By James Turner
Lelia was the name of my favorite aunt. She was a wonder and lived to be 96 years old. “James, I didn’t think I’d live this long, I should be dead by now,” she would say, and we’d both laugh ourselves silly.
Lelia married the editor of the Dallas Morning News when she was 27 and he was 45. She believed in giving everything a second chance. She gave birth to and raised five kids, drove a school bus, sold fresh bread to make ends meet, and did the finest carpentry work you can imagine. Her husband was an okay provider but took up philosophy too early and they almost starved.
Anyway, Lelia stepped up, and off they went, putting anything and everything to use one way or another. She would collect discarded bricks, tiles, stones, teenagers, bottles and blocks to build her patio so the family could love the outdoors as she did. She found things like corrugated tin, skylight glass, used lumber, you name it, to build her house around existing trees, an amazing gal. The trees grew up through her library and the monkey grass graced her garden like a sable. The refurbished piano rang. Lots of reading from used books took precedent. She did all her cooking, washing and drying, by hand. All of us with half a brain, adored her. Her favorite used items were windows. She would collect old, out of date windows and refurbish them. They were works of art by the time she finished.
During the transitional years which all years are, windows went from beautifully crafted, thin slivers of East Texas and West Louisiana Longleaf Pine with wavy handmade glass panes, to aluminum lightweight sashes and crystal-clear glass. Jalousies were the worst. She loved the old wooden ones. To her they were metaphors for life’s challenges. “Sometimes your way ahead is lost or broken and a good cleaning and reuse is just the ticket,” Lelia would pronounce.
When I was back from Jordan where I had spent a life-altering year teaching architecture to highly motivated Jordanians, Lelia offered an available bedroom there in her wonderful, handmade house with its chickens and mockingbirds. I’d fly out on Tuesday morning and crawl in on Sunday night. Lelia, of an evening, would pour us a jigger of bourbon and tell stories about her latest find. All her kids were gone, and her husband was not far behind. She would brighten especially with the latest window project.
It began to sink in that finding a new use for an old thing or other had a certain deeper meaning. She would say to me, “whenever I get the blues James, I go to the dump for a lift.” Buying anything new, besides groceries, was beyond her imagination. I bought the concept and still do. What is it? Recycle! Throw away nothing, or if you must, only with respect.
In the old days (1973) here in Leesville, we lived off the sand and gravel VFW Road, down on the lake. On our way home was a big burn pit, where the parish put garbage and yard waste, etc. Going there to throw out your trash was an experience. Once, Meriget and I found a broken wooden child’s chair. I repaired it. Now, (2024) it holds an honored place in a handmade cabin made of hewed, cypress boards from the Anacoco Prairie, circa 1840. Re-using stuff is a labor of the spirit and dang good for the planet. Thanks, Lelia.