Community Attic

By Penny Nolte

I climb concrete steps gripping the rusty iron railing, smiling when I find Dad’s note pinned to the door. “We’re out on a call now, but come in! Feel free to look around.” His phone number is shared at the bottom just in case other visitors happen to drop by. Pushing the heavy door open scatters rays of dust-flecked light across the dark foyer, revealing a knotted rope hanging through the ceiling and falling to knee level. A small sign, typed in all caps, reads, “PULL ROPE TO RING BELL. ESPECIALLY CHILDREN.”

On the far right, a side door is open to a composting toilet, hand drawn cartoons demonstrating its use. Another few, now carpeted, steps up and the room opens out into a sunlit space thanks to tall stained-glass windows on opposite sides, installed during an earlier renovation. They depict beliefs around universal salvation for all through images protected from the ballpark next door by clear plexiglass shields. Beyond the field, trees sway in an ever-present breeze off the lake, projecting shadow patterns into the crowded interior space. 

Three mismatched glass cases containing treasures line a central aisle. A doll house collection, scrapbook albums, and stuffed seabirds are sharing the spotlight today with colorful designs drawn by a local girl a long time ago. Inching past the displays I come to a donation box for repair of the roof, drop in some change and write my name in the visitor log. Beyond the table are box upon box of stuff, objects and artifacts, some labeled, “Save,” others labeled, “Yard Sale.” A shiny globe stands open, revealing sparkling cutglass stoppered containers. A box of woolen uniform hats is overturned, spilling onto letters of thanks from local school kids, and a peg board wall displays kitchen and carpentry tools from another age. Before electricity complicated everyone’s lives. Further in, pews are obscured by more boxes and a couple of life size wooden boats, each with neatly written index cards sharing information about makers and donors. On the last pew an open cash box sits next to an adding machine, a few rolls of quarters started with others piled up to be counted. 

Climbing narrow steps to the old nave, I reach a row of multicolored file cabinets lined up like a bunch of cousins, from shortest to tallest, along the back wall. The contents are mysterious runs of newspapers, now defunct, with yearbooks organized across the tops, gaps left where missing volumes could go.

Now, back on the main floor, I savor the familiar smell of mothballs competing with perfume and pipe smoke, fragrances that cling lovingly to objects last used so many years ago. The building shelters personal and community mementoes and lessons. At the same time, it is an active construction zone and ongoing art installation. One could spend a lifetime here and never know all the stories it holds. Back behind the front door is another box, and the reason I’ve come. It holds modern toys that can be played with today, like baseballs and harmonicas. I add some new picture books to the pile. 

Stepping outside to the cries of jays and gulls, and trees lightly rustling in that ever-present breeze, I turn toward home imagining restless young visitors who may or may not develop an urge to preserve old things. But who will love to ring the bell.

Penny Nolte, from Montpelier, Vermont, is an author and educator creating gentle narratives of family and place. After a decades-long pause from storytelling, her newest work has appeared in literary magazines including Academy of the Heart and Mind and Macrame Literary Journal. She grew up by the shores of Lake Ontario in upstate New York.