It felt like such a small thing at first, but it was a big thing, in several different ways.

A wonderful woman in my town – Heather – is on the staff of the Battenkill Book Shope, my small town’s fantastic bookstore. I’m sure she doesn’t know it, but her presence there is a minor miracle for me; I saw her this morning and marveled again at the mystery and wonder of my life.

She brings back some of my best memories.

And the turned bright and full of good.

When I worked in New York City, I had a favorite bookstore, a wonderful one on the East Side near the old Whitney Museum.

It was a fine bookstore, revered and prosperous before the corporate takeover of American culture, including so many independent bookstores, before everything was just about money.

I knew everyone there, and everyone knew me. I loved writers like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and when he published a book, Judy would put one aside; she knew I would come in for it.

I’m not sure I can even remember the name of that bookstore; it was just around the corner from the Whitney; I think it was the Corner Bookstore.

I have always been a voracious reader, never more so than during a painful and stressful life. That bookstore was a haven and refuge, good for my soul and mind.

It was essential to me, a sanctuary in a deteriorating and frightening world. Whenever I walked in there, I walked out with a book that engaged, entertained, stimulated, or inspired me.

Whenever I came to the store, Judy would have a pile of books waiting for me on a shelf near the fiction section.

She knew my reading tastes, as all good booksellers do. I would browse through the pile and take what I wanted without pressure.

I was working on my first novel, and the bookstore nourished and encouraged me. I so wanted to see my book there one day. But the store was gone before that happened.

Amazon had arrived.

All Judy wanted to know was if I liked the book or didn’t and why.

In the several years I went into that special place  – a place of warmth, a cathedral of creativity – I can only remember one book Judy recommended that I didn’t like.

A good independent bookstore is so much more than a bookstore; it is a place of worship for many; it’s sad that younger people will rarely have the chance to experience it.

Barnes & Noble and Amazon have nothing to offer us but books.

That’s not nothing, but it has no magic.

As a book writer, my publisher always sent me out on national book tours.

I always started them at Battenkill. But curiously enough, it wasn’t until I was a blog writer, not a book writer, that I came to see and feel the meaning of a bookstore like this to me.

Every time I walk into the Battenkill Bookstore as Maria and I did this morning, I see Heather at the desk on the phone, searching for a computer or getting a book for someone. She has no time for chatter.

When I see her, I think of Judy and her bookstore; it broke my heart when that store closed. I never expected to find one like it again. I expected independent bookstores to vanish, and some did, but many remain. They are worth keeping around.

In many ways,  Battenkill Books is just like those beautiful bookshops.

Connie Brooks owns and runs the store, and her staff – Heather, Eve, and Kate – are as courteous, knowledgeable, and helpful as the New York City store.

But Heather has connected with me as a good bookseller does with a good reader – we are in sync, and it is a miracle to have that in my life again. It always feels like I’m coming home when I walk in there.

More and more, I believe doing good can spread like a virus. I found the bookstore, and the bookstore saw me.

People in our town love this bookstore and almost fiercely support it.

It is a gift to see my small town have a bookstore like this; I’m not sure even the  Battenkill’s many supporters  know how unlikely and rare it is.

I’ve bought books from Heather for some years now, and she, like Judy, now has developed a keen instinct for what I might like or want to know about.

She doesn’t know this, but this is an emotional experience for me every time it happens. Heather has all the attributes of a great bookseller.

She is generous and thoughtful, has a great sense of humor, knows and loves books,  and wastes little time on idle chatter or bullshit, it is fun to talk with her.

When I’m out of books, I call Heather in a panic, and then I rush to the bookstore, and there is a pile out waiting for me. I’ve never once left without a good book to read.

She wants to do it right, and she does it right. She respects the call of reading and is delighted when she matches a reader up with the right book, which she constantly does with me.

 

(Connie Brooks and Red, at one of my book readings and signings.)

Maria and I came in because we had met a young friend, she Maria talked about animals, two of their favorite subjects.

Maria was saying how much she loved a new book I bought her called “An Immense World”, by Ed Yong, a fascinating look at how animals think and feel.

The young friend was mesmerized; she was going away for the summer and hoped the library had the book.

As we left the co-op, we both turned to one another as we often do and spouted the same idea. “Let me call Heather,” I said, “and see if she has the book,” I called Heather, who often works on Sundays, and told her what we wanted to do, and she got the idea right away, as she always does.

She found the book right away; the store had a copy. We walked over to get it, and Maria brought it back to Sofia, who was pleasantly surprised.

Heather told me that a blog reader had called the bookstore and purchased a $150 gift certificate for Maria and me to buy books when we wished.

It was a very generous gift, a small act of great kindness. I decided to play it forward, use the certificate to do some good, and give the books to people who might like them. Maria thought it was a great idea.

I gave the first book, Old Babies In The Wood, a collection of short stories by Margaret Atwood, to Maria. That was a no-brainer. Maria loves Margaret Atwood, and she loves short stories.

I told Heather to hold $60 of the money for my good friend John, who is coming to the farm on April 12th when I have my surgery,  to help Maria get me into the house since I won’t be able to move my left leg for several days and a walker won’t do it.

The Immense World went to Sophia. She and Maria will be talking about it for years.

I bought a new mystery called Sanctuary by very popular Danish Mystery Writer Katrine Engberg because I had a great feeling about it, and  because Heather had put it in my pile.

It looks great. I have a tic; I love discovering new female mystery writers, for some reason, they do it better than most men.

I’ll read it and give it to a friend who also loves discovering new mystery writers.

And I decided to give a gift to myself – The White Lady – by British Myster Writer Jacqueline Winspear (The Maisie Dobbs series).

I’ve never read her books buI I’ve heard great things about them. I have a great stack of books to get me through the first days after surgery. I’ll review each one.

Heather had three other books waiting for me to look at, but since I burned through the $150 gift in seconds, I put them aside and told her I had to take her photo.

Like so many people, she is shy about having her photo taken.

Do it for the bookstore, I said.

“Thank you,” she said.

No, Heather, thank you.