April 23, 2026
As I wander the streets of Old Downtown Frankfort, the fresh smell of the outdoors hits my nostrils. An obnoxiously high-pitched, rhythmic beeping can be heard from the crosswalk post, and some strangers raise a polite smile as I briskly pass them on my way down the street. The historic atmosphere raises hopeful nostalgia of times long gone. Then suddenly I arrive at this meek little entryway into what has quickly become one of my favorite bookstores: Poor Richard’s Books.
As you pull open the heavy glass door, you are met with a display of the latest reads of local book clubs, magazines, and latest finds. Behind the shelves are the lovely booksellers. They greet me with a warm smile and a cheerful, “Hi! How are you doing?” I continue to weave my way past the selections of works, some of which include local Kentucky authors, favorite classics, modern fantasy, and my personal favorite, poetry. I take notice of the ladders sitting in the middle of the aisle that are connected to railings above my head; these have quickly become one of my personal favorite features of the store and they bring a childhood fantasy of the "Beauty and the Beast library” experience to life.
As I continue to work my way through the walls of books, I see a rickety staircase that makes me question the safety of it. Like any good bookworm, I long for adventure in not-so-sought-after locations. I continue the unsure path that is set before me as I feel that it might unlock one of my greatest adventures yet. The faintly red- and orange-colored stairs carry me past a messy office area used for bookkeeping, and I gaze out of the historic windows that give a view of a small courtyard in this fabled district. The stained-glass suncatcher draws my eye to the image it reflects of books, perfectly fit for the setting. There is a faint stench of soil coming from the tiny plants in the window sill. Nevertheless, I continue to make my way up and up into the attic. As I approach the last and final step I take a sharp breath, waiting for the plain brown door with a golden handle to open. As I peek into the glory of this room, I am met with a putrid smell of musty books. It reminds me of walking down a city street and passing the smell of weed, I choked and chose to continue going despite my mild asthma flare-up. Once I turned the light on, I was met by a quaint small room with more popular items that were older and a faded newspaper clipping that contained the history of the building. I continued pushing forward into the mildewy smell. My eyes fall on one of the greatest sights I have ever seen, a room filled with older, long forgotten books that long for love. How I wish that I could take them home and read every one of them, but the stench prevents me from taking one too many. I trace my fingers along the paths of spines that have been touched by many before. I take time to think about the people who once possessed such books, what their stories were and where the books have come from. This led me to one of my favorite selections, a Holy Bible that is 4 inches thick, with fading gold edges, published in 1873 that contained family birth, death, and marriage records dating back to 1763. Beneath the many scratches and dingy surfaces, books can contain some of the best journeys you will ever go on as a reader.
The attic still has the original windows that lead you to see the RJ Corman railroad run in front of the old capital building and the history that lies within. The floors make you feel like you’re going to fall through; however, I think it adds to the charm of the place. The stench, the floors, and all of the out-of-place features bring the charm and elegance together to make the store that is Poor Richard’s Books. I do not think that there is another place like it on this earth, and there certainly isn’t one like the attic.
As you pull open the heavy glass door, you are met with a display of the latest reads of local book clubs, magazines, and latest finds. Behind the shelves are the lovely booksellers. They greet me with a warm smile and a cheerful, “Hi! How are you doing?” I continue to weave my way past the selections of works, some of which include local Kentucky authors, favorite classics, modern fantasy, and my personal favorite, poetry. I take notice of the ladders sitting in the middle of the aisle that are connected to railings above my head; these have quickly become one of my personal favorite features of the store and they bring a childhood fantasy of the "Beauty and the Beast library” experience to life.
As I continue to work my way through the walls of books, I see a rickety staircase that makes me question the safety of it. Like any good bookworm, I long for adventure in not-so-sought-after locations. I continue the unsure path that is set before me as I feel that it might unlock one of my greatest adventures yet. The faintly red- and orange-colored stairs carry me past a messy office area used for bookkeeping, and I gaze out of the historic windows that give a view of a small courtyard in this fabled district. The stained-glass suncatcher draws my eye to the image it reflects of books, perfectly fit for the setting. There is a faint stench of soil coming from the tiny plants in the window sill. Nevertheless, I continue to make my way up and up into the attic. As I approach the last and final step I take a sharp breath, waiting for the plain brown door with a golden handle to open. As I peek into the glory of this room, I am met with a putrid smell of musty books. It reminds me of walking down a city street and passing the smell of weed, I choked and chose to continue going despite my mild asthma flare-up. Once I turned the light on, I was met by a quaint small room with more popular items that were older and a faded newspaper clipping that contained the history of the building. I continued pushing forward into the mildewy smell. My eyes fall on one of the greatest sights I have ever seen, a room filled with older, long forgotten books that long for love. How I wish that I could take them home and read every one of them, but the stench prevents me from taking one too many. I trace my fingers along the paths of spines that have been touched by many before. I take time to think about the people who once possessed such books, what their stories were and where the books have come from. This led me to one of my favorite selections, a Holy Bible that is 4 inches thick, with fading gold edges, published in 1873 that contained family birth, death, and marriage records dating back to 1763. Beneath the many scratches and dingy surfaces, books can contain some of the best journeys you will ever go on as a reader.
The attic still has the original windows that lead you to see the RJ Corman railroad run in front of the old capital building and the history that lies within. The floors make you feel like you’re going to fall through; however, I think it adds to the charm of the place. The stench, the floors, and all of the out-of-place features bring the charm and elegance together to make the store that is Poor Richard’s Books. I do not think that there is another place like it on this earth, and there certainly isn’t one like the attic.