A Twenty-First-Century Historian’s “Day-Away” Kit 

On November 1st, I officially started my 8-month sabbatical. Unlike my first research leave in 2013/2014, when I literally hit the road on day one, this time my “start” has been more nebulous. Because of short staffing within my library system, I stayed on campus for most of the fall to help ensure that “kids get taught and books get bought.” From late August through the end of October, I sprinted to deliver a semester’s worth of library orientations and purchase a year’s worth of new books within just 10 weeks. That work completed, I am now spending the first week or two of my leave on end-of-year reporting, revising/resubmitting an article manuscript that was rejected earlier, and tying up other loose ends. Ideally, I would have had everything related to my sabbatical in place by now, but, as a Kurt Vonnegut character would say of other farcical or tragic situations, “so it goes.”  

Despite being unable to launch my research on the exact date I had hoped, each day I’ve done something constructive. Today, for example, I took a look at my “day-away kit” —a cheerful paisley LeSportsac bag that I use to carry research supplies to nearby sites. I hadn’t touched it in at least 5 years—not since COVID-19 closed libraries around the world and many historians, myself included, turned toward digitized primary sources on DPLA, HathiTrust, and Newspapers.com. As it happened, I had already cleaned my bag out thoroughly, though some remaining unopened packs of ruled index cards and a fistful of pencils, pens, and highlighters made me smile wistfully.  

My "Day-Away" Bag

In April 2014—the last time I lugged my kit to a research site—my methods were much more “analog” than they are today. So much so, that packing required a substantial checklist of items for a typical day trip. Besides notecards and writing implements, I routinely carried rolls of quarters for parking meters and photocopiers, a Pennsylvania atlas, and printed driving directions. Certain creature comforts were necessary too, including bottled water, snacks, Advil, lipbalm, and menstrual care items, including a spare pair of underwear, and single-use packets of Biofreeze and Hot Hands to alleviate body aches and cramps. After about a month on the road, I added a pair of silicone-tipped kitchen tongs—helpful for plucking books from the highest library shelves and nabbing prints from copiers that were situated behind service desks. In addition, I packed a stapler (as perennial discussions on Reddit, librarian blogs, and other professional venues attest, every library-owned stapler has been broken for 50 years). I also added a small roll of toilet paper, because it seems that no matter when I use bathrooms in public buildings, the odds are only 50-50 that they’ll have something I can use to wipe my ass. I threw in a book of crossword puzzles to keep boredom at bay when unexpected waits occurred. Although I always brought my cell phone, too, at that point in my career I used it primarily for communication and entertainment. At the time, I didn’t consider a laptop essential research equipment, so I rarely brought one with me.  

A decade and a hysterectomy later, so many things on my checklist are irrelevant now. While it’s true that my current focus on mid-late 20th-century state policy will place me mostly in Harrisburg and require less travel, there are various once-essential items that I no longer need in any case. Sure, I am planning to bring my phone, laptop, and charger—in fact, I rely heavily on those now. But 1 pack (not 4 packs) of notecards and 1 or 2 pens (not a fistful) should be enough of a backup for digital notetaking. The spare change in my car should suffice for parking decks that don’t have a downloadable app. Even though it doesn’t seem that Pennsylvania’s rural wireless coverage has improved much in the past 10 years, I feel OK about relying on Google Maps for driving directions. Pain killers, food, beverages, and toilet paper are still essential, but the rest of the pharmacy can stay at home. Comparing my almost-50-year-old self to my 36-year-old self, tomorrow I will seek out hand-held and sheet magnifiers to add to my bag, put a spare pair of eyeglasses in my glove box, and buy an inflatable backrest/butt cushion in case any library’s seating is god-awful. 

Because, at my age, most seating is god-awful. 

On the technological side, I’ll need to do more thinking about equipment, and I don’t doubt that further ideas and needs will arise once I scope out the State Library and my other research sites. Public libraries are often situated in century-old buildings that don’t have convenient power outlets, sufficient scanners, and other necessities for digital researchers. To start myself off, I will carry charging cords in several lengths and a couple of USB drives. Instead of filling a 12-drawer office credenza with photocopies as I did in 2013/2014, this time I created a file structure on OneDrive, as well as a new project folder in Zotero (my citation management program). Next Monday, when I start looking for relevant scholarly research, my first step will be to cuddle up on my couch and use online databases (Library Literature, LISTA, ERIC, WorldCAT, etc.), rather than driving to a library. It’ll certainly be a different vibe from 20+ years ago, when I started my library history journey, Penn State didn’t have as good access to LIS journals, and background research involved printed indexes and a stack of paper-based interlibrary loan forms!   

There’s a significant part of me that’s grateful for computers, digitized materials, and other advances that make historical research much easier than it used to be. However, not having as much of a “day-away kit” makes the treasure-hunt feel like less of an adventure. Maybe I need to reconceive what “adventuring” is. Instead of driving to a site and grappling with all the logistical and physical challenges that a strange new place can entail, maybe there will be different issues—boredom? social isolation?—to cope with. Perhaps, instead of new libraries being my main adventure, my lunch breaks will involve walking some new rail-trails, trying new lunch spots, and uncovering underappreciated points of interest close to home. Instead of deriving joy from changes of scenery, maybe I will encounter different types of rewards, such as more time with loved ones, a more relaxed space, and unexpected means of personal growth.  

And away we go!