The Bookstore That Comes to You

People told me it wouldn’t work. My small town of Eureka, Montana, didn’t have a bookstore, so in 2014 I took an American Booksellers Association course on how to start one. Day one, they said, “A town of 1,400 won’t support a book business unless you already own a building on Main Street.” I didn’t. So I started brainstorming with friends — and landed on the idea of a traveling used-book store.

Within six months, I’d found a 2004 Dodge Sprinter van with 70,000 miles on it. A friend designed the shelves. Someone else built them. Someone designed the logo. I asked everybody I knew for book donations — that’s how I get most of my stock. I didn’t have a business plan. I just thought, “Worst case, I’ll sell the van.” I called it St. Rita’s Amazing Traveling Bookstore and Textual Apothecary. The “Rita” isn’t me, though. The bookstore is named for one of the patron saints of impossible causes. It seemed appropriate.

At first, I set up around my county. Then I went to a music festival over the mountains. Before I knew it, I was in Indiana, Tennessee, South Dakota, California. I’ve logged more than 100,000 miles in nearly 40 states, almost always staying with friends or friends of friends, though I’ve slept a night or two in the vehicle.

If the van could talk, I think she’d say she feels intrepid, going to all these places. And meeting all these people! The little kindergartener who came in with a few crumpled bills and insisted she was going to learn to read before first grade. The cop I thought was going to write me a ticket until he quietly asked, “Do you have any Louis L’Amour books?” (I did.) The bikers, the hippies, the families, the farmers. I’ve seen bears, sandhill cranes, a bison herd maintained by the Blackfeet Nation. I’ve had flat tires in the middle of nowhere and once came out of a coffee shop to find a huge puddle of fuel under the van.

Collins named the bookstore after one of the patron saints of impossible causes. “It seemed appropriate,” she says. Many people had told her the plan wouldn’t work.

Lawren Simmons

Last year, I traded in the Sprinter for a 2023 Ford Transit that fits 700 books on shelves and has storage for 150 more. Hardbacks are $9, paperbacks are $7, kids’ books a dollar. I like to keep it simple. A customer once asked, “You do realize this is a first edition of Dune?” I said, “Great. I’m happy for you.”

Even with artificial intelligence and all that, we still need books — maybe more than ever. Reading can bridge divides between us. It opens our mind to travel, spirituality, languages, cooking, new ideas. I love that my van invites people in, sparks conversations. I’m basically just covering my costs, but I’m very glad when someone finds a book that speaks to them.

Sometimes people like to dwell on things they did in the past. What I love about this bookstore adventure is that it’s about what’s happening now and what’s ahead. No matter how old you are, embracing each day is an opportunity to grow and contribute. As long as we’re alive, we have a chance to make new stories to tell.

Retired teacher Rita Collins, 74, recently relocated to Baltimore, her hometown. Her 2026 plans for her traveling bookstore include a trip through Alabama and the Carolinas.