Graduation at Prescott College

This will be my last blog on the subject of student life at Prescott College as a student. Maybe you’ll see me around as an alumnus! I just graduated this past weekend with about 40 other students. The graduation ceremony at Prescott College, like many other aspects of this school, is different than most other educational institutions. Usually a slideshow begins the ceremony, with pictures of graduating students’ adventures at Prescott College. Images direct attention: students watching whales in the Sea of Cortez, bedding down in sculpted-snow quinsy classrooms, exploring pueblo ruins in redrock Utah, or leading a gang of young people on an environmental education adventure trhough a forest near their hometown.
Each student selects a faculty member who knows them well to “give them away.” The faculty member presents their student, or students, and gives a one minute synopsis of the student’s academic or life experiences, strengths, and future potential. The student is then allowed one minute to say whatever they want to say. Most students rattle off a list of thank-yous to family and friends. Some students read poems or stories they’ve written or share meaningful quotes. Others do a practiced or improvisational dance, share a monologue, or tell a good joke. After degrees are conferred by the college President, “real life” begins.
Where do students go after all this?? If I had a dollar for every time I was asked “what are you doing after graduation?” I would be able to pay off my student loans without blinking an eye!! As a new graduate speaking with other new graduates, there seems to be a general consensus: reminiscing the good times, excitement of a new beginning, anticipation of future endeavors, relief of no more homework, and energy to explore what the world may offer. For example, Education students tend to find teaching jobs, both in Arizona and across the United States. Some even started the week after graduation! Adventure Education students usually have some thrilling adventure up their sleeve, both paid gigs as guides or educators and personal trips. Environmental Studies students may work as field ecologists, naturalists, environmental educators, biologists, or land managers. Students of Cultural & Regional Studies may work for non-profit human rights groups, become community builders and leaders, or find work abroad. It’s hard to give any sweeping statements of what new graduates of Prescott College do, because interests and opportunities are so broad. However, I can say they have energy, know-how, and passion to make the world a better place that will be present in anything they do.
To answer that question, what am I doing… During this last semester at Prescott College I did an Independent Study with Lisa Packard of the Highlands Center for Natural History. I was writing the teacher’s guide to the Habitat Learning Program Curriculum, which Lisa authored. The curriculum is bioregionally-based environmental education that takes place in five local public schools with more to come. The teacher’s guide has background information for each lesson. This will familiarize the teacher with ecological concepts and local environmental knowledge, to help the teacher be more comfortable in teaching in an outdoor setting. I will be completing this project in the spring, hopefully with funding from an educational grant!
After that, my partner and I will be farming a local farmer’s property about 40 minutes outside of Prescott, calling our venture Rabbit Run Farm. We will have diversified vegetable crops for sale at the Prescott and Chino Valley Farmers Markets, the Prescott College CSA, and local restaurants. Together (and with help from a few friends) we will be doing all the planning, planting, cultivating, harvesting, and marketing! Look for us at the market or come on out to learn a thing or two about starting a farm!

A Snowy Wish

Many people visiting Prescott are surprised to learn that it gets cold here in Arizona! If you want to visit, be sure to bring your sunglasses and mittens. Winter in Prescott is mostly mild, but the snow holds great beauty! It’s just about that time for some frozen precipitation. Most folks who’ve moved to Arizona shudder at the thought of a frosty day, but I’m crossing my fingers for those grey, mysterious clouds to creep over the mountains prepared to give us a show.

Butte Creek in winter (the creek that flows through campus)

“What’s so great about the snow?” some Arizonans grumble. Three reasons – the physical beauty, the much needed precipitation, and the cultural reaction to the event. In town, snow tends to melt within the day or so. Snow sticks around in the surrounding Bradshaw Mountains, accumulating inches on the trails and multiple feet in drifts. Cactus is covered and pine needles are frosted. Those familiar, dusty, hiking trails are transformed into clean, crunchy footpaths. The mountains are veiled in low hanging clouds that threaten to surround you with their icy curtain. The seasonal transformation makes you wonder if you are in Arizona after all.

As an ecologist and naturalist, snow is never an inconvenience. Arizona is dry. We’re in a drought. Winter moisture is a much-needed element to maintaining green forests. Winter moisture is a contributing factor to recharging our severely over-drawn water tables. Plus, seeing the spring snow melt rush down the creeks in a frigid torrent excites the senses and brings a green spring with desert blooms.

When I first came to visit PC, it was in mid-December. The student I stayed with was from Florida, and she had never experienced windshield ice. She didn’t know that those handy plastic ice scrapers even existed. Instead, she went out to her car with a pot full of boiling water and threw it on the ice hoping to melt it… it didn’t work.

