Library 147: Cornwall Free Public LIbrary
The Cornwall Dip
Library 147! The Cornwall Free Public Library was the 147th stop on my quest to read, write, and knit in every public library in Vermont.
I read: Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
I wrote: the term “Cornwall dip”
I knit: a cardigan for my mom
This town hall + library building is in a town that was once famous for its Merino sheep. The wool produced here was so luscious and desired, a phenomenon called the “Cornwall Dip” emerged whereby neighboring farmers who grew sub-par wool would dip their fleeces into a vat of oils to try to replicate the lanolin of the Cornwall fleece. This couldn’t have smelled good.
A simple internet search did not reveal anything about the dip — I learned this bit of knowledge from a librarian who knows how to find facts that have yet to be digitized. This is gold.
Also gold: the absence of late fees at this library means that some adults don’t feel duly punished when they return a book late. To assuage their guilt, they put coins in the “good conscience” jar. Self-imposed punishments. Dark, but comforting.
Cornwall has no librarian— it has a town clerk who oversees the library. How does the town clerk know how to do this, you ask? Because LAURA (the crafty librarian from Library 116 who has a live chicken named Hen Solo) is the Cornwall town clerk! This is the second library where I’ve met Laura, which is a delight because she is an excellent story teller.
Laura also told us about a revolutionary war hero Ann Story (whom Laura wrote a report about in 4th grade). Ann Story survived British massacres by secretly paddling her five kids in a canoe into a cave where she’d stored provisions. From the cave she watched her house burn down. When safe, she re-emerged with her children to rebuild. I can’t help but think that this might be a useful form of resistance today. I haven’t yet seen reports of masked men in unmarked canoes searching for their next victims in Vermont water caves. Just sayin.
Two rooms in this town building are dedicated to the library: the adult room (with its own mystery section) and the kid’s room, where Lisa and I sat to read. “Where the Sidewalk Ends” was within arm’s reach of the sofa, and I pulled it off the shelf with no hesitation. Reading through these poems gave me a rush of nostalgia—particularly the one that begins “I cannot go to school today,” which I memorized and recited as a kid. The book’s themes of death and pain and aging and war feel more visceral to me now than in my childhood. I looked at the drawings with a deeper mental stockpile of humanity’s capacity for darkness.
The poems were dark, but comforting. Maybe like Ann Story’s cave. Or like self-imposed punishment. Or venting your deepest troubles to a trusted friend. Or like the dark itself.
When we find ourselves in the dark, a library is a good remedy.
I love this post! Thank you for sharing your light wisdom and wit! I’d love to know how the cardigan turned out.