Wilbo is a Dashboard Historian

Wilbo still reads books, but he fails to read them all the way through. He'll pick one up, flip through most of its pages, and then he'll pick an article or chapter from it to read. Wilbo once bought books, one a week at Jocundry's and the early Borders Stores, even when he was living on waiter's tips. He has given away a library of books to those Friend of the Library sales at least three times. He still has four shelves of books that have accompanied him to his flat in Royal Oak, and these are more classic, a number of them signed by authors and poets, including Jorie Graham or Joyce Carol Oates or even Gary Snyder. Wilbo likes to at least hear who he is reading, and with authors traveling more and bookstores offering reading even for entry level writers, Wilbo enjoys seeing literary lions face-to-face. At least Wilbo did have a book signed by Gary Snyder, but I cannot locate it among his collection. Snyder signed as follows: To Wilbo of the Shiawassee River.

Wilbo can only hope his book has found a home with a person who understands how to make Snyder's message work in a modern world. Wilderness is wonderful, but so are the wild promises made by a vineyard. Snyder once declared, "Don’t own anything you can’t leave out in the rain." Wilbo knows that his entire library cannot survive a single rainshower, and the passing of time is the bane of many collections. Snyder might have modified this position he made as a fiery young man for a position far more subtle, more suffused with a life of gathered wisdom. It is probably easier to protect an online library from weather and fortunes that curtail ones shelving space.

A professor leading a term long writing workshop once challenged Wilbo: "Your reading is getting in the way of your writing !" Wilbo has heard that many popular authors write first and read less than one might think. When one writes, one often plows forward without reading ones drivel until revision begins. Nonetheless, Wilbo pursues texts as if they were animals roaming the wilderness of a common mind, a rank latifundia he must comprehend and explain in language.

Lately for Wilbo, historical markers are a stupid joy; Wilbo is betting that a historian could find errors of fact on each iron sign; however, each marker is true enough to answer the mystery of the question he's always asking, "what is this place where I find myself now?" A historical marker isn't alway a rosetta stone. Wilbo has paid a visit to countless downtowns with plentiful historical posts, but no pedestrians and denizens. Wilbo has arrived at many towns where the history described on the historical marker is alive on a thriving sidewalk. Mitchell, South Dakota is an exceptional example; the Corn Palace is true to its marker and to its roots.

Virginia is a hoot. Countryside corners have four to five markers awaiting travelers and no safe place to park. Once Wilbo would drive by a historical marker alongside a 55 miles-per-hour four laner with a grassy median and then backtrack to enjoy its lesson.

Wilbo thanks goodness that most states post their markers online, so all he needs to do is slow down and catch a title and a few phrases. He looks them up later. Some states announce them with roadside signs one mile or less before their appearance, and that can cause all kinds of tension for him. The more he stops to read a sign, the less progress he makes on his daily driving. More than once, he's wasted one or two hours looking for the promised marker.

Canada places monumental bronze plaques on field stone cairns, with two plaques for each message, one witten in French and one written in English. North Carolina and Virginia have metal signs with the shortest messages of all the states.

There's actually a website called Markeroni for posting a picture and a citation when one "snarfs" a new sign; in other words, its snarfing not reading. Wilbo has declined to contribute, but he has admired the Markeroni crusades of TrippOnHerOwn and Misstory. This feeds into another habit that strikes Wilbo as odd when he confesses it; when he learns of a historical personage, he calculates a timeline in his Moleskine journal, trying to memorize birth and death years, then looking them up on the Wikipedia, which is probably as accurate as the historical markers. Worry not: Wilbo attempts to meet ten to thirty new people daily as he walks to work, goes to lunch, looks for dinner. The quick are as important as the no-longer quick.

Every day, Wilbo reads the New York Times online, googling the names of artists, authors, politicians and organizations. He also devours Garrison Keillor's daily Writer's Almanac, to which, dear reader, you can subscribe at this web address, should you have time and inclination: http://mail.publicradio.org/content/506927/forms/apm_signup.htm

Wilbo Doesn't Know Much About History, But He Reads It As He Goes.