When I was little, I read like a fiend. The librarian let me check my own stacks out. I'd emerge from the doors of my sleepy little library with a pile of books in my arms that teeter-tottered above my line of sight. When I was little and my family would nestle into a cabin high up in Trinity Alps each summer, I'd see one of those logging trucks with unbelievably massive bundles of cut trees on the road, and I'd burst into tears. Such a wee hippie! I don't think I ever made the connection, nor did the hypocrisy occur to me then. I reckon this is a fine example of the blissful ignorance of youth.
Years later and I've still a deep, abiding fondness for books, and for cabins tucked into wilderness.
Places like Powell's become a little wonderland.
I think during our very brief stay in Portland we ended up at Powell's three times! I invested in a super bright book light, which is spectacularly nerdy but, like, I needed one for the road. The staff recommendations were really fun and the little rainbow flags were quite helpful in identifying The Gay. This location is called the City of Books, and as the website says, it's the "largest used and new bookstore in the world...occupying an entire city block, the City stocks more than a million new and used books. Nine color coded rooms house over 3,500 different sections, offering something for every interest, including an incredible selection of out-of-print and hard-to-find titles." I came dangerously close to dropping hundreds of dollars on big, weighty, beautiful books, but the limited space in our car and luggage anchored me to my better judgment.
(But seriously, when is it ever a BAD thing to buy another book? N E V E R.)
M very sweetly paused to snap these in the fashion section.
Riding Pants: The Gap Tank: Nordstrom Rack Denim: Old Navy Vintage Scarf, Boots: Rock n' Rose (Portland, OR) Bag: Betsey Johnson