I step out of my non-air conditioned car into the sticky humid heat of a late spring day in Iowa. I make my way through the thick air into the reprieve of shade provided by the building. As I relish the coolness the shadow provides, I notice the little square labyrinth of long benches and flower beds to the left, and the large pond not too far behind it. Cute, I think, and continue my walk toward the building. As I approach, the automatic doors slide open (Star Trek was so before its time), and I am greeted by a blast of blessed cold air. When it hits me, I feel as though the heat from outside is peeled from my skin and lies waiting there, just outside the door; it is not welcome here.
Mixed with the processed air is the scent. The scent any booklover would recognize, blind folded, as the scent of a used bookstore or library. The scent of paper that has been mixed with ink to become beautiful pros, masterpiece novels, classic reprints, and children’s books we will never forget. The scent that would make me feel at home anywhere.
I notice the spaciousness, the two floors, which is relevant only for one reason: it means lots of books. After obtaining my new library card from the very friendly librarian, I immediately search for my desired books. It takes me 5 minutes or less to find them, check them out, and be standing back outside the building with my heat suit on, pondering on which bench to sit.
I decide on the far bench, the one facing the pond, and take my seat. I now notice a fountain about 50 yards away at the end of the pond. I begin to read. When the wind blows, and it’s always blowing in Iowa, the spray of the fountain leaps the 50 yard gap and I can feel tiny pricks of coolness on my exposed skin. When the coolness fades I am reminded of my non-air conditioned car and the trip home I must make. I stand, make a path through the shade, and leave.
But I’ll be back soon. That smell and that pond will call me back
