“Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing.” OK, so maybe I wasn’t one of Macbeth’s witches, but I felt like one as I studied the display of herbal teas. While I may sip on lemonade and iced coffee all summer, the first blast of cold sends me to my teapot.

Gone are the simple choices like peppermint or chamomile. Instead, I mentally battle through combinations labeled Passion, Zen or Fusion. Will I enjoy these flavors, or will they linger in the back of the cabinet until they turn to dust? If the latter, they have plenty of company waiting for them. Perplexed, I stood holding two boxes. Which to choose?

“Looking for an addition to your tea library?” It was Andy Keal, the perpetually perky proprietor of Nori’s.

“Tea library?”

“Sure, that’s what we call the tea cabinet at home.”

Library — I love that word. What other word can be used to identify both a building and its contents? And a tea library implies that the random boxes in my drawer were curated, not purchased on a whim.

So, Andy, I stole your term, and later that evening, I announced to my husband Bill that we now had a tea library. So sophisticated. And while Bill may have heard the legendary John Sterling announce the Yankees’ playoff game, he didn’t hear me.

But the smart speaker did.

I didn’t notice at first. The articles in my newsfeed started with a boy creating a stick library for his neighborhood dogs. They meandered through the most unusual libraries in the world. Book suggestions included “The Midnight Library.” But when multiple references to The Human Library appeared, I became suspicious.

The Human Library is an organization that began in Denmark in 2000. Its “Books” are carefully selected people who can discuss, and answer questions, based on personal experiences. They represent stigmatized groups. “Readers” are strangers who ask questions and steer the conversation. The group’s mantra? Unjudge someone.

While interesting and certainly noble, this is not the library that suits me. It’s like the difference between a search engine and the old card catalogs. The Human Library makes a direct match between the judged and a judge: the goal is clear, and no time is wasted — just like a search engine. When flipping through an ancient card catalog, however, the reader might encounter a similar title or discover an author whose name was close to the one they were looking for. Some of my best childhood discoveries were accidents facilitated by the card catalog.

I want my People Library to be as varied and accidental as a card catalog. I don’t want them vetted. I don’t want an agenda. I just want to talk to interesting people.

Before I knew it, I was back at Nori’s again, this time sipping a cup of coffee in the back and contemplating the power of the smart speaker. If it could manipulate my news feed, how could it be used to interrupt the endless stream of sports programming in our house? Devoid of ideas and resigned to my fate, I scanned the room …

“Karen?” I reached out to the person in the next booth.

“Lynda? I looked around and didn’t recognize anyone. How have you been?”

And so began a conversation between acquaintances that hadn’t happened in 25 years. Catching up was like revisiting a book, we laughed and discovered small tidbits we hadn’t noticed the first time.

Coffee finished, we went our separate ways, greeting a few friends and neighbors. Content, I had found what I was seeking: a hot drink and a chat. As usual, it was the right place to be. Sitting at these tables, I learned about the history of Fort Drum, met someone who designs food boxes, and conversed with a man who had a career at Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Not useful knowledge, to be sure, but interesting, nonetheless.

And here is my epiphany: Nori’s is the Saranac Lake equivalent of a Person Library; a place as unique as the town itself. And while Andy Keal may oversee the entire collection, there isn’t a curator of this compendium of eccentric and intriguing souls. And that’s what makes it special.