Bookstores occupy a unique place in small communities. There is generally a fiercely visionary aspect to their presence and, usually, a fragility. After all, they are selling a product that is discretionary in areas of the country where folks generally don’t have a lot of discretionary income. Hardware stores they need; bookstores, not so much.
Too often the economic realities of the town and the book business force these stores to descend into being shops of greeting cards and gift items, with the books becoming secondary. No praise, no blame. It’s just the way it is.
But when a store survives with its vision intact and establishes itself as a community anchor, it shines in a very special fashion. Even people who never step inside its doors point to it with pride. “See, we are more than Walmarts and Dollar Generals and barstools and denver omelettes. We are part of the larger world. We value ideas and adventures of the mind.”
Cherry Street is one of those community anchors. Maybe I’m blinded by my history with this store: it, like Beagle and Wolf, was one of the stores that embraced me and promoted me early in my career. Kathleen Pohlig, the founder, made me feel like I was important, not just the next author up in a string of author appearances. A dinner out, good fellowship, and a warm welcome in the store. It made me feel like Sally Field in her famous exclamation: “You like me! You people really like me!” And the feeling was mutual.
This tour’s night together at Cherry Street just cemented that love. All you folks out there in big city America, all you folks who think that rural America is just bullet-headed Trumpists, need to go to a reading at a store like Cherry Street. Smart people, engaged people, stronger in their belief in a worldly vision than many of their urban compatriots, because the reactionary forces with which they have to contend are ominpresent and immediate in their everyday lives.
A rainy night just enhanced the evening’s intimacy. I left with a warm feeling in my heart, not just for Cherry Street, but for this whole nine day journey through the Minnesota north country that I love so much.
Now, it’s a little R and R before going back on the road in the southern part of the state. Sadly, I have to say adieu to my blogging about the tour. Obligations are piling up and I can’t keep pace with the demands. Every mother has at one time told her kids, “If you can’t say something nice, say nothing at all.” My personal variation on that admonition is, “If you can’t do something right, don’t do anything at all.” I can’t do the blogging right, so here comes my radio silence.
Keep reading, keep passing on the word about Lone Dog Road, and pet every dog you can.
