Old Number Six Book Depot

On Sunday I spent 2 blissful hours at Old Number Six Book Depot in Henniker.

I am renewed.

I haven't been there in years. Many fucking years. I used to go there from time to time and browse endlessly, peacefully, forgetting that I owned a watch, and forgetting about my fucking jobs, and just being me in the one world where I am at peace - books.

Then I was seduced by Amazon with their cheap, used books and delivery to my doorstep. I forgot about Old Number Six. What a fool.

Carol gave me a $50 gift certificate, Keith and Krista gave me a $50 gift certificate and that was all she wrote. I spent $90 on Sunday and bought eleven books. Eleven. I doubt I ever bought eleven books at once ever before in my life.

The Book Depot is a throwback. An old house. Wood floors that creak. Wood stairs that creak. A wood burning stove on the first floor, a couple of electric heaters on the second. It was in the forties on Sunday and it was a tad cool in there. No problem - I dressed for it.

Aisle after aisle filled with books. Crammed with books. At times you gotta hold one book to slide another book out. Some very old (so fucking cool). Most neatly on the shelves. Others laid across the top of those books, just hanging out. You gotta investigate them to figure them out. Chairs are scattered around the store - books piled high on some chairs, other chairs are vacant, which is perfect. You feel comfortable sitting down to get a feel for a book. Books on the floor - piled high.

Step stools here and there so you can get to the top shelf. Rooms meandering off the main floor, crammed with books.

Tags - not fancy signs - tags, jutting off the shelves identifying genres. Signs tacked to doorjambs telling you what topics are covered in the rooms, telling you what topics are covered upstairs.

There is no road map; you gotta wander around. Browse. That is the thrill of it. Shit, man - I ended up with eleven books and I probably visited 30% of the store. So, of course I'm going back. I fell in love all over again.

Upstairs is it's own world. A lot of history. Divided into 20th century, 19th century, 18th century. By country and by region. China, Russia, United States, South America, Asia, Australia - fucking amazing. I wandered through upstairs just to drink it all in again - absolutely stunning how much knowledge is shelved up there.

In general, I wandered around in bliss. Started out in Literature. Checking out this shelf, and wondering if I should check out the shelves behind me or keep wandering down the side I was on. At the end of the aisle - turn right or turn left? Stick with literature or wander down to sports? Or religion, philosophy, fiction, sci-fi, biographies, autobiographies, essayists, nature, wildlife, history?

So many books. 

The Depot is owned by an elderly couple. A couple who has aged considerably since I last saw them. Selfishly I fretted over the future of the place.

I spoke to the husband when I first got there - conversation has always been a highlight of my visits. About life, about books, about authors. But his hearing has deteriorated considerably and the look in his eyes suggested a lack of focus. Broke my heart.

His wife was much more alert. I had a conversation with her on my way out. These, and others who work there, are my people; they validate my true self. Tonic for the soul, baby. 

I walked out of there with a shopping bag, a Whole Foods shopping bag, stacked high with books. I would have danced out to my car, but the bag was heavy.

Old Number Six Book Depot is a unique and special place. Old school. Dripping with personality.

A genuine treasure.