A tiny bit of my childhood is tucked between these pages. The pages of Little House in the Big Woods. I can feel the covers tucked around me or the cool worn fabric of the couch I grew up on. I hear my moms reading voice. Even though I was only three or four she believed I would understand this book vastly above my level. And I did. I grew up being read to, being taught.
I'm a reader now. From the long hours of having the Little House and every picture book imaginably read to me. Teaching me to respect what is the past, to respect books, to love books. To find out what they hold. Thank You Laura Ingalls Wilder for shaping my life.
I can relate to this memory.
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