If By Your Art
David McGlynn The last time any of them had seen the campus, it had been winter, when the trees were bare and the lawns were covered in snow. In August, when the freshpeople arrived for move-in, they marveled at the greenery. Vines crawled up the brickwork and the grass was so thick it looked painted. In the months since their prospective visits, an iron archway had been erected at the campus entrance, where almost every car stopped for a photograph before pulling around to the residence halls. The college’s name and crest framed the view of the maple-lined pathway leading to Main Hall’s stone steps and curlicued ionic columns. Beyond the old building was the library and the NatSci Annex, and in the distance, below the hill, was the mirrored lake that curved to the north across the center of Wisconsin and disappeared over the horizon. Cars began arriving at eight on Sunday morning. SUVs and minivans, pickups and rented trucks, German-engineered wagons with Scandinavian roof racks. The packing list had been mailed in June, but throughout the summer, members of the orientation staff—themselves rising juniors and seniors—had posted reels of their own must-haves: four-inch foam mattress toppers, tower and clip-on fans (res halls were heated but not air-conditioned), K-cup coffee makers and electric tea kettles, immersion blenders for late-night smoothies. The Target at the mall sold everything as a kit, including the blenders, which they could pick up on their way into town.