A Quandary in Quarantine

Chapter Two

Most Monday mornings, I usually followed more or less the same routine. I would arrive at the library around 7:45 or 8:00 am, do a quick sweep of the reference department - which also housed our Adult non-fiction collection - for any obviously out-of-place materials, grab a book truck on my way past circulation, empty the book drop - which is usually full to overflowing after the library is closed all day on Sundays. Next, I take that cart back to circulation so the desk staff can work on getting those items checked in, then I head back to my desk in the reference area.

But this morning, I headed straight to my desk and dropped off my belongings first. Given all the walking my regular morning routine required, being burdened as I was with the accoutrements of winter just would not do.

Because I am the Assistant Reference Librarian, I do not have my own private office. My desk was the public service desk, the reference desk. However, again, this was nothing to complain about from me - I loved being in the heart of the library. The bustle of patrons around me, even when they’re not asking me questions directly, was truly something magical.

As I walked towards the desk, I ritualistically began removing layers. Mittens first, then hat and scarf. I unzipped my coat just as I came to the desk. Irene Savela, the Head of Reference, kept a coat rack in the corner of her private office, and allowed me to hang my coat there as well. On wet days, she even had a small umbrella stand we shared. As usual, she was already in her office, deeply involved with something on her computer screen - budgets, probably - and barely registered my presence.

“Good morning, Irene!” I said brightly, as I hung my coat on the back of the rack, stuffing my hat and mittens down one of the sleeves. “How was your weekend? Did you get to do anything fun?”

“Hmmm? Oh, fine - fine, just dealing with… this,” she said, not raising her head from the glowing blue screen in front of her. I thought I heard her mumble something else, but she was gone again, sucked back into whatever she had been working on. I shrugged and turned back to my own desk and fired up my computer. I thought I would take a quick glance at my email before collecting the book drop - just so I was in the know. I did not like to be surprised.

As I waited for the ancient machine to fully boot up, I saw the library director, Maggie, out of the corner of my eye. She was an early bird most days, too - she liked to have her finger on the pulse of everything going on in the library, so she often attended our programming as a patron if she wasn't scheduled to be working. She was a great manager; well rounded and extremely knowledgable about the workings of the library, as well as knowing most every detail regarding all local governmental goings-on, a very important skill for all public servants. Maggie was relatively new to the library, too, having started as the Director about two years before I moved to Elsewhere. Another thorn in Irene’s side… I had heard that she has thought she was in line for the director’s position. But that was way before my time.

Maggie, seeing me at my desk, veered from her course towards the Children’s Department, and headed my way.

“Agatha, lovely to see you!” She called brightly.

“Oh, hello Maggie, it is so good to see you this morning! And, please - call me Libby!”

It was a bit of an on-going thing between us, though my given name was Agatha Elizabeth Keene, I had gone by Libby for most of my life. During my initial interviews and all throughout the hiring process, Maggie had been transfixed by my name more than anything, once she’d ascertained I had a true passion for working in public libraries, and a Master’s degree and scads of practical experience to back it up - and had asked if I were indeed given that name as homage to the great mystery writer of the golden age - Agatha Christie. I was actually named for a great-great-aunt on my mother’s side, and not the famous creator of Hercule Poirot. So, she had thus far tried to use my formal full name rather than my nickname as much as possible to mask her feigned disappointment. I think she thought that if she continued using it, eventually I would decide to go by Agatha. I didn’t want to break it to her, but I was pretty set on staying just plain Libby.

“Libby, then, but just for today.” She smiled, finishing out our regular comedy routine. “Do you still have time later for our one-on-one?”

“Yes, of course! It's scheduled for one p.m, right? I am looking forward to it; I had hoped we would have the opportunity to revisit the plan for starting a chat reference service, so you could present it to the Library Board Wednesday night.”

I already knew that Maggie was basically on board with the idea of AskElsewhere - even before I had finished a formal proposal for her - but of course, she still needed to get the Library Board’s approval before we moved forward with actually offering the service to our patrons.

“Yes, that is my hope as well. I know you have worked very hard on the proposal, Libby, and I love that you are putting our patrons first with this new addition to our services. You know that nothing is set in stone though, until the Library Board votes.”

Public service, especially on the local and town government level, was nothing if not by-the-book. In the library, Board approval was everything.

“I can email you the proposal before our one-on-one, then if you have a chance to read it before we meet, we can use the time for edits. How does that sound?” I asked, knowing she would appreciate the forethought.

“Yes, please do, Libby - that would be great!” Maggie smiled at me again, and with that, took her leave.

