My parents were high school sweethearts—they met and eventually married in the small town we live in now. After they were married, they moved to the city and raised us kids. When my dad retired, he and my mom moved back to this town and bought and renovated the house that my dad and his family had lived in back then. During this time, my dad and brother started a family business and recruited my husband to move here from the city.
So Monty and I moved to this small town. It took some adjusting, but we came to love the small town experience—the whistle that blows four times a day, the kindness of the people, the quiet of the town, (when the whistle isn’t blowing) and the slower pace of activity. One of the first places I wanted to go when we moved here was the library. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a small town library—the musty smell of old books, a friendly librarian, and checkout cards in the front of the books.
On my second visit to the library, I noticed a section that I hadn’t seen the time I was there before: “Classics.” I was immediately drawn to that section—I have a degree in English Literature, so I love the classics. The first book I picked up was a volume of Yeats’s collected poems. I love poetry, and I’m obsessed with Irish poetry, so even though I had a volume of Yeats’s poems at home, I decided to check this one out—it was old, so it had that delightful library book smell, and I thought it would be fun to read Yeats’s work in a different format than the volume I had. So I flipped to the front of the book to take out the checkout card, and I was shocked to see my grandma’s name, in her handwriting, on the card. The checkout date on the card was June, 1971—just a short time after my parents were married.
My grandma was an avid reader; she sometimes read two or three books a day. But I had never seen her read poetry, and she’d never mentioned that she liked it. So discovering this library book of poetry that I loved so much, and seeing that Grandma had checked it out was a beautiful, God-appointed moment. I wanted Dad to see the book with his mom’s handwriting on the card, so after I checked out the book, I brought it to Mom and Dad’s house—the home that my dad had lived in as a teenager. As we stood in the kitchen, looking at the book, it occurred to me that Grandma would have read that book in this same house. And I felt such a bond with her, across time—her life and mine intersected at that moment, years after she was gone. I renewed that library book twice just so I could keep it with me as long as possible. And I’m not above admitting that I had a brief moment where I considered keeping it. . .
Do you have a story about a library book? Did you bond with someone because of a shared love for an author? Or maybe you found a book you’d been looking for in an unexpected place? Whatever your story, if it’s book-related, I’d love to hear it. And if you have a minute, check out some of Yeats’s poetry. I think you’ll see why I love it so much.
“We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.” W. B. Yeats
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BTW. I have successfully deleted my social media history on Facebook!! It was a struggle but we can stay in contact this way. Let me know if you decide to shed Zucketbergs data vault. I think it is wrong. You can let our mutual friends know if you’d like.
Reminds me of a library book I read as a child about a young boy who ran away from home and crossed the Florida Okeefenokee canal/lake on his own. It was the one and only story I remember reading as a young boy!
Hey, Steve! There you are! I did wonder where you’d gone. Glad we’re still connected here! I’m glad you have a fond memory of reading. Any chance you remember the title? Thanks for sharing.
Sweetest story!
A very special moment!
My mom the second Hodson daughter taught me to read everything thing I could. When I was growing up and started reading I had to read a book a week and do a written report on that book and later on when the books I read she had read them also so that report better be right, but wow did I learn and still read especially with books on my cell phone. I read a lot of history and some true crime books. I guess mom putting a new meaning in the word “homework” made a lot of difference. Mom and I would sit down the morning and read the Bible and discuss different opinions on the scripture we had read, it was awesome way to learn scripture, how to debate and learning that it is hard to debate a Hodson. All this learning has payed dividends in later life, especially in times of sorrow when I needed the comfort of scripture! Gods word is still my number one read and always will be!
Grover, I just love this story! I love that you learned Scripture with your Mom–especially the way you learned it. And I love it so much that you discovered that learning continues, always. Your statement–“it is hard to debate a Hodson”–made me smile because truer words were never spoken! Thank you for sharing this and for lifting my spirits tonight.
Renee, I love this story. I came across a box of books my mother read (she passed away when I was in my twenties). Won’t ever part with those books. It’s so special to have something in our ancestors handwriting. Unfortunately we are losing the tradition of handwritten cards and letters (except for your dear mother).
Love your posts.
Thank you so much, Cheri. I love that you have those books from your mom. There’s really no better heirloom. I agree with you about the handwriting–it’s becoming a lost art. I love opening the mailbox and seeing a card from my mom; she still sends them to me even though we live so close. I save every one, because as you said, it’s so special and so rare. Thank you for commenting.
Thank you for sharing this, Klara. My sisters and I loved the Heidi books when we were little; I haven’t thought of those in years. Your story about helping out at the library is precious–every library should be a haven. I’m embarassed to admit I haven’t read anything by Pearl Buck, but I will. One final thing–your last sentence is a perfect description of what books have always been to me, and to many others, I think. Thank you for commenting.
No memories of any books, I read so many, but perhaps the series on Heidy when I was small was a highlight for me. I loved Heidy in the alps with her grandfather, the goats, the alps, the simplicity of life, the many teachings of her grandfather and the sweetness I could almost smell from the soft green meadows.I also used to help out in the small library in the small town I grew up in and loved the serene quietness , the neat rows of books, books which I was allowed to put away after a return and or stamp for a two week loan. I must have been six or seven and I believe the librarian whom we knew somehow felt my need to have a special place to come home to, a haven of sorts. Early on in coming to Vancouver I discovered Pearl Buck and I devoured every book I found of her. Pearl had the absolute power to bring me totally into the space where I could enter in with all of my senses. If I had not discovered books, I am not sure I could have survived the world I felt raging around me,
I love that library! I “worked” there one summer, I think on Saturdays. And the pay was an ice cream cone from the drugstore! Good memories ?
That’s so cool! The Hodson and Oman families clearly like to read!
I love this story!
Thank you, Molly. It was such a special experience.
I remember checking out a series of biographies for young adults. They had the best crinkly, plastic covers and I loved the one on Jim Bowie. I really wanted a Bowie knife after reading it, but alas, no bowie knife ever came my way!
That knife is coming your way. Thanks for commenting.