We had shelves of books at home, too, of course. Second hand, mostly: a mix of old favorites and 10 cent yard sale finds. My parents let me read for hours and didn't fuss when I read Baby Sitters' Club a little (or a lot) longer than I probably should have.
One favorite was The Jungle Books. We had an old, hard bound, green and gold two-volume set. They were a favorite of my mom's, a love passed down from her own father to her, and on to me.
The language was intoxicating. When I was reading, jungle law somehow seemed truer than the world around me. The seal lullabye brought a tear to my eye. And Mowgli was like a friend.
Despite no neighborhood library, my boys have found that love. I'm so thankful for their love of reading. And their school librarian, who makes sure they never go a day without four new books in their backpacks.
And as for The Jungle Books? M found it this morning. It may not be that green and gold set of my childhood, but the magic is the same.