Not Your Grandmother's Library

In the work that I actually get paid for – as in a regular paycheck – I work in two different libraries, one fairly large and one fairly small. If you’re of a certain age, maybe your idea of a library is like mine used to be: a quiet, comfortable place filled with wonderful books and periodicals that lead to knowledge, enjoyment, entertainment, enlightenment; a few tables and chairs, some upholstered, placed here and there so that one can sit and read; perhaps a lively book discussion group. And maybe your idea of a librarian was a genteel, or at least gentle, older (usually) woman (typically) ready to assist you in finding a particular book, or magazine, or to retrieve some bit of information at your request. Maybe you knew it wasn’t a hush-up sort of place any more, but still, a place of modulated voices and intellectual curiosity, of abundant information and good literature (including children’s books, of course).

Ah, the good old days. Not that this has all gone by the wayside, but changes are underway, and like everything else in modern life, those changes are coming faster all the time. And the major agent of change is, of course, technology. Patron computers, wi-fi, DVDs, Playaways, e-book readers, downloadable audiobooks; interactive websites where patrons can reserve, renew, and make requests; video game rooms, networked library systems and interlibrary loans; computerized circulation systems and information databases; it seems that every few weeks there’s something new to learn. Expanded offerings expand the patron base, bringing in folks who have no interest in books but take out tall stacks of movies, or just come in to use the computers, or want someone to teach them how to use their new Kindle. And then there are the patrons who rarely enter the building at all, but avidly borrow the ebooks and downloadables through their home computers.

For a number of years, I had toyed with the idea of returning to school to get my masters degree and become a librarian. This was, of course, based on that old idea of what the job was like. Now that I’ve actually been working as a library assistant for several years, my eyes have been opened to some new realities, and frankly, I don’t think I’m really cut out for the job of a “real” librarian. This has, at least, relieved me of the occasional pangs of guilt I used to feel whenever I berated myself for not getting that degree.

“Real” librarians, nowadays, might be more properly called something like Information Technology Specialists. In order to be a proper one these days, you have to embrace your Inner Geek … and I don’t have much of one. Marilyn Johnson, in her book This Book is Overdue: How Librarians and Cybrarians Can Save Us All, divides librarians thusly: if you were to describe people in terms of technology, only those born after 1980 could be called Technology Natives; the rest of us, born before that date, would be Technology Immigrants. We may have learned to speak the language to varying degrees, but we’re talking with thick accents, and we’re walking around wearing babushkas.

I don’t mean to disparage the many real pre-1980 librarians I work with, many of whom are brilliant and technologically savvy and keep the library as current as possible. But I belong to that other group of Immigrants who are always one (or more) steps behind, who can search the database for a title, teach a patron how to sign up for an email account or download an audiobook, but who haven’t been particularly thrilled at the idea of e-readers replacing real books, need detailed written instructions to reboot the server, and marvel at the people who've been using computers since they were babies and are able to use new technologies intuitively. My group is not the future; that is quite clear. We are struggling to keep up and are still often towards the back of the pack, sometimes marveling at the new gadgets but often muttering under our breath and wondering why the buttons are so damned tiny and everything changes so often.

So I’m okay with being a library assistant, not a “real” librarian. I still get to enjoy getting to know the patrons I serve, chatting with some of them about books, doing the occasional Story Time and setting up displays; I marvel at the advanced knowledge and skills of my better-educated colleagues. And I’m proud to be part of an institution devoted to information, egalitarianism, non-censorship, and privacy.

But my heart is still in the garden, where it’s always been. I like the tangible, hands-on, physical work, the very primal connection to the earth and what it provides us. It’s always miraculous to me, the way that nature wants to grow, how we just help to facilitate that manifestation by planting seeds, clearing weeds, providing water, and standing back to watch. It feels like sharing in a legacy, a continuation of what endless generations before us have done. There’s a high-tech struggle going on, sure, with organics and heirlooms on one side, and industrial ag and Monsanto’s GMO Frankenfoods on the other (no, I’m not biased ;-). And it’s great to have access to the latest ag studies, extension reports, seed companies, to networks of gardeners and farmers online; there’s always so much more to learn. But really, a gardenfarmer lives in the very real world of soil, air, sun, seasons, weather. As a species, we are wired to be attuned to these elements, and our very lives depend on them. It’s a strange experience, having one foot firmly planted in the soil and the other stumbling along, trying to keep up with the swiftly-evolving outside world; a disjointed experience, often. Maybe the geeks have inherited the libraries (and lots of other things), but the survival of the species depends on our stewardship of the earth. And maybe it's not your grandmother's farm any more, but she'd feel right at home here.

Winter Sun

You know those ads and photos of athletic young tanned skiers and snowboarders, enjoying the winter sun? Yeah … they’ve got it right. That Vitamin D thing is what we all need at this time of year.

Sure, I take the little capsules every morning, like pretty much everyone at this latitude should be doing. Even the Canadian government has officially recommended that everyone in that country do the same; the research is pretty clear on the subject, and in a marvelous piece of luck, it’s a wonderfully inexpensive supplement. As long as the label says D3, you’re good.