We had a light dusting down here over the holiday break, waking up to a frosty ground and low-hanging fog. Though it dissipated by mid-morning, it was the first hint of Arizona’s forgotten season! These pictures are from last winter!

-Sarah

Baboquivari

Our first real rock climbing trip of the semester, it’s a shame it had to come so close to the end of the class. Our teacher told us that we’d be climbing a sacred mountain down in the Tucson area, which was exciting, and I remember telling my partner about it, though I’m sure I said the name wrong after only hearing it once.
“Yeah, we’re going to take a two day trip to go climb Bava-Keen-wa,” I probably stated.
“You’re climbing a grain-like seed native to South America?”
“No, No, that’s Quinoa, but I will eat that while I’m up there.”
We set out early Sunday morning, chugging south in the van as the elevation dropped and the world outside become more and more toasty. Around Phoenix we stopped for a brunch break, and the continued on our way to the desert lowlands surrounding Tucson.
The van ride felt like forever, and by the time we arrived my legs were not very happy about being told to hike 2,000 vertical feet over 3 ½ miles. At least the view is pretty, I thought at them. That’s all well and good for someone with eyes, they shot back, much to my surprise. And so we were off. Up through the shrubby trees, up past the Saguaros, who’s arms seemed to wave at us in a sympathetic way like “Hey, that’s too bad about you having to hike up this hill. Sorry we won’t be joining you, but we’re attached to the ground, you see.”

I would learn later that heat stroke sometimes presents itself as hallucinated conversations with inanimate objects.
When we reached the campsite for the night I immediately got to setting up my tent. I’m not what one would call an efficient person, and I’m not particularly fond of fumbling around with poles in the darkness with a dim headlamp and sleepy brain. I then started cooking dinner for myself, some quinoa that I had brought up with me, some cheese, and some boca meat. It was a beautiful spot, the fading daylight casting easy shadows that danced about on the peak we would attempt to summit the next day. The last rays of the sun were licking the tip of Baboquivari as I ate dinner, and it certainly beat starting at my dinner table.

We woke up around 6am, in an attempt to beat the heat of the day up to the top of the mountain. Even more breathtaking than the setting sun from the night before was Baboquivari’s shadow out across the desert.
I stuffed my harness into the brain of my pack along with some water and a few granola bars for the day. I offered to carry the rack for my group, which I quickly learned was more trouble than it was worth while also carrying a brain, I felt like a lopsided cow slowly jingling and jangling up the trail.
We hiked to the base of the cliffs and cached our hiking boots and back-packs. Making our way from the gear cache to the beginning of the climb itself was exciting, we kept our left hands in contact with the one cliff while making sure not to veer too far to the right or risk careening off another cliff.
Then the climbing began. Baboquivari loomed over us, like the fin of some giant stone shark. Now, the climbing wasn’t actually all that difficult. We took it slow, placing gear and moving up the rock, but I don’t think I found any moves that were harder that 5.9, but as we climbed the drop on either side of us went quickly from 40 feet to hundreds of feet. Those pieces of gear that I felt unsure about suddenly began calling out to me for extra attention.

This was the first time I had done anything that was six pitches long, and it was fantastic. The exposure, while scary, was really awe-inspiring, it felt wonderful to look out and be thousands of feet above the desert floor below. We finally reached the top after about three hours of climbing, the view exploding out around us. I had intelligently left my sunscreen at camp, and so I immediately attempted to hide my sun-burned neck under a bush for a few minutes before giving up. I’ve been on top of a lot of mountains, and the view from this one was spectacular, and probably more so because I knew that I had just climbed up the darn thing. My only regret is that there was a fair amount of smog, I assume blowing in from L.A., that took away just a bit of the awe.

The descent from the peak was probably the most scenic and most fun descent off a mountain I’ve every experienced, clambering down along the cliff face made me wish I could do this sort of thing all the time. We got back to camp much faster than the time it had taken to reach the climbs earlier that morning, and we were packed and ready to go within ten minutes of reaching the campsite.