I turned back to my computer, and logged into our city email program. There were two accounts linked to my log in, my own email as well as a generic email used by the reference department. I do not know why Irene would have set that one up, since she never advertised it as a way for patrons to reach out. But, again, hopefully that would soon change.

I hit compose, and dashed off a quick note to Maggie:

Here is the proposal for the AskElsewhere virtual reference service! Let me know if you have any questions. I look forward to our meeting at 1 pm. Thanks, Lib :)

I attached the final version of the two page proposal I had written over the weekend and hit the send button, then I sat back and sighed. Change was good. Change was necessary. Change sometimes moved slower than molasses in January.

*****

Later that morning, after I had done my rounds, I returned to the desk. The library opened to the public at 9:00 a.m. during the week, so I needed to be back at the desk then to field any reference questions our patrons might have.

Typically, the daytime hours at the library were relatively peaceful and quiet, except for questions about how to use the library databases. At least in the reference department. Our busy times were over the lunch hour, and once school let out for the day - in our town, around 2:30 p.m. we got a huge influx of students of all ages, some accompanied by a parent, and some of the older ones came alone. They used our space to study, and do research and group work. Luce focused her teen programs for the afternoons, too - so the space was really hoping from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm each night.

Per usual, the reference department was pretty quiet. I took a quick glance into the librarian groups on social media. Some people might see it at slacking off on the job, but honestly I often used these groups to find out what colleagues across the country, and even the world, were up to in their libraries. Staying connected to other librarians in the field was essential. Many of us often found ourselves up against similar issues - whether they be from patrons, our local leadership, or just how to keep our offerings fresh and enticing, so why should we each have to recreate the wheel?

I read through a discussion thread on the merits of eliminating fines for overdue materials (something I was very much in favor of, and hoped to propose to Maggie very soon) followed by a heated discussion as to whether or not counting checkouts from curated library displays should count as passive programming statistics (the concensus was, no - they shouldn't... alright). I also jotted down a couple of children’s programming ideas I wanted to share with Luce, in case she had not already thought of them. Again, it was the theory of collaboration over competition - when librarians shared their ideas it benefitted everyone.

Later on in the morning, as I perused the daily news sites, a woman approached the desk. She had the air of someone not used to using the library. She glanced around as he walked toward me, like she was not quite sure what she was supposed to do. I knew her type - and I had a sure-fire way to break the ice.

“Good morning, ma’am. You look like you might have a question. What can I help you with today?”

“Oh, I don't want to interrupt you…”

“No, no - believe me, your question is infinitely more interesting than what I was doing!” Well, maybe not in this case, but the patron did not need to know that. “And, besides, it is my pleasure to help you!”

I smiled, this line always got them. Even the “nice” patrons who understood what it was to be a public servant knew deep down that this was true. The means ones took the knowledge that I was an employee of the city, and actually bound by duty to help, and weaponized it with the infamous line about how they “paid my salary” But this lady looked like he was squarely in the first camp. I wish all our patrons were like that.

“Okay, if you say so. I was looking for some help identifying which plants on my property might be poisonous. We have quite a lot of old pasture lands on our lot, and the grandkids are getting old enough that they might go exploring a bit without us being right there with them - I want to be able to tell them what you avoid, you know?”

“Yes, of course, I completely understand! Let me do a bit of digging for you!” As I opened up a search engine and began to do some preliminary research, I continued, “I grew up in Arizona and as a Girl Scout we learned all about the plants to avoid, too. Different set of plants here of course, but very valuable information for every kiddo to learn before they get into anything they shouldn't get into! Okay, let’s take a look at this and see what you think.” I turned the swivel mounted screen of my computer outwards, so she could see the results I had found.

“This site looks like a promising start,” I said, pointing at the screen. I had brought up a publication from the University of Wisconsin’s Extension program called Toxic Plants in Midwest Pastures and Forages. “Though, it does focus more on the effects the plants might have on wildlife, we might be able to cross reference those same plants’ effects on humans. There’s also a list of additional resources at the end, which might be a helpful reference. We’ll keep that one open in a separate tab, but let’s keep looking?”

The woman gestured that I could go on, as I clearly had a better idea of what we were looking at than she did. I love it when patrons trust us.

Next, I clicked into a site about local poisonous plants that had been created by UW Health, a local healthcare provider, and the Wisconsin Poison Center. I clicked into a PDF listing common plants and their levels of poisonousness. “Look, it even shows which part of the plant might be harmful,” I indicated one of the columns of data. “I can print this out for you, if you’d like.”

“Oh, yes, please, that would be great! What do you call this one?” She indicated an image of what looked like a smaller version of a cranberry, growing clustered together on a deep green bush with divided leaves.


