Resourcery Reimagined (Part 4 of 4)
Part 4: Considering whether what's next might be less about doing something different, and more about practicing resourcery (a.k.a., librarianship) in different ways.
This is my 17th year as the resourceress (a.k.a., librarian) for Maggie L. Walker Governor’s School (MLWGS), a public high school with a curricular emphasis on government and international studies. I work with brilliant, motivated students from 14 participating school divisions, and equally brilliant and dedicated faculty.
Along with fostering inquiry and research skills and curating an inclusive, eclectic collection that reflects our diverse students, I’ve developed three long-standing programs that support our school’s mission and students’ social-emotional needs, and allow me to contribute to fostering a sense of belonging at our school:
One Small Step which pairs students with contrasting policy opinions for a conversation about the values and experiences that inform their opinions.
Transcribe Team which engages students in transcribing historical documents for state and national archives so they’re searchable by historians, scholars, writers, and genealogists around the globe.
Mindfulness which I’ve integrated into psychology, speech, and biology classes and taught during extracurricular time since I earned certification through the Mindfulness Institute for Emerging Adults in 2016.
Collaborating with students and teachers to offer these programs energizes and inspires me. Take this recent exchange during a meeting of One Small Step organizers who’d crammed into my office during lunch to discuss the conversation roadmap that guides participants’ conversations.
“The name ‘roadmap’ suggests moving forward, reaching a destination,” Mercedes explained, leaning in. “I think this is one reason why some participants rush through questions to get to the next section, when what we really want,” and here she raised a hand to her chest and tapped, “is for the questions to guide them inward.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, bouncing in my chair. The other organizers chuckled at my enthusiasm, asking follow-up questions as Mercedes described two conversation guides she’d drafted that emphasized the goal of going deeper or inward, one design using an iceberg image, the other a multi-layer circular graphic.
Her reimagination of this core document in our One Small Step program was exactly the kind of change I’d hoped for when I invited this year’s organizing team to break and remake our local version of the national One Small Step program from StoryCorps so that it better aligns with our context and our community’s needs.
In earlier posts in this series, I’ve explored key interests that already tug for me to dip my brush deeper into their colors as my life’s canvas continues to evolve: writing (purple), woodworking (steely gray), and giving back to nature (river blue).
But what if, in my chapter after school bells, I find different ways to practice resourcery rather than leaving a profession that fuels my curiosity and sense of wonder. Since emerald is the main school color for the Green Dragons of MLWGS, I’ll let this vibrant hue represent librarianship on my layered canvas.
I love libraries. I love research, technology, and archives too, and get jazzed when I have a chance to share what I know (and continue to learn) with people beyond our Green Dragons’ campus, both quirky things like artifacts in local archives, and practical things like how to leverage open access resources to inform creative writing.
I toyed with the first inclination before the pandemic in a series of workshops I taught at the Library of Virginia that connected writers and artists with cool artifacts—such as scrapbooks and the contents of unclaimed safety deposit boxes—as sparks for creative expression. I’m geeky enough that the idea of going on the road to replicate this approach in museums and archives across the country makes me bubble over with glee. It also makes me long to buy a camper cap for my pickup.
That would be super fun. No doubt. Or as my students would say, hun’drd percent.
Yet, another part of me wonders whether I could help address regional or societal inequities by expanding my resourcery in other ways.
Sometimes I feel guilty about working at MLWGS. As high schools go, we’re small (around 800), and due to our limited capacity, we cannot serve every student who qualifies to attend. Participating school divisions continue to refine their MLWGS admissions processes to be more equitable, but students who could thrive here are still left out. How could I reach more students than those on our campus?
Through professional articles, webinars, and conference presentations, I strive to share what’s working at MLWGS with librarians and educators around the country, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
I’m also concerned about America’s underinvestment in young adults who don’t go to college compared to what we invest in youth and college students. Public funding supports K12 schools and helps some infants, toddlers, and preschoolers too—funding that needs to continue. And numerous non-profits work with youth of all ages. But what happens after students graduate from high school? For young people who don’t enroll in a two or four-year college, support all but evaporates.
We should build more ladders and bridges for young adults, particularly those who pursue a skilled trade or go directly into the workforce, military, or parenting.
What could a librarian do about that?
To make a local impact, I could draw inspiration from Patty Parks, a public librarian in Richmond who, for several years, took her skills on-site at farmers markets and community events to meet people’s information needs where they already were, dubbing herself the laptop librarian.
Maybe I could partner with barber shops, laundromats, grocery stores, or other businesses that busy people already visit to provide brief on-site workshops about research, technology, or related skills their customers would like to learn, such as how to leverage AI ethically and effectively.
Or I could strive for a broader reach, perhaps by working online to raise awareness about open access resources that many high school students, as well as some young adults, could find useful. There’s a non-profit named ITHAKA, for instance, that curates a wide array of scholarly journals, research reports, scholarly books, image collections, and educational content on a portal called JSTOR. While some JSTOR resources require a paid subscription, a growing portion don’t.
ITHAKA’s mission focuses on colleges, including increasing enrollment and retention among historically underrepresented and low-income students. If more students gained familiarity with JSTOR in high school, could it boost their confidence about applying to college, or might it improve the completion rates of those who enroll? Could some facets of JSTOR benefit young adults who choose a non-college path—along with resources like grant opportunities for entrepreneurs?
Through librarian webinars and research workshops for writers, I’ve shared free facets of JSTOR and other valuable open access resources, such as policy reports written for legislators by the Congressional Research Service. What if I reached beyond these groups and beyond the open access resources familiar to me?
I may not be able to spread as much “library joy” as California’s superstar librarian Mychal Threets did before his recent decision to step away from librarianship for a while—but I could try.
I can see a fresh swath of emerald (for resourcery) glowing on my canvas. Will it be the main color in this next layer, or will it be swirled with deep purple (writing), steely gray (woodworking), or river blue (giving back to nature)? So much is possible. And who knows? Maybe what I’ll do next is something I haven’t even imagined yet.