It feels sturdy.

That may not sound like much of an observation, but if you were on the Callicoon Bridge during its various stages of construction, you’d understand. Before all this work began, the bridge had a little bounce to it. Not enough to send you flying into the Delaware River, but enough to make you wonder if the bridge was quietly bouncing along with you.

“How do you like it?” asked three of the supervisors in harmony, as if they were a boy band. And as if I were the inspector, which I am, unofficially, I replied, “Good work. What else needs to be done?”

“Some grinding,” they chimed.

Grinding? I nodded as though I understood exactly what that meant because, after all, I am the inspector. I then pictured somebody walking around with a giant grinder, grinding the bridge into completion. Apparently, bridge construction has its own vocabulary, and I was not invited to the orientation. There are also lines to be painted, the sidewalk to be finished, and some underneath stuff. Despite all that, rumor has it the whole thing will be completed by November.

The new sidewalk is worth mentioning. It has a nice, substantial width to it. You can actually walk on it without feeling as though you are participating in a high-wire act. My only wish is that it were on the other side of the bridge, the side most people coming from Delaware Avenue use when they walk across. Instead, we have to cross the road to get onto it. But that’s okay. It’s as it always was.

The temporary pedestrian path that carried us through the construction is now out of commission, and sitting there like an old stage set after the actors have gone home.

And then there are the bees. I noticed them buzzing around the new metal railings. Just like old times. Why bees would be interested in a bridge railing is a question I had to investigate. It turns out honeybees sometimes seek out minerals and salts, particularly from water and damp surfaces. They can be surprisingly interested in things that seem completely unappetizing to us. So perhaps the new railings have something on them that is attracting them, or perhaps they’re simply stopping for a little mineral supplement.

This reminded me that I have my own bee situation at home. Or, more accurately, my yellow-jacket situation. They have built a nest somewhere between my chimney and the wall of the house. I discovered this when I noticed yellow jackets going in and out of a tiny opening as though they had been issued their own private entrance. My first reaction was: Get rid of them. My second reaction was: Maybe not so fast.

Yellow jackets are not the villains of the insect world. They are predators, and they eat a remarkable number of other insects, including caterpillars and flies. They also help pollinate plants while they’re out there doing their business. In other words, they have jobs. The problem is that their job description becomes considerably less charming when their workplace is attached to my house.

Still, for now, I’m leaving them alone. The nest is high up and tucked away. They aren’t bothering us, and I have no desire to declare war on an entire colony of venomous creatures. Besides, there is something reassuring about all this activity. The bridge is being rebuilt. The bees are gathering minerals. The yellow jackets are constructing their little kingdom between my chimney and wall. Everything is busy becoming something else.

And after all these months of detours, barricades, temporary walkways and construction dust, maybe that’s what I like most about crossing the Callicoon Bridge again.

It feels sturdy.

And, for the first time in a long time, it feels almost finished.