Yesterday, Tom and I went to the library bringing along proof of address, so that we could get library cards. It's an 18th century, two-story house surrounded by gardens and a picket fence. We were greeted by Glen and Lynn, who are not only the librarians but also the tenants of the house.
"We've come to get a library card," I said to Glen.
"You don't need one," he said. "You just come and take a book and bring it back."
"Right," I said. "For a moment I forgot I was in Nova Scotia." We grinned at each other.
Tom told them where we lived, just a block down the hill. "Oh, you live in the hollow," Glen said.
"They moved that cottage in there several years ago," Lynn said.
"We live in the hollow." I smiled at Tom. Tom and I smile a lot these days.
Glen and Lynn visited Chester twenty-one years from Ontario. "We had a nice house on the Ontario River," Lynn said. "But when we got home and sat on our front porch, we decided we'd rather live in Chester."
"So let's do it, I said." This was Glen. "We sold our house and moved here."
"Lynn does the gardening," Glen said. The library sits on about an acre of land.
"It's a work in progress," Lynn said.
The library: another reason to love this village.
The front door of the library at Halloween.
The front hall. I'm such a sucker for square tiles at an angle.
The book room.
The Club Room for readers.
The Ondaatje Room. I asked them if I could come and write at that table and they both chirped, "Of course!"