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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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When I was a very little girl, I often accompanied Mom to the old Farmer's Store in my hometown where I spent many happy sessions by the rack of Golden Books located near the cash register. (I'm not sure how this activity started; perhaps one day I was acting particularly impatient and she told me to look at the books as a way to distract me.) At any rate, Mom would leave me by the books, and then she'd go off to do her shopping, confident that I would not wander away. Of course when she finished shopping, I'd usually have three or four books picked out that I wanted to take home. "Choose one," she'd say. "You've already got dozens." Then I'd have to spend a few minutes deliberating over WHICH book I wanted. Mom knew just exactly what that new book meant, too. It meant that as soon as we got home, she'd have to read it to me - and probably a few others, too. My poor mother. I'm sure she hoped that at some point I'd get tired of hearing the same stories over and over. But I never did. I never knew, either, when the fancy might strike me and I'd decide that I needed to hear a story. It could be morning, afternoon or evening. Many times when my mother was busy with some task, I'd go to her and ask, "Mom? Will you read to me?" She'd sigh. "Okay. Just let me finish what I'm doing. Pick out two." Occasionally, though, if she had more time to devote to the activity, she'd tell me I could pick out three or four of the little books. Then my mother would sit down in our old rocking chair and I'd climb up on her lap. If I close my eyes, I can remember the sound of her voice as she read to me, pronouncing the words in a crisp, precise manner, and putting emphasis in all the right places. Sometimes while she read the stories, Mom would get a little creative and rephrase a sentence. "That's not what it says," I'd tell her. She'd pause, her expression perplexed. "I don't know WHY you want me to read these. You already know them by heart." Then she'd read the same sentence again, this time exactly as it was written. Eventually as I progressed into elementary school, I learned to read on my own. I'd check out books from the classroom library, and I'd bring them home. Then Mom and I would read them together. After a while, I learned how to read well enough so I could read the books all by myself. By that time we could order Scholastic Books through school, too, and so I added to my book collection often, eagerly waiting for each new order to arrive. I'd read all my new books within a week, and then I'd be impatient for the next time I could order more books. Years and years later, when I was teaching English at Northwestern Military and Naval Academy, a private boys' boarding school near Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, I received Scholastic Book order forms in the mail. The selections were intended for middle school level readers, but my high school students saw the forms on my desk and wanted to know if they could order books, too. Rather surprised that my older students would be so interested in ordering books, especially since many of them experienced a rather tough time in school, I said "sure." You should have seen the book orders I accumulated. Boxes and boxes. It got so that the school secretary would hide the boxes in her office when UPS delivered them because if any of my students (either junior high or high school) saw the orders sitting there, neither she nor I would have a moment's peace for the rest of the day. That's why I always waited until the last class period to open the boxes, otherwise my room would have been sheer chaos all day long from boys rushing in and out to collect their book orders. I didn't mind coordinating hundreds of dollars worth of book orders, though. Just like my mother never really minded that I always begged her to read to me. I guess you just never can tell WHAT might happen if you encourage a young person to read. |
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