The First Library

This was my first library, and surely that alone makes it special. Though I am but one in thousands who have crossed the threshold, I have a sense of ownership here. (I always want to spell libraries with a capitol L, don't you?) I learned about books, music and writing in this place. About life, travel and adventure! Do you remember your first library?

Let me introduce you to my fine old building, dating back to 1864. Though her bones are elderly, the Multnomah County Library in Portland, Oregon is still a beauty. As a girl, I was in awe of the sweeping marble staircases, tall windows and echoing ceilings. Young as I was, I sensed the magic of creativity and great thoughts at work. My mother would drop me off in the children's section, and I would be content for hours. The smell of dust and old paper always takes me back to those treasured days. (Don't all libraries have that smell?)

The library taught me to spread my wings, to see the rest of the world around me. I grew to love my hometown as well.
Portland is divided by the Willamette River, but there are many bridges. They carried me safely across the water in my teenage years. And back home again.

The City of Roses is encircled by ancient trees that have seen it grow and expand. They were there when my library was built!

Set like a jewel in the hills, the Rose Gardens offer peace and solitude. I visited this beautiful place with my children after being away for 17 years, and my eyes filled with tears. Sometimes, you can go home again.

I once wrote a poem for this Raymond Kaskey statue. (See? Libraries make you think you can do anything!) Her name is Portlandia, and she is the second-largest copper figure in the United States.
Cannon Beach is about an hour west of Portland, and my family owned a small cabin there. In moments of loneliness and longing, I would sit in the sand, look out over the crashing Pacific Ocean, and dream of the future. (Of course, libraries place great stock in hopes and dreams.) Who knew that after years of searching for the love of my life, he'd ask me to marry him in that exact spot on the sand?

Mt. Hood sits on the other side of Portland. I picked huckleberries with my mother there in the summer, and my father showed me how to ski on those slopes in the winter time. (Libraries instill a lifelong desire to improve!)

Thanks for taking this sentimental journey with me. I remember who I am by occasionally looking back and that sparks my motivation to move forward.

Where was your first library? Is there a city that makes you sentimental? Do you have fond memories of your hometown?