Well, my friends, it's back. The Green has returned.
We've stomped across the snow and slush for two terms now. For months, the large expanse in the middle of campus represented merely a faster, albeit icier and muddier path from the Hop to Baker. Do I walk straight across and put the water resistance/traction of my boots to the test? Or do I slip into my 10A five minutes late? These were the only questions in which that rectangular tract of land was concerned.
And then, slowly at first, spring sprang itself. Like the first cautious buds on the trees, a handful of students began to scatter themselves across the still damp grass.
At first campus at large was skeptical. "Isn't a still a little chilly to be laying out like that?" "Oh man, the back of your pants look like you lost control, dude." But as the temperature climbed into degrees even the Southerners recognized as balmy, more and more students embraced the sunny truth: the Green -- no longer just for walking on.
Throwing our Northfaces into a frat style heap, we ran out to embrace our Manifest Destiny, our Louisiana Purchase, our vast new plot.
I think it's the novelty of the thing. The idea that Dartmouth can coexist with warm weather seemed so improbable in January, or even in March, that when Spring finally comes we become as enamored with the season as a puppy that just discovered its tail. So much land! So much sun! So many sundresses! So much skin! It's enough to give a Vitamin-D-deprived student sun stroke.
The Green has become the center of Camp Dartmouth activities. I expect DOC to implement cabins and archery any day now.
Shall I sunbathe? Play horse shoes? Ogle at couples in heat? Pretend to do my reading? Gawk at girls in bikinis?
[Side note: If you wear a bikini on the Green, you will be judged. You can complain that you should be able to wear whatever you want, it's hot, boys run around without shirts, blah, blah, blah... I don't care. There's no pool. There's no beach. People are judging you.]
And classes begin to seem, well, irrelevant. As Sarah Isbey '08 quipped, "Which am I going to remember more, playing washers on the Green or reading about gravitational motion?" [self call side note: Sarah wants it to be known that we played our first game of washers last week, and totally kicked ass. As the game gains popularity, I expect such stats will be recorded in the sports section, along with cornhole scores]. As Sarah's comment suggests, students tend to get pretty aggressively philosophical about their lack of academic motivation.
"What's a grade? What do classes really mean anyway? Where does one find the true value of one's education?" Whatever. You aren't fooling anyone, people. We all know you just value a good tan over an engaging afternoon with Orgo.
Of course, something so right can't last. We all know this weather is the product of Admissions' deal with the devil for Dimensions. Still, I know I can count on some student to stubbornly remain in flip-flops and sunglasses regardless of the cold snaps to come.
"I'm shipping home my snow boots and down vest," said Tyler Frisbee '08. "I don't care how cold it gets, all I have left is summer clothes in my closet."
Stay strong, Tyler! Spring is here to stay -- until the next snow storm.
Jean Ellen is a staff writer for The Mirror. Blitz her if you want to play cornhole.
