Now that my daughter is starting to read on her own, and progressing into chapter books, I thought about the books I got to enjoy when I was growing up. The Little House books, Anne of Green Gables, and Rebbecca of Sunnybrook farm all popped into my mind. In fact, I started to buy these books when she was an infant, waiting for the day when we could read them together.
My daughter is now being asked to read 10 minutes a day, and the standard picture books don’t last that long. So I gave her the choice, and we pulled out Anne of Green Gables.
I read the first chapter, getting lost in the story as Mrs. Rachel Lynde scolds Marilla Cuthbert for being so rash as to take an unknown boy into her house…after all, orphans sucked eggs and poisoned wells (only if they are girls, apparently) and set the houses on fire. The last sentence of the chapter gives a foreshadowing that Mrs. Lynde would be even sorrier for the child if she could see who was waiting to be picked up at the train station. What a wonderful story of an orphan who learns to love and be loved and blossoms under the steadying influence of Avonlea.
At the end of the reading my daughter looked up and said, “I don’t get it.”
I guess we’re not there yet.