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At a college in the middle of New Hampshire’s scenic mountains and verdant forests, students have the freedom to spend as much time as possible in the surrounding environment. From the moment students begin their Dartmouth Outing Club First-Year Trips, Dartmouth can bring about a new appreciation for activities in nature.
Though survival at Dartmouth takes no clear-cut path, certain “tools” are universal, even if they manifest themselves differently for each of us. They often range from the mundane to the bizarre, from the obvious to the not-so-obvious.
Imagine this. It’s finals week, and the amount of material to be learned far surpasses the amount of time before the exam. Every minute of time is crucial, so trekking to the stacks for complete isolation to cram sounds like the perfect solution. That is, until everything becomes a distraction: the books on the shelves, the white noise of the room and the view outside the window all seem to be far more interesting than last week’s economics lecture.
Preparing for and applying to medical school is a challenging process. This is certainly true at Dartmouth College, where students must complete each of their pre-health requirements during 10-week academic terms.
Approximately three miles north of campus, a little deeper into the peaceful hills of the Upper Valley lies a farm “for the students” that offers an escape from the stress and demands that otherwise define the Dartmouth experience. This is the phrase and idea with which I came into contact multiple times during my conversations with some members of the Dartmouth Organic Farm.
Idioms are enigmatic ways of describing the chaos that is the world around us. Something in their endurance makes them comforting. They are reliable. They are a call for cohesiveness; they deconstruct what is complex and rebuild it as simple.
Falcon Wright is one of the Dartmouth Dining Services workers at Collis Café. He was in the stir-fry line before the winter term but has since been moved to Collis Late Night. He is 22 years old and is passionate about cars.
Dartmouth, as a liberal arts institution, not only encourages but also requires students to take a variety of courses in many different subjects. In a given term, it’s not uncommon to hear of students pairing engineering classes with writing workshops, chemistry labs with foreign language drills or even advanced senior seminars with introductory-level lectures. For many students, their diversity of interests is also apparent outside of their coursework in their extracurricular activities.
At Dartmouth, where the four most popular majors are economics, government, computer science and engineering, some undergraduates overlook the academic discipline of studio art. The studio art department offers courses in architecture, drawing, painting, photography, printmaking and sculpture.
I don’t remember when I first read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series. I can picture the nine-volume paperback box set, each cover a different pastel gingham, sitting on the lower left of the downstairs bookcases as if it has always been there. I know that the first book in the series, “Little House in the Big Woods,” was read aloud in my preschool group; I would ask my mom for two “Laura braids” when she did my hair in early elementary school. Wilder’s childhood and my childhood are woven together, zigzagging across two centuries and the continental United States.
Professor Jane Carroll is a senior lecturer in the art history department and a member of the steering committee of the Medieval and Renaissance studies department. Her area of expertise include women and the arts in medieval Germany, the iconography of female piety and early woodcuts.
Menstrual stigmas are rooted not in what is said but in what goes unsaid. We encounter them in the silence between words, in the euphemisms that have spilled into our social script to claim a language of their own, reflexive but prosaic. “I’m under the weather.” “It’s my time of month.” “Aunt Flow is here.” All substitutes for a process whose denotation of blood and connotation of dirtiness have rendered it too “unfeminine” to be called by its formal name: menstruation.
Every year, students may elect to participate in an alternative spring break trip to Washington D.C., organized through the William Jewett Tucker Center. Students on this year’s trip are prompted to explore the intersection of “Race, Faith, and Justice,” a theme that seeks to explore the narratives and issues of race and justice that are present in the capital’s metropolitan area.
What’s your favorite alternative band?
“I think people should try to take advantages of courses … that are kind of project-focused and hands-on” Michael Harteveldt ’19, a government and Chinese major, said.
It’s the last Mirror issue of the term, and we decided to do something different. Something unconventional. Something alternative. Millenials have a tendency to romanticize individuality. Hipsters, tattoos, alternative bands, indie movies, pink hair, latte art — the list goes on. But are hipsters really “hip” anymore? Isn’t getting a tattoo of an infinity sign more a sign of your infinite basic-ness? And let’s not even get started on trite Instagram captions. We get it, you have many #wcw, at least you’re not posting #tbts — the horror.
At Dartmouth, students often face a significant amount of pressure to leave this place with a finished product. This product must show your peers, professors, family and local community that your education was worth it. With that product, you can now point to something that will validate your time and investment into your schooling. Just graduating is no longer something most people believe is “good enough.” Not only do students need to graduate on time, they also have to do so with a two-year plan for afterward. The pressure to have your “next big step” outlined and secured is intensified, as that is what people use as a measure of success. The question college students hear, possibly as early as junior spring is, “So what’s next?” Not having an answer to that question can feel like you have not done enough. Often, this pressure reduces the time spent struggling and working to achieve the entity that validates one’s time at college: the diploma.
If the sun and the moon and the stars were all to align themselves differently, what would we find? In this alternate universe, how many roads would Robert Frost take? Instead of just two, five roads would diverge in a blue wood. He would travel down all five and be five travelers as once. He would stand and look down one road as far as he could to see where it bent in the undergrowth. One day, somewhere ages and ages hence, he would tell with a sigh of how his step trod black the leaves that covered the five roads. He would recount how the travel stretched him right weary, and how as he traveled on, he wished he could have chosen to be one instead of five. But knowing how time turns into time, he doubted he should ever return. Five roads diverged in a blue wood, and he — he took all the five, and that has made all the difference.
Social spaces are integral to a well-functioning college. If you think about the places that we frequent on campus, more often than not they are social spaces. In classrooms, we have meaningful conversations and discuss new ideas with our professors and classmates. In dorms, we reflect on our days and imagine our futures with our roommates and floor-mates. In study areas, we reinforce class material and expand our knowledge base with our friends and peers. Every day, people interact with others in a number of different locations.
Evan Muscatel ’21 and Garrett Muscatel ’20