“It looks like that is something called a red baneberry. It is part of the Buttercup family,” I read from the screen.

“Oh, our land is absolutely covered with those. Good gracious, I wonder if I should have them taken out.” The woman furrowed her brow, and leaned into the screen to get a better look.

“Yeah, you might consider that,” I said, reading on. “It says here the berries of the red baneberry are very poisonous if ingested in large quantities and may affect the nervous system. The European variety seems to be the most harmful to children, it looks like. I am sure you might not be aware of whether or not you have that variety, or another one, right? Probably better to be safe than sorry, especially if your grandkids are involved.”

“So true,” the woman said. “Could you print me off this page, too?” I had followed another link for more information; she indicated the screen which now displayed a page from the website of the LADY BIRD JOHNSON WILDFLOWER CENTER, which was located in Texas. Though it was far away, the Center was a nonprofit research organization, so it was a great source for this woman’s inquiry.

“Of course! I would be happy to,” I said, clicking the print button on the screen. I reached for his pages as they came out of the printer.

“What do I owe you?” She said.

“Oh, there is no charge for research prints!” I said as I handed her the sheets of paper.

“Wonderful, thank you for the help!”

“Sure thing, let me know if you would like me to find any print materials on this topic; we have a fairly decent local collection, though some of the materials might be in-library use only. One of our library board members became interested in local flora a few years ago, and made a few generous donations. They were older books though, from the early 1900’s, so they might not have the most current information. I know there are some beautiful illustrations in them, however. ”

“Yes I would like to take a look at those. Why don’t you show me where the local collection is, and I will do some reading.” I walked her to our Local History Reading Room, and helped her locate the books he would need.

I was especially impressed with our Local collection. The room was full of antique books, and papers. Most had been donated by families in the area, but the collection had also grown significantly after a sizable donation from board member Eliisa Nurmi. She was a relatively new addition to the board, and no one knew very much about her. Except that she liked books on local plants, apparently. I thought back to the first time I toured the library. I had flown in for my second interview and had stayed overnight in town before heading back to Arizona. After the formal interview, Maggie had given me a tour of the library, and had spent a lot of time talking about Eliisa’s donation. It had come somewhat out of the blue. Eliisa had recently moved to town, and within a few weeks she had become a regular patron of the library. Maggie had told me that she had been especially interested in attending the genealogy workshops that Irene held. Those workshops were now my responsibility, though I had not seen Eliisa attend since I had taken them over.

The collection was especially intriguing, I thought, because of the especially robust ethnobotany section. Ethnobotany is the study of people’s uses of, and relationship with plants. There were a number of journals from local master gardeners, and even some private diaries in our collection. Many of them were written in Finnish. I knew from my own research that there was a large Finnish population in the surrounding area, and that cultural connection was very strong. I hoped to eventually have the opportunity to write a grant to scan some of our more rare books, as well as the collection of Botanical Illustrations. I thought it would be a great partnership with the Wisconsin Historical Society, perhaps, or the Olbrich Botanical Gardens. Though they were both located in Madison, they had wonderful research library located on-site. A huge part of modern librarianship was collaboration, and I always looked for new opportunities everywhere.

After making sure the woman was settled, I reminded her to make sure to come ask me if she had any more questions, I turned and went back to the desk. I saw there was another patron waiting for me.

“Hi there, I was hoping you could help me answer a health question of sorts.” The man began his question before I had even gotten back to my chair.

“Well, I can help find some resources for you, but you know we are librarians here - not medical professionals.”

“Oh, I know, I just want to do some baseline research.”

“Alright then, can you tell me a bit about what you’re looking for?”

“Yes, I heard from a neighbor that people are getting sick in Europe. It’s kind of like the flu, they say? But it it’s not the flu. I want to know what it is called.”

“Ah, yes, I know what you’re talking about, I just was reading an article on NPR about it. It’s called the Coronavirus, or COVID-19.”

“19? Why 19?”

“Well, I think it might be because the first folks who came down with it got sick last year.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Why don’t I set you up on one of our public access computers over there? I can help you identify a few good websites to search to get you started. We have access to a few really great health databases, so you know what you’re reading will be factual and unbiased.”

“I did poked around a bit on WedMD on my computer at home before coming in…”

“Ah, well - that is not always the best source of information. We can do better than that!”

Of course, I wouldn’t be sharing it with the man, but we had a joke in LibraryLand about WebMD - we said it was the only site that could convince you you were dying of a rare disease because you had coughed once.

