When I was in college, my mother lived in Oak Park, IL not far from Lake Ave, a walking district filled with retail shops and restaurants. One place in particular that I loved was Barbara’s Bookstore which was a block down from the entrance to the Green Line Metro.Barbara’s wasn’t a small bookshop but neither was it a huge, warehouse-like place like Barnes & Noble or Borders. There was a great collection of eclectic fiction, non-fiction, design books, local zines and poetry chapbooks. There was a generous raised area for kids books and posters of upcoming readings and publications strewn along the walls. And there was the fragrance of the independent bookshop that was the combination of wood pulp, printers ink and patchouli.Barbara’s Bookstore was an enormously comforting place for me to hide from the cold of Chicago’s winters, and I would spend afternoons wandering through the store, brushing up against the titles of authors, activists, adventurers and statesmen. And in the periodicals section, a crazy assortment of art magazines, stapled pamphlets, opened copies of the Reader (Chicago’s now defunct alternative weekly) and university press anthologies.Though it is easy to whitewash the past, those hours looking at book jackets, leafing through design magazines and attempting to delve into some of the local poetry had a big affect on my love of certain writers and willingness to have an open mind to different works. Some of how I see the world came from spending time in that store.Much like the first alternative record store that I went to in high school, Barbara’s bookstore was a cultural hub, a place where ideas and dreams could mesh with what had already come before. Though that is true in a library to a degree, Barbara’s was a store, so much of the work presented was current, relevant, and smelled of the future.As you can imagine, Barbara’s Bookstore in Oak Park is now gone. I’m happy to know that the store re-organized itself into a series of smaller, more nimble bookstores aimed at commuters with locations at O’Hare, Northwestern Hospital and the like. Like any modern bookstore, they’ve had to move with the times, and profit margins grow smaller every year. But, I miss what Barbara’s was in that time before, when independent bookstores weren’t endangered, when ideas and dreams could stand for a few hours, safe from a snowstorm among the stories.