In third grade I couldn't get my hands on enough of these mystery books. I would check out three or four at a time from the public library in Lancaster. I would hurry home to my little room tucked over the porch on the west side of the farmhouse and read at a fevered pace. I would pile the books next to me on the bed. It wasn't that I could read them all at once, but I liked the feeling of wealth that only comes from having quantities of fresh reading material close at hand.
During a reading binge on a weekend, I would consume as many as two or three books a day. I lost hours and days following a mystery to its conclusion between those pages. Nibbling on apples and saltine crackers. Stopping only when I had to stop. Reading until I was startled that the sun had set outside my window and realizing I needed to switch on my lamp.
The improbability of this super sleuth never occurred to me. When I was just eight, it made sense that Nancy, in all her acquired wisdom of eighteen years, would be able to assist her local police department, outsmart crooks, and solve the puzzles that stumped her lawyer father and the general public. I don't think that she ever got any older than eighteen even when the series grew to include more than 50 books.
The cast of characters were not complicated, but on the canvas of my imagination, the detective, Nancy Drew, and her friends, Bess and George became as big as life.
Nancy was ever so competent in every situation. Her sure steps and quick wit inspired me to confidence of my own. Bess, who was a little chubby and timid, only served to make Nancy look more competent. George, in all her boyishness, provided good balance for the trio. Girls sometimes need heroes who don't stay home and knit and bake and blog.
Hannah, the housekeeper, was the perfect mother figure. There when you needed her to cluck and fix you soup, but with no real authority to tell you what to do.
The father I could never quite figure out. He seemed available for friendly advice and to hug Nancy when she barely escaped from some sinister situation, but where was he the rest of the time when all the action was going down? I suppose he was busy doing lawyer things in his community, but one would think that he might have been parenting a little more. Maybe talking to Nancy about being safe. About college and silly parent stuff like that.
Nancy's boyfriend Ned was always patient and ready to assist. He never appeared to struggle for manly control of the situation, and I don't recall ever reading a story where he squawked about Nancy loading up her convertible and zooming off to Amish country, Mirror Lake, or a distant seaport. To be Nancy Drew was to command respect and freedom.
Oddly, I never wanted to BE Nancy Drew. I just liked to read about her. My true hero was Carolyn Keene. I wanted to be a writer just like her.
There are a few defining moments in life when you realize you are leaving childhood behind. Most occur in the formative years...there is no Santa Clause, no Easter Bunny, no tooth fairy. Some come later...your faith is tested, your parents aren't invincible, you really do have to go to work every day, men have clay feet.
And then there is the unexpected tearing of the veil to reveal that there was no Carolyn Keene. Her name was Mildred. MILDRED. Say it ain't so. There are just some things in life I don't want to know.
I feel rich. Jared's chickens are in my care for a few days while he vacations on the Cape. And, I get to keep the eggs. 
