When Trent and I were looking for a place to live together, we agreed that Newaygo, Michigan, was one of the few places that would work for both of us.
It was under two hours from his teenage daughter in Battle Creek. It had woods and a river for Trent. It had a library and a place to go out for a good meal for me.
We found a hand-built home on 20 acres in the woods and made an offer that day. The fireplace was real stacked stone, from the floor to the high ceiling. From the outside, especially in the winter with snow on the roof, it looked like a cottage you would see on a greeting card. In March 2006, we moved in.
In the Spring of 2008, the Newaygo Library announced a capital campaign to raise funds to renovate the 93-year-old library.
The library was one of the Carnegie libraries, built of stone block, entered via imposing steps. It was completely inaccessible to anyone who couldn’t climb stairs.
Georgia, the gray-haired, tattooed librarian, showed me the architectural plans for the renovation. There was an elevator. A children’s reading room with a fish tank was in one wall. Drawn in dotted lines was an addition on the side, if there was enough money.
I said nothing, but decided I would contribute to the children’s room. Maybe I could pay for the fish tank.
After Trent died in September 2008, I firmed up my plans to donate to the library, in memory of how Trent and I read together at night. I sat against the headboard with the open book while he stretched out, arms behind his head, eyes hazy with imagination.
Trent’s favorite book was Endurance.
In the summer of 2009, deep in the financial crisis, Georgia let me know the renovation probably wouldn’t happen. “Nothing’s been announced but—” she held out her open palms and looked out the elegant but cloudy windows, “not now.”
When the Mercantile Library in Cincinnati announced their plans to renovate, I decided to contribute.
Thanks to a mixup, by the time my donation came through, it was late. Not too late for the funds to be useful, but probably too late to be recognized.
Some time later, Chris, a librarian, called to thank me for my donation and to ask, “Would you like your gift to be anonymous or named?”
Normally I go anonymous, but this time I wanted my name connected to the library. After Chris confirmed the spelling, he said, “Do you want to make it in honor of anyone?”
I’ve never made a donation in honor of anyone. It felt extra special. A small seed of hope. “Yes. Trent Price.”
More spelling confirmation, then, “If there’s room, would you like it to say anything else?”
Like what… anything else?”
Like, in honor of his something, something you want to recognize.”
A balloon of hope. I asked for time to think about it, said I would email him later that day. Chris reminded me the artist had already started working on the donor wall. We’d just have to see.
I tamped my hopes down. There were so many letters. They would take up so much space. It might be impossible.
But it wasn’t.
PS: The Newago library, originally built in 1915, was renovated in 2012, and reopened in 2013.
The historical photo was what it looked like when I was there, without the awnings.
The post It started with the Newaygo Public Library appeared first on Jule Kucera’s blog