I have a bamboo curtain along my backyard fence that makes my little slice of green space feel cozy and private.
Like all growing things, bamboo needs occasional trimming, especially the stalks that look freezer-burnt after a cold winter. So I plunge in with my loppers, snip away the leaves and branches, and assemble a bundle of poles suitable for staking tomato plants, among other uses.
Then I send out a blast to Penn State’s new faculty listserv, saying, in effect, come and get it. And come they do.
At the conclusion of my most recent bamboo barbering session, I put the word out at 2:33. The first reply came in less than a minute – oh, wait, that one was from me (since I’m on the list, whatever I send to everyone else I also send to myself).
The first real reply came in 17 minutes. Four more arrived within the hour, 10 more in the next 24 hours. At that point, I called a halt: All the poles were spoken for.
By Penn State network standards, response to the great bamboo giveaway was sluggish. Here are a couple of more typical timelines from recent posts:
- 7:47 p.m. – “Free set of Pfaltzgraff dishes.”
8:02 p.m. – “It took 2 minutes, but the dishes were claimed.”
- 5:43 p.m. – “A scythe. Free to good home.”
5:48 p.m. – “The scythe has been claimed.”
That kind of rapid response was of the essence two years ago when COVID abruptly ended my sabbatical in Greece and I needed housing in the U.S.A. until my renters moved out.
My cry for help went out at 1:06 p.m. I got my first response at 1:08.
All told, I heard from two dozen colleagues. Some had spare houses. Some recommended realtors. Some just wanted to wish me Godspeed.
And one had a son with an Airbnb on Spruce Creek, which she described as “a bit of heaven.” Which it was. We stayed two months.
The faculty listserv is like Alice’s Restaurant. Among the items sought, sold or given away in recent years:
- For sale: hackles, dubbings, deer hair (these appeared under the heading, “Large collection of fly-tying materials”)
- Sought: helium (for a school weather balloon project)
- For sale: animal-shaped humidifiers
- Sought: “ideas for visiting teens to not get bored to tears on this gloomy weekend”
- Sought: support groups for stay-at-home dads
- Offered: Hens. “One is grey and lays blue eggs. One is tawny and beautiful. One is small and brown and independent and the fourth one is crazy but tame.”
- Offered: “We are looking to rehome our two New Caledonian Crested Geckoes, Napoleon and Balthazar.”
All this connecting of divestors and acquirers is wonderful; even better are the service provider recommendations. Back in the day, if you needed an auto mechanic, a dentist or a piano tuner, you’d “let your fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages.” But how would you know which auto mechanic, which dentist, which piano tuner?
Now there are online reviews, but there’s something about an endorsement – or a caveat – from a fellow Penn Stater that feels more trustworthy. Best of all, the seeker of roofer referrals or the best airport parking at JFK usually sends a compilation of all the recommendations, along with capsule reviews.
Though the listserv often functions as an “online flea market” and referral clearing house, says co-founder Ali Carr-Chellman, the original idea was more social. As a new faculty member in the 1990s, she and a few friends hit upon the listserv idea as a way to connect with peers – for hikes, for drinks, for research brainstorming sessions. Old Main gave the OK and the new faculty network was born.
Carr-Chellman, now a dean at the University of Dayton, is tickled that the list has endured and grown organically, according to the needs of members, and without requiring content moderation. While there are occasional testy exchanges when the topics veer into the political (or politicized) realm, the posts, which begin with some variation on “Dear Helpful List,” are overwhelmingly appreciative and informative.
When Andrea Tapia, of the College of Information Sciences and Technology, recently announced she was stepping aside as list moderator, there was an outpouring of appreciation for her efforts and for the list itself. Esther Prins, a professor in the College of Education, said it best:
“The listserv is a great community builder. It has not only helped people figure out life in State College and at Penn State (no topic is too obscure!), but has also been used to support community members who are going through a tough time, whether local refugees or student single parents.”
Over the years, thanks to the list, I’ve rented out my house for the summer, borrowed a highchair for my granddaughter’s visit and unloaded a 30-year-old TV.
My only bad experience: During the long, lonely pandemic winter of 2021, I took a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle off someone’s hands. I now hate jigsaw puzzles.
But I still love the list.
