My mom has always loved books; over the years she has acquired too many to count. So when she moved to a retirement home this spring, and I went to her apartment to begin packing up her things, those books were one of the first things my gaze fell upon. There wouldn’t be room for them at her new home, and she knew she had to give them away. Find a good place for them, was all she said. But there were shelves and shelves, and I didn’t know how I could possibly pack them all up and haul them away in heavy boxes, or where I would take them.
And then I remembered the Little Library.
There is one right outside her apartment. Standing on a single pole, it looks like an oversized birdhouse, its wood painted dark blue. Two glass-paned doors open to reveal three shelves, on which community members are invited to “take a book, share a book”.
To be honest, I have never left anything in it before. They always catch my eye though, these wonderful little giving spots that pop up in neighbourhoods all over the city. And whenever I pass them I can’t help but wonder what’s inside.
So when I was looking at the rows of mom’s books in her too-quiet apartment, I thought, why not put some in the little library?
I took about 10 books down on the first run, in a bag slung over my shoulder. When I got down there I found one door slightly ajar, moving with the breeze and softly tapping against the frame. I opened both doors and peeked inside. There were a few titles there … a cookbook, a novel and, delightfully, a cartoon-character festooned children’s book in Mandarin.
I placed my books on the shelf, then lugged the rest of my bags to the car, and drove off to deliver them to my mother.
When I returned a few hours later for a second round of packing I stole a glance inside the little library as I walked by. Someone had taken the Mandarin reader, and a few of my mom’s books from on top. I felt a little of rush of excitement. I wondered who had taken them, and how great it was that people could find a little unexpected gift like that on their way home.
This time when I came back down from her apartment, I had a full pull-cart of books to add. I lined them up on the shelves, moving taller ones to the top, and smaller ones to the bottom, until they all fit into colourful rows. Cramming the last book in, I stood back and admired my work. Every inch of space was taken. The titles looked back at me invitingly, a jumble of genres and subjects, everything from how to make soap, to yoga guides, to mystery novels, and even Mr. Spock’s autobiography. Satisfied, I started to close the doors but stopped when I heard a happy voice behind me.
“I have some too!”
A woman holding a bagful of books walked up, and I instantly regretted bringing those last ones down. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I think I took the last of the space.”
She smiled and started piling her books horizontally across the tops of the others.
“Oh it’s ok, that’s great,” she replied. “I just went to a book exchange last month, and I’ve been meaning to bring the ones I read.” She shook out her bag. “It’s been empty every time I’ve gone by lately, so I’m glad I remembered today.”
We chatted for only a few moments, but there was unmistakable kid-like energy in our exchange. You’d think we had just dumped out our Halloween candy to see what treasures had come our way.
“It’s the best thing ever,” she said.
“It is the best thing ever,” I agreed.
This ritual has continued for weeks … me going over to mom’s to pack, and ending my evening with a trip down to the little library. Each time I see new people, from all walks of life. Once it was a man in a business suit, coming up as I loaded the day’s tomes with a friendly, “What have we got today?” Another time it was a university student, stopping on her walk to scan the titles. One time I pulled up to find a teenager with a skateboard under his arm looking at what was there. And ever since I saw that little Mandarin book, I’ve taken to bringing some of my kids’ old picture books, to make sure little readers might find something that delights them too.
There is a beauty about this spot. Where anyone might find joy and learning in a book. It’s not dependent on how much money you have, there’s no expectation of payment. No improved access if you have more connections or resources than someone else. It’s just there, for everyone.
And so I happily continued on this way, and my mother’s shelves grew bare as the little library’s grew full. And finally, there came a day when I carried the last of the books down and laid them on the shelf, for whoever would come to get them.
We hit a patch of rainy weather around that time. Not many people were out and about like before. Sometimes when I drove by, there were a couple of books, but mostly it looked empty. I felt a little sad that I had no more to give.
Of course, very similar thoughts have been on my mind lately, with a year of uncertainty and advocacy approaching. Like that little library, our schools should be joyful places, with full access to learning and resources for everyone, and yet they too grow increasingly empty. Funding for special classes and support staff to meet the needs of all exceptional learners … funding for psychoeducational assessments that determine rich and diverse learning needs, increasingly available only to families who are able to pay for them privately … funding for Multilingual Language Learners … books, supplies, resources … reading intervention groups …
In the face of never-ending cuts and reductions, advocating for the supports students need is a most daunting task. But I have hope. Teachers are a tough bunch, and I am looking forward to seeing all we can accomplish together.
And by the way, I did find out who took those first books of mom’s. The other day, on one of my last packing trips and during the first warm days of the season, I saw a couple standing in front of the little library. They were returning some books to the shelves, and one of them looked very familiar. It was mom’s novel, the bright colour and slightly bent corner giving it away. They returned the gift for someone else to read, and more. The shelves were full.
Like the community members so invested in the little library, caring for it and bringing it back to life when it seemed all but forgotten, we too will do our best for our students. And I know that one day, our shelves will be full again too.
