For the love of Zeus, where is everyone? During the Fall term, I couldn't go more than five feet without running into somebody, on some occasions literally (if they refused to walk on the right side of the path, as intelligent people should); now, though, it seems like everyone has just simply disappeared. When did I miss the Rapture?
Winter term is perhaps best known as the time for the great student exodus from our hallowed halls, as the Sun-worshippers flee our sacrilegious snow banks during the frigid months from January to March. Some do it because they can't stand the cold, or the perpetual white landscape and grey haze, and others because they just want to take the same off-term as most of their friends. Whatever the reason, though, it is absolute madness to refuse or avoid something as integral to our college experience (the legendary "Dartmouth Experience") as Winter term.
Winter is more than just a quarter or a season or a shared experience in a nigh-infinite snowy prison; it's about enjoying the attributes that truly make Dartmouth unique. Let's be honest, Dartmouth is not the only good college in the world. If our arctic climate is such a substantial problem, there are plenty of other campuses closer to the tropics. What separates Dartmouth from its peers is its environment. The icy atmosphere of Winter term creates a unique campus environment in both a physical and a social sense, though the two senses are highly intertwined.
No, this isn't just the sad, lonely pining of a sophomore with no friends on campus (most of my friends were off in the fall, anyway). It's concern for the longevity of our culture and traditions. How many campuses offer an event with a distinguished, 98-year history like Winter Carnival? How many campuses make a monumental sculpture out of snow every year? I visited a friend at a Massachusetts campus this past weekend: They're still waiting for their (artificial) skating rink to freeze over, while we skate gleefully on Occom Pond.
Then there's the fraternity we develop with each other, jumping from heat island to heat island across campus. Suddenly, more people can be found in Food Court or the gymnasium. More students are interested in taking obscure physical education classes like hip-hop dancing, or joining new student organizations to get out of their dreary, cramped dormitories. Indeed, most of the people I've befriended on campus are people I met during Winter term last year. Plus, there's no time like winter for the Dartmouth Flu to fly around the dormitories -- and if we students have ever had a truly communal experience, it's definitely our special winter malaise.
When we consciously flee our campus the moment the first snowflake drifts down from the sky, we deny ourselves a part of who we are as Dartmouth students. Our traditions suffer because of it, which is surprising in light of the too-oft-discussed Student Assembly survey results, which listed maintaining Dartmouth traditions as a top priority of students. One need look only to Winter Carnival as proof: it may have formerly been a major event, but these days it's nothing more than two extra nights of drinking and a day-long break from classes.
This is not to say that we shouldn't ever take winters off. Sophomore summer necessitates that we take an off-term during the year, so it may very well make sense for someone to miss a Winter term. We don't need everyone to be on campus at all times, but when the student body starts fleeing en masse, we're effectively castrating our social culture, leaving us impotent for three months out of the year.
As the freshmen make a solemn vow that" "I will never be on campus during Winter term except when I have to," I'd just like to remind everyone that, though winter may be a dreary, sad experience, it's our dreary, sad experience. It's an important rite of passage in our voyage through the Dartmouth years. Let's stop running away from it.
