Bayfield, Wisconsin, has two wonderful bookstores: Apostle Island Booksellers and Honest Dog Books. Every time I visit Bayfield, I visit both places. I will talk about Apostle Island Booksellers in this blog, and Honest Dog Books in an upcoming blog.

Apostle Island Booksellers is small but gorgeous, and stocked with a wonderful selection of books. Walking through the front door, transports me back in time, into a warm and cozy and other-worldly space. A creamy-white tin ceiling with old-fashioned lights — the kind that bring old schoolhouses and libraries to mind — hangs over the natural-colored wood floors. Windows trimmed in decorative molding, wooden shelves, brick accents, and an old area rug catch my eye. But it’s the colorful covers of books that win over, and I look for something to take home with me.

I walk around the front part of the bookstore, then head for the small back room tucked away like a treasure. As I go, my eyes scan titles and cover art. Along the hallway and in the back room, more books are displayed, making use of every available place to shelve a book. I’m happy to see the room around the corner is unchanged. It has what every bookstore should have: a place for a reader to sit and read a few pages of a book, to see if it’s a good fit.

I think I’ve made up my mind about which book I will buy, but I finish looking around the store before I pluck Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut from its spot on the shelf. My nephew suggested I read it, and I’ve also read that it’s one of Vonnegut’s best.

I discover another book, The Shipping News by Annie Proulx, and snap a picture of its cover. The synopsis intrigues me, but I will think about this book. I might borrow it from the library, or buy it at another bookstore, or buy it from Apostle Island Booksellers the next time I’m in town. Like other book lovers, I wish I could buy all the books that catch my fancy, but I’m limited by the coins in my purse and the space in my home. And my mind becomes uneasy if my To-Be-Read piles mushroom too quickly on the flat surfaces in my home.

While I pay for my book, the clerk and I strike up a conversation about British literature. We are both huge fans and discover that in our early years, we read almost nothing else but British literature. Her love of British authors started with Shakespeare when she was in ninth grade. My love started with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories when I was in seventh grade.

I slip my new book into my large purse, and head to Honest Bog Books. I have one more book to buy.