Now I am a person that likes to think about experiences like this after they happen, so I took the front of the line and sped down the trail, my mind ablaze with activity. By the time I was within five minutes of the van, I was a good half mile ahead of the group.
I was within two minutes of the van, really ready to take off my pack and relax on the ride home, and was strolling over a dry creek bed when suddenly there was something moving in the bushes off to my left. Something Big. Something making lots of noise.
Before we began hiking, one of the locals had mentioned to us that there were cougars that patrolled the slopes of Baboquivari quite frequently. I’ve been through a few wilderness first aid and wilderness survival classes, I know it’s a bad idea to be alone with a cat that large. Looking around slowly, I bent down and picked up a large rock. I knew my pack would protect me if it tried to leap on my neck, so I kept that on. I wondered if I should just wait silently until the rest of the group caught up with me, but that could take a long time.
Scanning the brush, I sidled along the trail, careful to be as quiet as possible. Slowly moving towards the van, constantly on the look out for a deadly blur out of the undergrowth. I decided to try my luck, and I chuck a small rock into the bushes. The large thing starts at the noise, and then lets out a ferocious roar that you could probably hear from a few hundred meters away. It went like this:
“MMMMmmmmmOooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo.”
I felt a little embarrassed, and did not mention the incident to my class when they found me, 20 minutes later, napping at the van.
As we drove away, the sun was setting again, casting a dark red light on Baboquivari. I stared back as the peak grew smaller and smaller, quite a bit remiss that I’ll only be able to have stand-offs with cows in a classroom setting for another year.

Challenging the Status-Quo

So who would’ve thought that education could be so much fun, anti-establishment, and immersing all at once? The people at Prescott College, that’s who. I am now enrolled in my second semester at this school and am enjoying classes in Peace Studies and Image, Power, and Mass Culture. In Peace Studies we are learning about the effects that war has on society, as well as the peaceful non-violent movements that have accompanied most every war for the last 900+ years. From the Roman Empire to the revolutionary wars that came after the Industrial Revolution to the present day, conscientious objectors have used nonviolent methods to express pro-peace sentiments. The class ties in really well with my Image, Power, and Mass culture class because at the same time we are learning the influence that the mass media has on society and how it is used to push the agendas/spin the war crimes of the corporations involved in the ownership of these media outlets. Nothing about these classes tries to uphold the status-quo. They instead try to get students to look at alternative ways of thinking that may contradict former worldviews gained through education in a state-sponsored school system. The dialogue that grows from these lessons has the ability to change people, lives, and world views. Every day I look forward to the challenge or discussion that will arise out of a single class, and wonder what new ideas it will spark within myself or fellow class mates.

Regarding Puppies and Kittens

My first year at Prescott College was spent in the student housing situation located directly across Butte Creek from the college, the Agave House. That was probably one of the hardest times of my life. Not socially or academically, I was loving all my classes and all the new friends I was making. Rather, my life was missing something else, something that normally clung to my thick fleece jackets back home in New Hampshire, and occasionally made others around me sneeze.

Fur! Of course! I spent all year in increasingly depressing pet withdrawal, without any snugly animals to make my fleeces into allergy magnets. I missed my dog, Cody, my cats, Mya, Sabbath, Gus, and Cosy, and my rats who I had to give to a friend when I left for college, though I still think they would have been fine hanging out in the dorms. Of course, the college recommends not bringing pets with you your first semester, given that you'll be out on orientation for three weeks, which makes a lot of sense.

I was lucky that this is a school where the vast majority of students live off campus, where they're allowed to have pets. I only survived my first year by obsessively saying hello to every single dog or cat I passed by on the street. The decision to rent a house with a few friends my second year of school turned out to be a fantastic one, for now we could own PETS!

The first fluffy resident of our household was Mr. Whiskers, a Manx (tail-less) cat whose owners were moving away to the west coast and couldn't take him with them. It's a good thing he showed up, too, for any longer without a critter running around and I would have dyed my hair black and started wearing death metal t-shirts (but not really). Suddenly, life was an adventure. Would my shoelaces be viciously attacked upon my return home today? Who knows!

Mr. Whiskers stayed with us until this past summer, when he went with us on a road trip across the country; seeing such exotic places as New Mexico, Texas, Texas at night, Texas the next morning, New Orleans, Georgia, and South Carolina. He now lives in a little house on the coast of South Carolina, with all the fresh seafood he could wish for.

Our next furry friend started her life with us this summer, when she was adopted by my parents after being abandoned in a house in Tennessee, found by a rescue organization, and brought to Massachusetts to be adopted. Suki, a Siberian husky mix with heterochromia (different colored eyes), ended up being a bit too high-energy for my parents, and was handed down to my partner and I. She got to enjoy a road-trip with us as well, this time heading westward.

Now, of course, our house had a dog but times during the day where she had no one to play with. Whatever were we to do? Apparently, the answer to that question was at the humane society. Kittens! But wait, they have an adopt one, get one free day today! Oh, oh no.

Two weeks later, I am awakened every morning to the pitter-patter of kitten feet in the hallway (aren't they supposed to be stealthy?), and the occasional *THUMP* as one of them runs into our door. This wakes Suki up, of course, and then she stands at attention like Doug from Pixar's "Up," pointing at brightly colored birds. I don't mind, though. I rather like being roused by furry things than a screeching alarm clock or my partner waking me up because I forgot to set the alarm again.