I pushed my chair back from the desk and stood to walk around the counter. The reference desk itself was set up in a U-shape, with an opening on both sides. It was a low desk, and therefore set up a power dynamic that some patrons took advantage of. I had preferred the reference department set up back in my last library, with the counter-height desk that kept the patrons and the library staff at about the same level. No actual ‘looking down on’ the staff there.

I took the man over to the bank of public access computers we had along the side wall of the department. They were set up with half-wall dividers in between stations, but the backs of each station were open so I could see what was on the screens from the reference desk. This was a point of contention with some members of the Library Board. We needed to maintain patron confidentiality of course, but it was important for us to also make sure our patrons were not accessing inappropriate sites. Believe me, I could tell you stories that would make your ears go red.

“Here we go, sir. You can log in using this temporary username and password,” I said, handing him a slip of paper. “If you think you might like to come access our resources more frequently, I would be happy to help set you up with a library card of your own. That way, you can log in with your own barcode number and set a password, and also check out books to take home with you. These computers here do not have a time limit on them, but I should warn you, near the end of the school day these computers get very busy and you might get a few side-eyed looks if you’re on them for more than an hour or so.”

He laughed shortly, “Well, that is good to know. I will keep that in mind.”

“Okay, so now that you are logged into the computer, I would recommend you start on the library’s homepage, click into the A-to-Z List of databases. I would suggest you try out MedLine or Consumer Health Complete. They are both full text searchable, and pretty intuitive, but let me know if you have any questions.”

“Great, thank you, I will.” He sat and started navigating to the site.

I left him there, and went back to my desk to prepare for the genealogy workshop I had scheduled for three o’clock that afternoon. Both the Adult Programming Librarian, Carson Jones, and I regularly held workshops which allowed us to dive into the ins and outs of our databases, give an overview for patrons who had little to no experience using them, but also provided some tips and tricks that both new and seasoned users would appreciate. That afternoon, I would present on our genealogical database called Ancestry.

We rotated through topics for these workshops, and so I already had my PowerPoint and notes generally prepared, there was also a live demo portion where we usually took someone who was in attendance and did a bit of research on their family history. We had uncovered some pretty crazy things during these live sessions before, I was pretty close to suggesting attendees sign a waiver. These workshops were typically pretty well attended; sometimes I thought perhaps it was more to learn some dirt on another person’s family than it was to learn about their own history.

But, all kidding aside, genealogy was one of my favorite research requests. I often thought that it was a tragedy that in today’s hyper connected world, people have become significantly less connected to their own family’s history; so many of these stories are lost now.

My mind drifted to one such story I recalled hearing from a patron. This one came up in one of the first workshops I held after starting my job at EPL. A family had immigrated from Germany to the United States. The woman was trying to trace her lineage, and as we dove into the research we came across something very surprising. The woman’s great-grandparents had been married in Germany prior to deciding to immigrate to the United States. We easily found the marriage certificate, and also a clipping from a local newspaper announcing their wedding. Then, came the fateful trip to United States.

Since the family originally came from a town called Schievelbein which was located in the Northwestern part of what was then Pomerania, they had boarded a ship in Hamburg, Germany. They were clearly listed as being married in the ship’s manifests. They landed in Baltimore, which was common since those two ports were early commercial partners, and then the records indicate that the woman’s great-grandfather settled there. But, not her great-grandmother. She continued West, and ended up in Wisconsin; initially living with cousins in Milwaukee who had immigrated earlier and eventually finding her way to Elsewhere.

Unbeknownst to her at the time, she had become pregnant with my patron’s grandmother prior to the ocean crossing. My patron’s grandmother was always told that her father had died shortly after arriving in America, and that’s the story that had been passed down to the patron in question. But, we dug deeper into the records held by the Baltimore Historical Society, which, thank goodness to the modern age of technology, were readily available online and found a copy of a divorce ruling naming the patron’s great-grandparents as the complainants. Apparently, the woman’s great-grandparents had gotten a divorce nearly immediately upon landing in Baltimore. After spending long months as sea together, she realized she just could not continue living with him anymore.

Further research revealed that my patron’s great-grandfather had not died shortly after arrival in the United States, rather he had eventually married the milk maid on a farm he ended up finding work on as a farm hand, had five more children, and lived well into his eighties. Ultimately, this led to my patron using the family-finder software built into the database, and being connected to a bevy of long lost uncles, aunts, and cousins. None of which she would have known anything about, had we not found that nearly hundred-and-fifty-year-old divorce cree linked in the ancestry databases. What a wonderful world! I smiled at the memory. Even stories which seemed sad could have happy endings.

