![]() ![]() It was these titles that got me thinking about the books I remembered and loved from my childhood. Seuss’ The Lorax, of course, but he also read Barbara Cooney’s Miss Rumpius, and showed an animated interpretation of the French children’s story, The Man Who Planted Trees, by Jean Giono. In this course, the professor read to us several familiar children’s books that spoke of nature and the environment. It started in a college course I took from the education department. And yet, a year ago, I fell in love with children’s books all over again. We were too old for her to read us stories, too old to look at the pictures, too old to listen to the rhymes of children’s poetry. However, for the longest time, I laughed at her every time she brought home a new book, saying that we, her children, had grown too old for this. So it’s only natural that I should inherit from her the same love of children’s books. In her retirement, she says, she wants to write children’s books. ![]() ![]() From beautifully illustrated read-to-me storybooks to beautifully written chapter books, there is no end to her love of children’s literature. Ever since I was little – and even now that I am not so little – she often will come home from the bookstore with a new Caldecott winner, a collection of children’s Christmas stories, or a treasury of children’s classics for a friend who’s having a baby. ![]()
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