Stories from Our Friends - Macon

I always felt at home in the libraries of my childhood. Twice per week after supper my mother drove my sister and me to a library. Early in the week we usually visited the main library which was housed in a fairytale-like limestone "castle"  bequeathed to the town by a wealthy lumberman, Later in the week we headed to a branch library of more modest demeanor but closer to home. Once our books from the previous week were safely deposited in the return box, we were free to roam the children's bookshelves in our best whisper-voices. My mother headed to the adult stacks to choose volumes for herself and  for my father who worked evenings.

I remember our weekly visits always seemed like treasure hunts where the magic of reading could transport us anywhere in the universe and allowed us to experience anything that appealed to our imaginations. As a child, libraries represented a rich world of boundless possibilities. They still do.