomed building.

It wasn’t until a year later that the landlord actually began the demolition. But the rush was therapeutic for us. It forced us to do the massive undertaking at a frenzied pace—for 9 months.

A decade in the huge new facility. The fear and work and stress were worth it.

Another milestone is upcoming. The first of these stories was published on July 27, 2017. So next week’s story will complete 52 weeks of year 7. (Or is it a leap year?) Anyway, July 27, 2024 will begin year 8 of these stories.

What got me to the tipping point in July 2017? I recall a number of factors. Now, over 400 stories later, I look back at the thousands of hours thinking about and writing these things that could have been spent evaluating books and planting gardens and…

Why?

Obsession?

My teacher William Meredith told us, “to be a writer, you have to feel the ‘need’ to write.” At this point, I feel compelled to put one of these out each week.

At Wonder Book, we’ve learned that doing things “big” is better for us.

Here’s a link to the very first story. It is primitive and short.

This week marks a third anniversary. My birthday. I don’t want to dwell on that.

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It is nearly 4 a.m. on Friday morning. There’s finally been a brief break in the long string of 95-degree days. I just opened the bedroom window for the first time in a month. The air conditioning is off.

The past week has been eventful and brutal. Brutal because of the oppressive heat. Eventful due to all the places I’ve been and the things that have been done.

Last week was just as busy. July 2nd, pulling the trigger on new kitchen appliances. July 3rd, fireworks and picnic at the New Market Plains Winery. July 4th, the delivery and installation of the stove and fridge. July 5th, the contractor was up repairing the bridge and resurrecting the gazebo. Dinner out with an old friend.

Then on to this week… Saturday, July 6th, dinner at Ridgley and Terry’s beautiful home after a hot warehouse day. Sunday, another hot day of books, the giant barrel fan roaring air onto my back trying to keep cool. Then a long drive to Hershey to see Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. Monday, another oppressive day. Pulled in so many directions. “We need relief from the heat. We need space. We need carts. We need another little piece of you…” Tuesday, up into the mountains for the Fishing Creek Club barbecue dinner in the rustic pavilion next to the babbling stream and the venerable old house that no one lives in. (This was after the installation of the dishwasher and microwave and, later, the eye appointment, dilation and the doctor wanting to send me to a specialist—”It’s probably nothing…”) Wednesday, to Greencastle, Pennsylvania for my annual dentist appointment. Dinner afterwards with my son and his very pregnant wife and his in-laws. (Booksellers from New York City were in as well buying a large quantity of collectible books.)

Thursday, I finally had a day “off.” It was slightly cooler. The last brood of swallows was about to fledge.

There is a score or so of mud swallow’s nests attached to the giant warehouse.

I’d gone to the Frederick bookstore with Ernest to cull old stock and pull for Books by the Foot. I’ve gone to one of the stores most weekdays for the last month. The aisles are all looking much better.

(Oh! Wednesday, we met with the contractor at the Frederick store. We will be installing about 18 more glass bookcases. This will increase the footprint for rare and collectible books about 40%. THAT will be exciting. That will be a statement. The venerable old store will become even more of a bibliolandmark.)

Home to put some finishing touches on the barn cleanup. Re-pot some and stage all the upper level potted plants on the porch. They’d all been removed so the appliances could be brought in. Empty bags of cow manure compost, so if there’s ever rain again, I can transplant things like this lonely hosta that chose the middle of the Mulch Road to grow up in.

Then inside to shower the sticky sweat off while the jagerschnitzel and spaetzle leftovers were reheating in the new stove.

I opened a split of champagne and ate in front of the TV while watching James Bond. It was a Daniel Craig variety. I don’t get the casting. He looks like a thug compared to his elegant predecessors.

This weekend, there will be a birthday dinner or two—the boys have complex schedules.

Then preparation for a trip to Denmark, Germany, Poland, Latvia-Lithuania-Estonia (not necessarily in that order), Finland and Sweden.

Of course, through all the above, books were the leitmotif playing everywhere in my life—warehouse, stores, home…

The most exciting was a letter.

It is a 4th of July letter from Dolley Madison with a clipped signature of James Madison attached. She recalls a toast by her husband in 1798, “A Toast proposed by Mr. Madison for the 4th of July 1798. ‘The Union. May it find an everlasting Cement in the Revolution, and the sacredness of the Constitution.’ D.P. Madison”

My friend Gerry Stodolski, who is a top autograph specialist, had that on offer. It’s like touching history.

