The library where I work is closing next week for renovations. The renovations were going to take six weeks, and then they were going to take three months, and now they are going to take six months. Every day when I’m sitting at the desk, patrons look around and see the mostly emptied out book shelves, the boxes, the bare wall where we used to hang a lovely quilt, and say, What’s happening?
Next to the desk, there's an eight feet tall sign that gives all the details of the closing and the renovation, but for some reason no one sees this sign.
No one reads signs, Jody, my old circ manager used to say. I argued with her until I witnessed it firsthand. This was maybe five years ago when the library changed the traffic pattern in the parking lot. The city put up a giant flashing sign, the kind you see on the highway to alert drivers that there’s construction ahead. The sign was comically enormous, blazing lights on the library lawn.
But the day they changed the traffic pattern, there were fender benders and near misses in the parking lot, patrons running into the library, breathless, freaked out, shouting, You should put up a sign! I could hear the circ manager sighing in my head.
What is it about signs that we can’t seem to see them? The impeding library closure is getting me down. That, and the election. To get away from it all, my husband and I head out to one of our county’s metro parks.
This is a goal we have, to visit each of the twenty metro parks. Today, we’re on number three, Blacklick Woods. The place is known for its three-story tree canopy walk, a wooden structure that looks like the base of a roller coaster. We huff it up the stairs and trek around the path, and it really does seem like we’re up in the tree canopy.
Another fun feature: a rope bridge. There’s a long line to cross, and I join it. I don’t know why. Normally, I am afraid of heights. A sign hangs overheard. Only four on the bridge at a time. Maybe we’re all a little afraid of heights or maybe waiting in line gives you plenty of time to read, because everyone does the right thing and takes their turn.
When it’s mine, I only hesitate for a second. My library branch will close and then it will reopen. The election will happen and someone will win and we will help each other through whatever happens next. I set my foot down on the ropes, a whir in my ears as I peer down to the ground.
Another step, and the wooden poles keeping all of us aloft, sway.
Hold.
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