Church Street

Church Street. It might seem strange to some people that this is one of the places in which I feel the most content. A little dinky street that branches off of Maine Street? In New Paltz? Really? When I moved from one state to another it was difficult for me to find a new special place, but this has become one of mine. I love the bookstores which face one another, with only the road separating them. I love the fresh air during the warm seasons in the evenings, when the sun isn’t too hot and the wind isn’t too strong. When my hair is all down and soft behind my shoulders and tucked behind my ears so I can clearly read the titles of new books or used ones. 

When I come to this road, almost always by myself, I first step into Inquiring Minds. The name itself is inviting, and I always shoot a smile at the friendly and familiar face behind the counter. Instant bliss, silence with the exception of the voices of the customers and whomever is on the job. I’ll turn and face the bookshelf by the entrance and let my hands skim the paperbacks and hardcovers, flipping through pages of books regarding education, feminism, cooking, you name it. How exciting. To be in a room filled with pages and pages of knowledge and stories, I just want to know it all.

 I make my way to the back of the little bookstore and admire the décor, the large hanging stars and the twinkling lights in particular. Sometimes I settle myself into the cushy armchair towards the back of the store and read for a while. Of course when I’m this far in I’ve lost cell service, but I try not to stay with one foot out the door and I enjoy my time there. I love seeing children with bike helmets or ribbons adorning their heads, searching through the children’s section as I silently offer my recommendations (I usually just grin at them). If it’s a good day and I make a purchase, I always give my name to the kind person at the desk and add it to my store credit (I’m currently 10 dollars away from a free book if I’m not mistaken).

When I cross the street and step into Barner Books, I’m placed in a different atmosphere. Gone are the tall ceilings and instead I’m in the company of the man with the little glasses and the many funny and quotable posters, lovely maps, and adorable mugs along with the many shelves of books. As I drift towards the back of the shop, I stop at the section with the lovely cursive letters that spell poetry. In this shop, one must look at the first page at the top right corner to find the price written in pencil like this: 10- or 5-.

What I love about this place is that it gives many books a second or third life. The more used the book appears, the cheaper the book tends to be. After looking through the books of Ginsberg, Neruda, and Dickinson, I always make sure to go to the very back of the store to visit the classics. Instantly, a mustier smell hits me since these tend to be the home of the oldest books. Here I admire books I can only hope I’ll have the patience and knowledge to be able to read and comprehend: Homer’s Iliad, Hawthorne’s Scarlett Letter, and more. I still have time.