I don’t remember how old I was, exactly, when I first met Anne Shirley – eight, maybe? – but I do remember exactly where I was: curled up in an armchair in the corner of my grandmother’s living room, with her flowing white drapes pooling on the floor behind my chair. I had always loved to read, for as long as I can remember, but was often resistant to Grandmother’s attempts to press books into my hands. Partly, this was because I wanted to play with the interesting knick-knacks in her house; partly it may have been her choices of books like Ben-Hur and Hiawatha, which didn’t interest me much.

Enter Anne. It was a sunny day, and I think I wanted to play outside. Grandmother handed me her copy of Anne of Green Gables, directed me to the armchair, and told me to read one chapter (or maybe two?) and then I could play. I stayed in the chair for hours.

As the years went on, even after acquiring my own copies of the Anne books, I always gravitated to Grandmother’s copy whenever I was at her house. It was this version:

And from that first experience, body in Grandmother’s armchair but spirit riding alongside Anne and Matthew through the White Way of Delight, obsession grew. It’s not a new story, is it? Bookish girl encounters Anne Shirley, acquires religious devotion to Maud, blazes through entire series and onward until all she has left is The Doctor’s Sweetheart.

Well-trodden footpath though it may be, Anne of Green Gables, and the L.M. Montgomery bibliography I powered through after that first encounter, gave me so many durable gifts. Anne is the childhood classic that has proven most enduring into my bookish adulthood. It was the first really beautifully written novel that I also found deeply engaging, and it has stood the test of time and held up to my adult tastes better than other classics I read around the same time – Heidi, for instance, or Hans Brinker or Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. L.M. Montgomery sparked my love for beautiful nature writing; a common complaint about Anne, Emily, and the lesser-known Montgomery works is too many sunsets, too many stars sparkling over snowfall, too many rapturous descriptions of gardens. I say, bring them all on – it’s a short step, not even a leap, from Maud’s nature writing to the really beautiful works being written today. And nature writing aside, Anne Shirley and Emily Starr and even Jane Stuart and Sara Stanley all pass the Bechdel test, and they showcase different types of families and profile loving and committed friendships and relationships. All of which explain why I still revisit them all regularly as an adult – and why my daughter is named after a Montgomery heroine.

When I was thirteen and a committed Anne-fan, I went to Prince Edward Island with my other grandmother. Grandmama and Grandpapa took my brother and me along on a bus trip from Boston to P.E.I. and back, with stops in Maine (for Acadia National Park and a lobster bake); Halifax, Nova Scotia; and New Brunswick.

There was plenty to love about that trip. I enjoyed it all, but the highlight was Green Gables: standing in “Anne’s bedroom” with the pretty “sprigged” wallpaper, dreaming up for myself what it would be like to wake up in that welcoming space and lean out the window to greet the day (and the Snow Queen). Close second, the uniquely beautiful P.E.I. nature; I could imagine Anne, Emily, Sara, and friends wandering these shores, the fragrances of lupine and salt mingling to create that special island magic.

On my life bookshelf, Anne of Green Gables has to take the first spot.

What is your most enduring childhood favorite?