The sun is reflecting brightly today off the newly-fallen snow, and at midday the south side of the house felt, if not warm, at least not-cold enough to soak up some sunshine. I set a chair out in a protected corner and turned my face up for awhile – aaah, so warm. And suddenly, my memories came flooding in … being a kid and playing outdoors all year long: snow forts and snowmen in the winter, mazes shoveled through the deep snow, tunnels, snowball fights, skating on the pond; skiing in my teens and twenties, long days on the slopes alternately freezing on the lift and sweating on the downhill runs, blinded by the bright sun and dazzled by the mountain views. Snowshoeing through hushed, forested, frosted hills.

And more importantly, how it felt. How much I felt a part of the outdoor world in winter, how my memories are not of discomfort (although there were plenty of nearly-frostbitten fingers, wet boots, and that one time I thought I’d freeze to death from the wind chill on the stuck chair lift) but of enjoyment. Flying down the hill on the sled, pretty much out of control and deliriously happy. The look and feel of winter, the sounds of ice cracking and snow crunching, the sudden little snow squalls as the wind nudges the branches above your head, the cottony silence of the deep woods smothered in snow. The stark contrasts of red berries and evergreens against the white. The sharp wet-cold of fat flakes landing on your upturned face. Marveling at the many hues of blue in the white landscape. Standing at the top of the expert trail in terror, wondering if I’d survive the descent, exhilarated by the time I got to the bottom.

There was no cursing winter in those years, no dreading its arrival and lamenting its length. Winter meant a different kind of fun, a change in activity, and was something we all looked forward to. How that has changed! – and like so many things in life, it’s easy to marvel how I got from there to here incrementally, without realizing the implications. It’s devolved into that conundrum shared by so many, of loving New England but hating the winter. Sure, I know it’s a necessary part of the cycle, of tremendous importance to our environment and all that … but, still. I feel more like a burrowing creature now, wanting to curl up near the fire, concerned with the cost of heating the house and worried about slipping on the ice and falling again. Winter is work now, shoveling the snow and hauling in wood and feeding the furnace. It’s a workplace kept uncomfortably cool, where I leave at the end of my shift feeling chilled to the bone despite wearing layers of clothing. I count the days until the average last frost date, calculating when to start seeds indoors, looking forward to the next growing season. And I take my Vitamin D and cod liver oil to keep SAD at bay.

Of course there are ways to combat the dark and the cold, and yes, I should find a way to incorporate some new thinking into my winter plans. Realistically, though, life changes. I’m not going to spend a small fortune to get myself onto the ski slopes again, and nobody will have the fire burning, dinner on the table, and a mug of hot chocolate waiting if I spend the day adventuring in the snow. But I do know a nearly-six-year-old with a pair of snowshoes; I think I’ll start saving up for a pair for myself. Maybe she’ll be my occasional snow buddy, and there’ll be more to enjoy about winter again.

What's winter like for you? What do you do to enjoy it?

Brrrrr .....

It’s zero degrees this morning here in the shire, and even the houseplants are shivering. This is the darkest part of the year, both literally and figuratively, for those of us whose passion is gardening. How do you get through the winter months? I try some of this and some of that, but it's a long, cold slog until spring, for sure.

There’s the seed catalogs, of course, and the dreaming and planning for this year’s garden. I make lists from the different seed companies, but usually the bulk of my order ends up being from Fedco, with Johnny’s in second place. Last year I was terribly disappointed in some Burpee cosmos seeds, but I still like to try something new from them and several other seed companies.

Late in the fall, I planted some spinach in the unheated greenhouse. It sprouted and grew to the one-true-pair stage before the very cold winter temperatures sent it into a dormant state; it should resume growing in a month or so, I’m hoping, and we’ll have fresh spinach not long after that. It cheers me whenever I go into the greenhouse and look at those green leaves, but the resident chipmunks seem to be nibbling away at the edges too. Chicken wire over the top keeps the cat out, but not the little critters.

Two weeks ago, after making my seed inventory, I made a mixture of lettuce seeds and sowed them into a tray of potting mix, setting that under a plain 24” fluorescent shop light in our furnace room, where the temperature stays at a pretty reliable 60-70 degrees. They’ve sprouted nicely, are getting misted with a weak solution of fish fertilizer, and we might just get a few salads out of it in several weeks. If I can get myself organized enough, I should seed another tray this week. Baby lettuces only take a month or so before they can be harvested.

And then there’s the houseplants. Last fall I came across a wonderfully informative book, How to Grow Fresh Air: 50 Plants that Purify Your Home or Office, by Dr. B.C. Wolverton. I’ve always had a few houseplants around, but this book was inspiring – to the point that we now have a great many, of different types, all proven to improve the indoor air that we breathe. There’s a learning curve, as with anything, and as we creep through these dark winter months I am consulting houseplant books, learning which need that south window and which can sit back in the shade, why the leaves on that one have turned blah (it needed to be moved to a warmer room), how to propagate from larger plants. It helps to satisfy that urge to work with things that grow. And look at that Gerbera daisy at the top of the post! – who would have thought it was an air purifier as well?

Last February, we took our favorite granddaughter to Magic Wings Butterfly Conservatory, a wonderfully warm, humid, sunny large greenhouse-type building full of tropical blossoms and bright-winged butterflies … a lovely break from the chill of winter. Now, if we could build a smaller version of that right onto the side of our house ….