For a while when I was little, every evening my mom would read a bit the book My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George to my older brother and, without he realising it, I would listen in, too. This book really perked my imagination as a little girl, and if left such a huge impression in my little head. Ever since I've often imagined, when I am about to fall asleep, that I live inside the middle of a very cozy tree in the forest. I dream that I am all safe and warm and cozy falling asleep in my tree. And this little dream of mine can get me to sleep every time.
I am now 32 years old and still I often imagine that I am in my tree, except now Adelaide is always with me, too. The other night I realised that this dream of mine - which has been with me for so long now - has kind of come true. For we live just beside a huge forest in a little house, which although is not a tree, we have made all safe and warm and cozy together.
Often, when I am feeling sad or lost or down, I will pull out my old copy of My Side of the Mountain and re-read it once again, and it usually does the trick and brings me back to that cozy and safe place. It's amazing to me that a childhood book can do that, and I'm glad that it does.
But it's also left me wondering - have children's books left such a huge impression on others, too? Are there any books that you have carried along with you for decades much like me? Perhaps I am just a bit odd, but I suspect (and hope) that others may have these stories, too. And I'd love to hear.