A Trip to the Book Barn

Back when I was dating the man who would become my husband, we would take these long, wonderful drives together. We would often end up somewhere where we could do a little browsing for used books and have lunch. Those were perfect dates as we were getting to know each other and realizing we wanted to be together forever.

One of the places we went a few times was Baldwin’s Book Barn in Chester, Pennsylvania. The Book Barn dates back to 1822, and it is chock full of used books. The old wooden steps creak as you climb up, up, up into the barn, skimming the titles in search of…who knows what exactly?

That’s part of the joy of used book hunting. You might have some authors you always look for, but you often discover surprises along the way.

I am always on the prowl for books by Eleanor Farjeon. Her poetry and her children’s stories are magical—sheer delight—and hard to come by. I hardly ever find one of her books, but you never know what you might uncover this time. That’s part of the excitement of the used bookstore visit.

When we go book hunting together, my husband often disappears into the science fiction section, while I settle into the children’s books. I always look for my old friends there—the authors I know, the stories I remember, and maybe a few I have yet to discover.

An Autumn Outing

On a recent fall weekend, my son’s marching band was competing in West Chester, Pennsylvania, and I thought maybe I should swing by the Book Barn. I knew I would be alone because my husband and younger son had plans, so I didn’t decide to go until the last minute. But I loved the idea of revisiting one of our favorite spots.

I hadn’t been there in years. But as I pulled into the parking lot, I could see the Book Barn still standing proudly, beckoning me in—along with several others. I was surprised by the number of visitors that day, but it was a lovely autumn day, and I wasn’t the only one looking for a book-hunting adventure.

I climbed as high up into the barn as I could, slipping between the shelves of books through the barn, taking in the topics and titles and authors. I’m always at home in a bookstore, full of ideas and possibilities, surrounded by stories.

Exploring the Stacks

I paused in history, slipped into a tiny room full of music books, and spent a little time in travel. I visited the fiction books, but I spent most of my time with the children’s books, as I always do. My sister Treasa’s children are voracious readers, and I carefully sent back photos of the shelves of Bobbsey Twins and Honey Bunch collections so she and her girls could make a few selections. Aunt Rita has to be ready for the next birthday or Christmas or just a surprise porch delivery.

My husband had a few requests too, so I asked a kind man at the register those questions before I paid for my pile of books and headed on my way. I was hoping I might find a special book for John since we celebrated 20 years of marriage this week, but I didn’t. We will have to take a trip to the Book Barn together sometime soon so he can do his own hunting. Because searching for a book to take home is part of the joy.

Stories about Stories

As I was driving home later that evening after witnessing a marching band victory and enjoying an incomparable calzone, I was thinking about the time I have spent shopping for used books. And I was thinking that what I love most about a used book is that the book itself carries a story we will never know, of the places it has been, and the love it has known. For a book to age that long and find its way to a shelf in a used bookstore it must have been loved.

The books I brought home may have had one owner or 10. They may have passed through dozens of children’s hands or been treasured by a single person who kept them intact. Now they will be added to my sister’s collection, and her six children will probably read them cover to cover several times before they make their way to another child sometime in the future.

I appreciate the mystery of not knowing. And I love the fact that these books that could have been lost are captured and preserved and passed along for someone else to enjoy.

Stories connect us to one another. They help us feel less alone. They introduce us to different ideas and people and experiences. And they invite us into an adventure that might be even more exciting than an afternoon at the Book Barn. But I’m grateful for my visit there, and I already can’t wait to go back.

Copyright © 2024 Catholic Review Media

 Print