When I was very young, my mom always took my sister and I to the library. For some reason, I have very few vivid memories from my childhood, but I do remember going to the library.
I remember the wood furniture and the card catalogs filled with the secret location of the books. I remember the musty smell of the room, and the stillness, and the quiet I love so much. I remember Charlotte's Web was high on the shelf, but my most vivid memory is the location of one book.
I would walk straight ahead and there was a covered bench. On the low book shelves I would search for my favorite book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. I remember the happy feeling when I found the book on the shelf, and I would huddle on the floor next to the bench mesmerized by the bright collages, and the way the caterpillar worked his way through the book.
When my children were born, I wrote to Eric Carle and shared with him my story. He was kind enough to sign the books I sent to him for my children, and sign my copy of the The Art of Eric Carle. He even drew me a caterpillar.
So it shouldn't come as a surprise that the library is a haven for me. When I die, I would love a tree planted for me outside a library, and I would hope caterpillars would build cocoons in the branches.
