|lupine flowers in full bloom|
I'm not a parent, so I can't say much about what makes "good parenting," but I can tell you this: we read so many books as kids, and those books, with their poetry and pictures, still stick like stamps firmly in my mind.
The picture books especially remain close to my heart. Perhaps this is why I am a visual learner. Or, maybe I remember these books because I was too young to stay up late listening to my dad read The Hobbit to my older siblings. I still listened through the wall between my bedroom and the living room, but again, only pictures of scenes remain in my mind from that time.
There were many whose watercolors captivated me. My mother would read these books to me at bedtime, and I would half-listen as I lost myself in a sea of soft pastels. The books of Barbara Berger: Grandfather Twilight, When the Sun Rose, and The Donkey's Dream were three of my regular favorites. I loved falling asleep, dreaming of beautiful twilights and sunrises and friendships and visits. Thanks, Mrs. Berger, for giving me sweet dreams :)
|A page from Grandfather Twilight, by Barbara Berger. (Philomel Books, NY, 1984).|
But perhaps one of my very favorite childhood books, one that, as an adult, I find myself going back to in my mind again and again, is Barbara Cooney's Miss Rumphius.
Miss Rumphius has a more involved plot than Berger's books, and the main character's journey along with the pictures, still captivates my heart.
The story is about a little girl who grows up and travels the world.
As a child, travelling far from home was never something I thought I could do; not because I was not capable, but I just didn't think it was real. The places I read about in Miss Rumphius seemed like wonderful fantasies to me, like The Shire in Tolkein's The Hobbit.
When I first moved to Israel, I felt this same captivation with every step I took. Every rock, every tree, every bus stop and plant and bowl of hummus was unique, precious, and undeniably extraordinary. Israel felt like a present God had given me to step outside of my own skin and into the pages of my favorite adventure story.
Of course, the unpleasant realities of politics and social clashes brought me out of that dream bubble, and I struggled with this clashing of my dreams and my reality the whole five and a half months I was there. But that's a different story...
I always admired Miss Rumphius, not because she traveled, but because travel was not her ultimate goal. Miss Rumphius, in my opinion, was the first real backpacker. In the story, she hikes the Himalayas with a guide, rides camels in Egypt to the pyramids, and meets a local village elder on some tropical beach, somewhere in the world. She didn't just lie on a beach getting seriously suntanned for two weeks and then go home (guilty as charged).
|A page from Miss Rumphius, by Barbara Cooney. Viking Books, 1982. The house on stilts in the background resembles traditional homes in Thailand and Cambodia.|
Yet, she also had the wisdom to come back to her own corner of the world after her travels were finished. In the story, Miss Rumphius becomes a librarian (probably yet another reason why I love this book).
And then she grows old. And she lives in a house by the sea.
But before she passes away, she has something left to do. In the story, her grandfather told Miss Rumphius these words as a little girl:
You must do something to make the world more beautiful.
So she does. She rides her bike through her little seaside town and scatters lupine seeds everywhere, so that, come next spring, fields of lupine flowers suddenly spring up all over town.
Have you ever seen lupine flowers?
I love them, because they are wild and free and vibrant. Just like Miss Rumphius.
|Miss Rumphius, by Barbara Cooney. Viking Books, 1982.|