Dear neighbors:
The city is in the process of engaging an architect to design modifications to our Carnegie Library to meet Americans with Disabilities Act requirements.
Rumor has it that the end result will more than double our current building and shrink the park with the loss of trees, greenstone walls, lawn and sledding hill. And add significant amounts of concrete.
I understand that we will have many opportunities to comment on the three designs that the new architect will present. All those designs will meet parameters outlined in this initial contract and I fear that those parameters do not reflect my hope that the Carnegie is changed as little as possible.
I have heard that we will get a “library for the 21st century.” The real library of the 21st century is already here. It is a website replete with virtual materials. Even before the pandemic, we have gone to our online accounts to research, place books on hold, watch movies, attend programs.
The use of the physical library has narrowed to the mailbox for returning items and a single bookcase where our holds can be picked up and self-checked out. We don’t need any more than our current 2,564 square feet and certainly don’t need 5,788 square feet.
We need our trees and stone walls. We need our park and lawn for summer concerts and dreamy afternoons picnicking and drowsing on blankets in the shade.
Every time I come back from a trip, I feel I have arrived home only when I make the turn at the library corner. There is something solid and reassuring on my right as I go up the hill. The little building, set back in an idyllic, sloping park.
The Carnegie is both elegant and humble. The lawn separating it from downtown’s activity and traffic speaks a reverence for the tradition of scholarly pursuits and books within, while still opening its arms to leisure and play.
Maybe this co-existence of opposites personifies Manitou itself. The disparities are not only harmonious but enhance each other.
My neighborhood has both the library and the elementary school. Along with traffic, dog barking and my neighbor’s heavy metal beat, our daily soundscape includes the morning school bell, the public address system announcements and best of all, the voices of children at recess.
Summer brings us the fire engine horn and sirens during parades, music from the fairs and the Library Lawn concerts.
And just as I’ve learned to run errands around the street closures and avoid the school hill at 8 a.m. and 3 p.m., I relish the diagonal walk through the library park on my way to yoga, for a coffee or evening glass of wine, to choose a gift from an art gallery, take my bracelet for repair or get an ice cream cone with the little ones.
Passing the circular perennial flower garden, I recall taking little transplanted daisies down there with my young children for a community planting.
I enjoy every square inch of this park, the only one in our neighborhood. The sledding hill is just as much fun in summer with little girls in sundresses thrilling to the chase while parents are nearby on the blanket with cupcakes and watermelon slices to share with neighbors.
I know I am really savoring summer when I smell the fresh-mown grass and see people of all ages spontaneously get up and dance as the mild evening lingers.
And did you know that falcons nest in those trees? A fascinating slice of wildlife calls the park home. Wildlife and Manitou characters.
Remember the squirrel man? The philosophy professor who collected aluminum cans? We came to know each other in this little public gathering spot, intimate and accepting of all of us.
Outdoor reading rooms? We have a choice: in shade or sun; a secluded space for two or a mini banquet for the whole group; sloping or not so sloping. Choose a bench if you like for reading or free internet.
Maybe Mr. Science will be there to entertain and amaze. No cement necessary.
Outdoor classrooms? Check. It is common to see two or three classes from the elementary school gathered on the greenstone walls, learning. And doesn’t every child insist on walking those walls?
The Carnegie and the park it is nestled in are the background of my life in this sweet town. When I see the library painting by Rockey or the illustration by Sallie Knox Hall, I really feel a little glow of pride.
That storybook place? It’s mine, that’s where I live. All this intangible is present in the tangible.
It is entrusted to the care of all of us, and especially to our mayor and City Council as they decide how to make this iconic gem accessible to all.
