I casually walked through the old school turned thrift store, marveling at the original charm of the building. I made my way to the book room. It was so hot inside the room that a bead of sweat formed the very moment I stepped foot inside. It wasn't usually that hot but we were in a heatwave and this is South Georgia. The air is sticky and hot so it's like being inside a microwave with a bowl of water.
I began looking for the oldest looking books I could find. I am and will always be a sucker for an old book. I started filling up my pile of books to take home with me. One book, two books, three books... I found an old agriculture book that caught my eye. Of course, I'm going to get it just because of my husband farming. I looked at the copyright date. BINGO. Copyright 1918.
Which, for those who don't know much about books, that means it is an old book. 101 years to be exact. Wow, is that even right? That's crazy. This book has seen both World Wars, Prohibition, The 1930s Depression, and so much more. Now here it is in the hands of a blogger in 2019.
Isn't it funny how when you tell stories, the stories seem to come to you?
After searching for more interesting finds for what felt like an eternity I headed to the counter with handfuls of stuff. I paid and ran outside to show the farmer. I showed him all my books, which ones I planned on selling versus which ones I planned on keeping.
When I got to the agriculture book, his eyes lit up and he grabbed it. "You have to keep this one." I smirked thinking of all the fussing I heard before going in there.
"You don't need any more books."
I say back to him mockingly.
He does "the look" then turns back to his now book. The farmer is not a reader. He hates the thought of reading at all. Instruction manual? He won't read it, he will wing it. Good book? He MAY ask you to read it to him but he will not read a single line. Long text message? Nope! Don't even bother sending him a long drawn out message because he won't be able to repeat a single word from it.
He began flipping pages and laughing and he was so giddy. He was child-like with this new old book in his hands.
I looked at him patiently waiting to see what this "no-reader" was actually reading about. He looks up and goes, "This is a really old book. Paris Green has been banned for a long while and here it's telling you how to use it as an insecticide on your crops!"
Oh but my love, you just don't know how old it actually is.
When I finally got the book back from him I began flipping through the pages and looking at my new book. In the front cover was a name in old cursive and under it was "Liliation School" and in different handwriting on the side, but still in cursive was "EarlyBranch, S.C." inside the back cover was another name and "Willacoochee, Ga.". Welp, I know how it got down here in South Georgia.
I searched the two names of the women and neither one came up anywhere.
I searched Ancestry.com, I searched google, old records, nothing ever came up. I've had more luck with the photos I bought from Ebay!
So I put the book down and placed a doily over it and left it on my coffee table to add a bit of vintage appeal.
Flash forward to this past week, we got our new well dug. Yay, now we can wash our future babies in our own house and actually drink our water! Yay for Us!
So, when digging a hole to plumb the house and the well, the farmer snagged the wifi line leaving us in the middle ages a few days.
I was sitting on the couch and I had grown tired of my phone so I picked up the agriculture book to read up on "the 1918 ways of farming", just to see how much it's all changed.
But then as I was moving the book around a page in the back flipped open and I saw cursive writing.
"Oh yeah? What's this?"
I began to try to read it but I could only read every other word because the handwriting was so "cursive". (I don't really know if that's a thing or not, I do need glasses so that may contribute to it, to be honest.)
I enlisted the help of some friends and this is what we came up with...
"When in the lonely grave I sleep;
and bending willows o'er me weep;
it will be then and hat be fall;
I will think of you no more.
-M.P."
M.P. meaning Miss Mayme Paulk, one of the names from the beginning of the book. I read and reread the poetic words and I wondered to myself all afternoon, "Who was this woman? What was a liliation school? Was she a school teacher teaching Ag and going through some stuff? Was she a land girl with a broken heart? What was she going through? Did her lover break things off? Who was Mayme Paulk?"
So, I guess that is how I will end this story.
I will leave you, as my reader to decide who Mayme Paulk was until I can find out more information on her. Leave your thoughts in the comments below!
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