When I Was Young In The Mountains, by Cynthia Rylant and Illustrations by Diane Goode - Picturebook

What a peaceful life, Cynthia Rylant paints, of being young in the mountains! I find myself wanting to be in that home, in those mountains, swimming in the muddy and dark swimming hole, eating corn bread, pinto beans, and fried okra, and walking to Mr. Crawford’s to get a mound of white butter. Life seemed incredible, like you could taste all types of flavors, smell all types of fantastic mountain smells, and just enjoy being alive. I always find it very interesting to think back on my own childhood with cherished memories of different types of activities that I lived through. I lived by the sea, so my book would have to be titled When I Was Young By The Sea. Still, I could write about catching fish on the surf and then grilling them for dinner that night, walking down after a storm and collecting the most beautiful shells one has ever seen, or watching a storm roll into shore in the late summertime before dashing back home to safety! I am sure those memories of mine are as important to me as Rylant’s memories are to her of being young in the mountains. It is interesting to note, however, that a child will view life so differently than adults, for she may have been very poor when she was young in the mountains, but never even realized it. Our memories can make us the richest people alive at that time in our life and even when we think back as adults and realize that the reason we were only eating corn bread, pinto beans, and okra was because meat was too expensive for our family at that time, we don’t really care. We are still rich with all the memories that will live in our minds forever!

When I Was Young In The Mountains reminds me of Missing May. Sure, Missing May was a sad book about trying to overcome depression and loss after a loved one has passed away and When I Was Young In The Mountains is about all the glorious occurrences that came with growing up in the mountains, but I am sure that Summer must have lived a life like this before May died. Therefore, no wonder Summer had such a difficult time adjusting after May’s death and trying to move on with life.

When I read this book I am reminded of how memories feel. The illustrator has cast every picture with a white cloud around it, almost like you are viewing it from someone else’s memory that comes to us directly from their mind, not merely from a photo album. The pictures are simple with no glamorous shining colors. The colors are pastels and a bit dull. Even the light in the pictures only cast a white orb around the objects that are causing the flame (like in the memory picture with the grandmother walking the little girl to the outhouse, the candle has a white circle around it to show that light is existing). Through the illustrations the reader can almost sense the serenity that must exist by living in these mountains with these grandparents. Life is simple. Life is pleasant. Life is slow. Life is good. This can also be seen in the lack of circular or wavy lines in the illustrations. The lines are more vertical and horizontal, leading the reader to understand that life is not chaotic and fast, but slow and peaceful. There is also a use of dark colors when danger or fear could be protruding (when grandmother was killing the black snake in the garden and walking to the outhouse in the dark) and lighter pastel colors when all is right in the world (at night shelling beans, holding the now dead black snake for a picture, baptisms, and walks to Crawford’s Country Store).

Rylant has shared a precious part of her life with us through what I like to call her “memory picture album”. She has trusted that we readers will not laugh at her memories and experiences as a child and I thank her for sharing!

On a final note, I find it interesting that this was Cynthia Rylant’s first book that she wrote and it won a Caldecott Award. Sure, the Caldecott award is given for the illustrations, but I do not think that this book would have had the illustrations without the words that accompanied them. The words and the illustrations match, and that is what makes an excellent picture book. I also found it ironic that Chris Van Allsburg’s first book The Garden of Abdul Gasazi was awarded a Caldecott award. It was like God was trying to tell these authors and illustrators that they have finally found their place in life and that writing and illustrating it what they were meant for. That must be an excellent feeling and place in life to be in.