I remember with vivid detail my first library book. There was no library on our one room school. But we had access to as many books as the town kids. Once a month Miz Harrison visited the county school library offices. She went with her two big wooden crates and returned with them filled with books. She checked out the books to us.
My first book was set in the spring in New England (which seemed like the end of the world). I read with relish about young Abby who helped her family tap maple trees for sap, cook it down and bottle maple syrup. The pictures painted by the writer sprang to life in my head. The complaining, the joy, the sense of community was at the same time like and different from making molasses.
It was with that first library book that I knew there was a big world outside East Tennessee, a world I so wanted to see, a world I vowed I would someday see.
Those of us who were eager readers consumed the books. At the end of the month we hurried to finish our last and made suggestions of subjects of the new supply.
Miz Harrison trusted us with the books and let us take them home. I cannot remember her ever chastising anyone for a lost or damaged book. Only much later did I learn she paid damages out of her salary. That is a real teacher.
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