Growing up in the suburbs, it’s hard to feel enchanted by life. Everything is far away and transportation often seems an insurmountable barrier. Even pre-pandemic, going out usually seemed like more trouble than it was worth, so I used to spend most of my weekends indoors with a good book. After losing my job and being forced to complete high school online, my suburban boredom was worse than it had ever been.
With nowhere to go and seemingly nothing to look forward to, I measured the progression of the COVID-19 pandemic the only way I knew how: through the library.
A public library is possibly the single greatest institution ever created; the Ottawa Public Library (OPL) is a pretty amazing example of that. The combination of nostalgia for childhood storytime and a vast collection of resources mean that a library trip is a staple in my week.
The OPL followed the waves of pandemic restrictions closely. At the very beginning, it was shut down completely. I relied on its online catalogue of audiobooks to get me through some pretty lonely 2020 months.
I could pop in my earbuds and watch the street outside my window. It was almost exclusively populated by dog walkers with their pandemic puppies and crows settling in the grass (there’s divination to be found there, if I wanted to look). For hours on end, I would just sit and listen, all alone in my bedroom.
Slowly, in the autumn of 2020, some library services reopened; I could finally put items on hold and pick them up curbside. I would line up outside the building, slide my library card into a tray, and the librarian would spirit it away. Moments later, they would return with my stack of books. It was cold and sometimes it was rainy or windy or snowy, but I was grateful all the same.
Of course, these trips required transportation. My parents were working, I viscerally hate OC Transpo and I still can’t drive, so I enlisted my poor, long-suffering sister.
On those first drives after reopening, we revelled in the novelty of listening to the radio (Flipping stations! Ads! Annoying hosts!). Finally, after months of tearing our hair out in the house, we had somewhere to go. It was a momentary cure for our suburban pandemic angst.
As COVID-19 restrictions lifted further, we could enter the library and check out holds ourselves. Everything was still very controlled; arrows covered the carpet and the stacks were cordoned off.
After over a year, in the summer of 2021, libraries reopened to browsing. It felt like nature was healing.
It’s so weird that you don’t realize how much you miss a simple thing until you lose it. Wandering, running (sanitized) hands along shelves, leaving with way more books than you will ever be able to read in three weeks—these were all things I had taken for granted.
I didn’t realize that community spaces such as libraries are so important. Patrons don’t have to pay to be there and there are no expectations of performance or activity. Since the pandemic started, most public places require you to pay, check in and leave as soon as you’re finished. At the library, you can just be present—that’s what I missed most.
As of mid-January, the OPL remains open for many services despite the rapid spread of the Omicron variant. So once a week, rain, shine, or snow, my sister and I make the trip. We don’t tend to hang around—we just pop in to pick up our holds or maybe peruse the seven-day express loans—but it brings me so much joy. It’s something I can look forward to, even when COVID-19 case counts are climbing or I feel like I’m missing out on the university experience while stuck at home.
For someone who felt very alone during much of quarantine, with only dog walkers, crows and books to keep me company, the escapism and community I find at the library are so important. I’ve come to realize that although a library is mundane—just another facet of the suburban life I denounced as a teenager—there is magic in it anyways.
Radio on, books in the backseat: These days, a trip to the library certainly feels like something special.
Featured image by Arno Ryser.
