HARVEST MOON

A post in which I talk not about Neil Young, but about illustration, childhood obsessions, memory, and the Despicable Actions of Some Parents today.

I took this wobbly picture out the front window of my car when I was driving back from Atlanta last night. It's not the real Harvest Moon, but the moon from a few days after -- still just as bright. It was huge and yellow. I immediately though of a book I loved a lot when I was little. It is The Moon Comes Home written by Mary Jo Salter and illustrated by Stacey Schuett. It tells the story of a little girl and her parents traveling home at night from her grandmother's house. It's a simple story, but what makes it are the beautiful pastel illustrations.

In spite of what my photograph may lead you to believe, this is what last night felt like.

In photographing the book, I just noticed something only my adult self would. Dad is in the passenger seat, and the mom is the driver. An occurrence that happens when Hell freezes over in the McFalls house. I used to wish that I could stretch out in the back seat like this. 

This is one of my favorite spreads.

The moon and their home. An early seed of my lifelong desire to own a cat? Most likely.

Pretty much my life today. Minus one checkered quilt and stuffed bunny.

I can't imagine how many times my parents read me this book. It was enough that I deemed it as something I needed to take to my adult apartment. It was enough that I thought of it almost 20 years later driving home. It was probably an annoying amount. And that's OK. My parents humored my childhood fascination with the moon and nighttime. I used to say dark outside as if it were one, quick word. Darkoutside. A few years earlier, I had committed to memory Goodnight Moon. I kept track of every brush and bowl of mush and knew when my parents had skipped a page -- all in the exasperated name of getting me to sleep and having to read this book for the millionth time. I loved crescent moons.  So.

Dear parents in the world. I see you with your iphones. I see your children. I see them with an ipad. I hear no one talking to each other. I hope this isn't an all-the-time thing. Please read to them. Teach them to read the comics in the newspaper. Read them real books with pages. Read them something that they can flip through later without you, that doesn't plug into the wall, run out of batteries, or suppress their melatonin. Don't rely solely on an app. Read them something they will remember 20 years later on a late night drive.

Now, I'm not a parent, and I fully expect to get my comeuppance and have my Parental Ass served to me on a platter one day, but I plan on reading lots of books first. And possibly denying the existence of the internet.

One last word on children's books. Half a Moon and One Whole Star by Crescent Dragonwagon and illustrated by Jerry Pinkney is my other favorite moon book. The illustrations are equally as magical. Translucent, and the right balance between light and dark.

p.s. In looking up Jerry Pinkney, I stumbled upon two other books not read as frequently to me as these, but still great stories with more of his wonderful watercolors. Dare I say sumptuous? They are The Home Place also written by Crescent Dragonwagon and The Talking Eggs a retelling of a Creole folktale by Robert D. San Souci.

In summary, I've had too much coffee already. Childhood literacy and parental bonding are important, and children's books are Great Things. Maybe I've missed a calling as a children's librarian?