After fine-tuning a few things for my program, I looked up to see Annie Bea and Luce approaching the reference desk, and they looked worried.

“Uh, oh - is there another new catastrophe I’m unaware of?” I tried to keep my tone light, but honestly, this year being what it was so far, I should keep the joking to a minimum.

“Well, I think you should check the headlines,” said Luce.

“Remember over the weekend, all that talk about the Coronavirus?” Annie Bea came around to sit next to me on the extra chair. She had likely just arrived for her volunteer shift. Typically, she worked from about 10 until just after lunch, helping us shelve the holds and collect books that patrons had placed on hold so they could be processed. “It sounds like it is getting worse.”

Over the past week or so, new and often conflicting information had been released almost daily. Back in early February, we heard that someone who lived in Wisconsin had recently traveled to China, and was now showing flu-like symptoms of this new Coronavirus. I went back to the site I’d been on earlier, before helping the man access our heath databases, and saw a new headline:


WHO declares COVID-19 a global health pandemic

“Oh, no.” I said, and reached for my phone. I needed to talk to my mother.

I had, of course, been following the pandemic’s spread in Arizona, too. My parents, though they had been divorced for most of my life, both lived in Arizona still. My mother Rebecca, ever the socialite, lived in a 55+ luxury retirement apartment complex in Scottsdale, and my father, who was significantly more hermitic in nature and was named Lee, lived on a hobby ranch outside of Prescott, where I’d grown up.

On the third ring, my mother picked up.

“Mom, hey - finally, it’s Libby,” I said into the receiver. “Have you been watching the news today?”

“Hey there, Libby! Sweets, you caught me just before the girls and I were heading out. Can this wait? You know I love talking to you, but we have lunch reservations at Geordie’s.”

Of course she was. My mother was, of course, referring to Geordie’s Restaurant which was located in the historic Wrigley’s Mansion. Yes, those Wrigley’s. The Phoenix metro area was a bit of a Mecca when it came to historical families and their mansions-turned-hotels or tourist attractions. Most of those locales now boasted restaurants with James Beard Award winning chefs at the helms, and since my mother and her group of like-minded friends were all ladies-who-lunched since their retirements, they were patrons of most of them.

“Well, that sounds lovely, Mom - make sure to have the Black River Caviar for me…”

Good thing my mother was not able to see the epic eye roll that accompanied that statement, that plate I’d mentioned was only $90. For. An. Appetizer.

“I know you think you’re funny, Sweets. The caviar is actually quite good, though. In any case, we’re lunching there today in hopes of wooing a potential donor.”

My mother and her friends where always involved in one philanthropic venture or another, they each served on multiple non-profit boards in the Valley. That was one thing I definitely did not fault them for; outwardly they may have seemed a bit vapid - but this group of women did know how to raise money. If I ever though she’d be willing to move back to the cold, I’d ask her to head up the fundraising for the Friends of the Elsewhere Public Library. Poor Annie Bea and the other members of the Friends’ would have more money than they’d know what to do with. Well, no, not really. There was always plenty of need for money in the library.

“Well, I would call ahead if I were you - and make sure they’re open. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re in trouble. The WHO just declared the Coronavirus outbreak a global pandemic. I want you to be safe.”

“Alright, we will be.”

“I care about you, Mom. Please, take it seriously.”

“Have you talked to your father, lately?” She asked.

“Not this week, but he was next on my list to call, actually. I’ll be honest, though, I’m not as concerned about him following the rules as I am about you. You know he basically just stays on the farm anyway.”

Mom and I ended our call pretty quickly after that. I called my dad, but had to leave a message. I hope I was right about him being safe. It was hard to manage errant parents from 1600 miles away.

Next, I called my father to check in. He picked up halfway through the very first ring, always punctual. That was another stark contrast between him and my mother. The family joke said that she had even been late to their wedding, and she had had his pants.

“My favorite daughter!” My father’s chipper voice answered with his classic phrase.

“I’m your only daughter,” I answered, my usual refrain. I smiled. No matter what, my relationship with my father was easy. He and I picked up like old friends, no matter how long it sometimes was between our calls.

“How’s it going up there in the Great White North?”



“About the same, but I actually called to check in with you about the Coronavirus pandemic. You heard that, right - they’re calling it a pandemic now?”

“Yes, I heard,” he said in a quiet voice. “I assume that means you will not be coming out here for those Spring Training games, like we planned.”

“No, Dad, I’m sorry. I really do not think that would be a good idea right now. You know I would if I could.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

I ended our call and sat in sad silence for a bit. I hoped they got this COVID thing figured out soon, it would be so sad if we had to continue canceling plans like that.