About 50 legal classic reprints in leather showed up.

While not rare, they certainly are pretty.

There was a nice run of first editions. Lord Jim, The Friends of Eddie Coyle, From Russia with Love, Eloise in Moscow, Angela Davis, Stokely Carmichael signed, The House of Seven Gables, …

A perfect copy of The Burning of Chambersburg. That Pennsylvania city is not far from here. It was invaded and ransomed by the Confederate Army. When the city fathers didn’t pay up, the place was burned.

This 1965 concert souvenir was touching. The Rolling Stones played two shows in one day. DC and Baltimore. A newspaper clipping details their Washington visit. I would have been too young, but imagine seeing the Stones in ’65.

Though I had great steaks at Ridgley’s (they were huge!) and at Fishing Creek, plus Wednesday’s jagerschnitzel was perfect and about 10 inches square, the concert topped the week.

It was scheduled to start at 5 p.m. at Hershey Stadium. My older son came to the warehouse at 3 on Sunday, and we drove north. Up US 15 to Harrisburg and across to Hershey. I haven’t traveled that route for years, but there was a time I made that long haul twice a week—ferrying my younger son to soccer practice. It was the closest “good team”, and his only chance to advance to higher-level play. It turned out well. His college team played in the NCAA Sweet 16. He still plays in a lower division pro league.

It was hot and sunny. I hadn’t prepared (big surprise) for an outdoor show. No hat. No sunscreen… It was nearly a mile-long walk across the parking lot, but getting in was pretty fast.

The concert began with an opening act—Celisse. Then Krauss and Plant came out for their set. Alison was beautiful—like a China doll. They even played a few Led Zeppelin songs “Nashville” style.

Dylan. I can’t get over being able to see him in concert. As a little kid, I’d sneak up to my brother’s room in the garret in Amherst, New York and put the first Dylan albums on his giant suitcase-like “stereo.” I was hooked.

I nearly saw him in college during his Rolling Thunder tour, but my little college refused his offer to play there.

He stood behind his piano and was coherent and melodic. He opened with “Highway 61 Revisited”, “Ballad of a Thin Man”, “Stella Blue”, “Simple Twist of Fate”…

“Meanwhile, I was still thinkin'”

“I’m sick of love.”

“Even after all these years, you’re still the one.”

There was a long break while the stage was reset for Willie Nelson. There had been a good chance he wouldn’t appear per “doctor’s orders.” But he walked across the stage steadily and sat down with his acoustic guitar. A huge American flag unfurled behind and served as a backdrop for his set.

“Whiskey River”, “On the Road Again”, “Always on My Mind”…

We decided to leave a little early to avoid the rush. It was after 11. We heard the rest of the concert as we walked back to the car. It had lasted over 6 hours.

Willie is 91 and sang and played like a much younger man. Dylan, at 83, looked much younger. Robert Plant will be 76 in August. Music, if it doesn’t kill you young, must be a fountain of youth.

Hope springs eternal.

It was a long drive back, and I wasn’t in bed til after 1.

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The heat and drought and events have kept me out of the gardens most days. A couple times I’ve gone out in the morning when it was cooler. I cut up the trees that had been taken down because they were overhanging the house. The branches were dragged to the two big “habitat” brush piles I’ve built over the years. They’ve grown but subside as the lower material decomposes. They are both tall again.

The Italian arum is having a banner year. I’ve never seen so many seed stalks.

There must be two-dozen plants around the house.

The kitchen needs to be put back in order now that the appliances are installed. The stove and the microwave both have “buttons” that read PIZZA. What’s that mean? I never read instructions. (Big surprise.) But maybe I’ll make an exception.

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It’s time to go to work and see what surprises there will be.

This week will not be as crazy as the last—I think.

We will see.

But I will be another decade older.

And soon I’ll be exploring five countries I’ve never been to before.

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Poem below:

Bring me a box of copper
whose brown taste is blood
and I will know my mettle
Penny wisdom is fool’s genius

Bring me a box of silver
and I will understand
for tonight’s June, tomorrow July
precious metals never die

Bring me a box of gold
and I will be happy for a day
but then the day-old gold
will lose its newly minted luster
and my jaded heart yearns for something new

“Take a fairy by the hand
for the world’s more full of weeping
than you may understand”