I recently returned from a trip to New York City where I visited our youngest chickadee, Anna, to celebrate her birthday. On a whim, I brought a first edition copy of my book, “Box Turtles, Hooligans, and Love, Sweet Love,” along for the ride with the intention to leave it in just the right spot.
When I published this book, it felt fitting to put a big box turtle on the cover to go along with the title. After several folks told me they thought the book was about box turtles, I decided a change was in order.
“Box Turtles, Hooligans, and Love, Sweet Love: Collected Columns” now sports a cover with a photograph of an Alabama creek, more suitable for its contents.
My book sat in Anna’s Bushwick apartment on the first day of our trip. Anna’s dog Fig kept it company while we were out. Perhaps Fig enjoyed reading the essay titled “Coevolving With Dogs on the Couch” while we were gone.
The next morning, I put the book in my tote bag. “Come along,” I said. “I’ll photograph you touring New York City.” I decided to call this day the First Edition Farewell Tour.
Off we went, bundled and bemused, with a copy of my book in hand.
We bobbed along on the L Train to Manhattan. I posed my book on a tangerine subway seat, the same color as some species of slime molds, described in my book as oozing, multinucleate, macroscopic blobs with demonstrable learning capabilities. When the train stopped, I grabbed my book and followed Anna through a labyrinth of corridors and stairs into the bright light of day.
We immediately faced a replica of Lady Liberty standing by a souvenir store. Perfect! Anna hid behind the statute and held “Box Turtles, Hooligans, and Love, Sweet Love” just over the tabula ansata, which symbolizes enlightenment and freedom.
I wondered what the real Statue of Liberty thought about nearby North Brother Island, now abandoned, where typhoid patients were quarantined in the early 1900s. She can read all about it in my book.
Our next stop was Carnegie Hall. It’s a safe bet to say there’s a whole lot of frisson going on when those celebrated singers take to the stage. I thought about the odd, psychogenic response some humans have to art, especially music, which I wrote about in the book I held up to photograph now. Goosebumps and chills galore!
We walked a step or two farther when we stopped in our tracks, mouths agape. We stood facing a twelve-story apartment building whose every inch was covered with fat-bellied angels, floral motifs, baroque scrolls and grotesque faces. Behold, French Renaissance gone berserk! Two crowned salamanders guarded the arched entryway. I’m surprised there were no gender-bending cuttlefish, as described in my book, tucked into the terra-cotta décor. As for salamanders, only two New York City buildings feature salamanders in their architecture, this one, Alwyn Court, being one of them.
Next, I propped my book in an art studio window and snapped a picture. “If this were the olden days, the owners would rip the film out of your camera,” Anna said. We scooted briskly onward to the Park Plaza Hotel.
Oh, how fitting it was to photograph my book with the turtle on the cover at this beloved building where Eloise grew up. I smiled, remembering her lines, “I have a turtle. Her name is Skiperdee.” Braiding Skiperdee’s ears was the absolute first thing Eloise had to do every day. How I loved Eloise as a child and still do.
“Did you know squirrels were imported to Central Park to improve folks’ mental health?” I asked Anna as we entered the 800-acre park. “I wrote about it in my book.” She nodded, we strolled, and I searched for the next photo op.
“Look,” Anna said, “someone’s selling original art.” We struck up a conversation with a man named Alex Mebane, admiring his hand-painted greeting cards that feature a fuzzy chick named Marzi. Anna, Alex and I chatted about farm animals. We chatted about the city. We chatted about children, art and dogs. We chatted about California and Boston and love and loss. The conversation lasted a good long while, even by southern standards. We learned that Alex and Anna are nearly next-door neighbors.
“I think my book has found its home,” I said, handing it to Alex while explaining the Farewell Tour.
“And I have a book for you,” he said, handing me his book titled “Signs of Santa Monica,” his photography book he’d made while living out west.
And with that, having found a new friend in the Big Apple, our Farewell Tour came to an end. Once again, New York City delivered on marvels large and small.
Of note, if this column sounds like one big self-promotion, well, so be it. See my website, marydansak.com, for information on obtaining your own copy of Box Turtles, Hooligans, and Love, Sweet Love: Collected Columns.
Mary Dansak is a writer, an equestrian, and a naturalist living in Auburn, AL. She can be reached at maryfdansak@gmail.com, or at marydansak.com.