The great thing about the college is that many people around here have the same love of animals that we do, so it's usually quite easy to find a dog or cat-sitter right in the local community when you go out in the field.

Prescott College: "For the Liberal Arts, The Environment, Social Justice, and Furry Friends

Multi-pitch on Granite Mountain

Finding money to purchase a full rack of climbing gear is difficult when you're in college. This is a problem I've been grappling with for the last year or so, ever since my Introduction to Rock Climbing class, when I got a taste of trad climbing. For those less familiar with climbing lingo, "trad" consists of placing your own protection as you climb, rather than relying on pre-drilled bolts. The benefit of learning about these things in an institutional setting like Prescott College is that you don't have to shell out tons of funds to get life experience. The same could be said for any of the areas classes are offered in, be it fire ecology or sea kayaking, but I digress. For someone that appreciates the art of climbing, and the expensive gear that makes the activity safer, our gear warehouse is a paradise. To me, standing on the second floor of the warehouse and staring at the hundreds of cams, hexes, stoppers, carabiners, and ropes lining the walls makes me feel a bit closer to achieving nirvana.

And then there's the first day of a field course, where you get to actually touch the gear and make sure it's all accounted for. A magical day, sort of like a birthday, but only if you usually have your birthday in a warehouse full of everything you ever wanted.

I may be a bit of a gear head, but hey, there are worse things I suppose.

Through my Intermediate Rock Climbing class this weekend I had my second experience lead-climbing and my first leading on Granite Mountain, arguably the most classic trad climbing in the area. We spent our day climbing on a smaller side-section of the mountain, what is referred to as the "Swamp Slabs," since the main face is hundreds of feet high and a bit of a stretch for some of our skill sets. My group started it off slow with the two-pitch climb referred to as "Beginner." The climb itself is relatively mellow, but climbs always feel like a bit more of a head-game when you know your life is possibly dependent on each piece of gear you place. I made it up the first pitch with relative ease, though one section in the middle made me feel a bit insecure, as I had trouble finding gear placement for a good twenty feet or so. Most of the climbs on the Swamp Slabs top out next to an old alligator juniper tree, who has somehow managed to nourish itself in a very limited amount of soil on an exposed rock face and still manged to grow relatively large. My partner and I made our way along the side of the face from the tree, careful not to twist any ankles, and ate some lunch back at the base of the climbs.

Our next project was a slightly more difficult climb called "Debut," which was far more vertical, and had one slightly overhanging section to deal with. I led the first pitch, and even over the wind I could hear my breathing exploding out of my chest when I exhaled. The climb itself is by no means challenging in the technical sense, there is plenty of protection on the way up, but just the feeling of being a little more vertical was enough to push my boundaries. I remember one moment during the easiest, least inclined section of the climb, when I stopped for a moment to take stock of my situation and realizing that my last piece was so far down I had a good chance of "hitting the deck (ground)," if I messed up. I don't think I've ever placed a piece as quickly or as solidly as I did after that realization. Despite the occasional fright, I have really come to enjoy the trad climbing experience through this school. I know that next week I'll be even more excited to challenge myself to do more challenging climbs, and maybe one day I'll be able to go out and do this on my own.

-Zach-

Community Lunch

As a brand new PC student I am discovering all kinds of new and exciting things about the college – one is Community Lunch. Community Lunch happens every Wednesday at the Crossroads Center from 12:30 to 1:30. It's a great time to make any kind of announcement you might have involving the College community or the greater Prescott community. The best part is it's free and delicious. All the food is made by the Crossroads Cafe here on campus, which never ceases to impress. On top of being super tummy satisfying Community Lunch is a great time to meet up with professors and faculty about questions you may have, or just to sit and chat. I invite anyone who might be interested in knowing what the school's all about to stop by and experience a true sense of community, and the exciting energy that circulates through this campus so fluidly, an energy I like to call the Prescott Buzz. One of the Wednesday's I was at community lunch, I ran into one of my friends from orientation. It had been two weeks since orientation had ended and I hadn't seen him at all. We talked for quite some time about classes and life at Prescott post-orientation. He told me that he had been going to a new place every day to experience all the different beautiful natural wonders Prescott has to offer. It's encounters and inspiring stories like my friend’s that make community lunch such a wonderful Prescott activity and tradition.


-Colton Coburn-Wood
Freshman

My name is Sydnie, and I’m an Allen-oholic (Hello Sydnie).

My name is Sydnie, and I’m an Allen-oholic (Hello Sydnie). I don’t think its weird that I look to Woody Allen to inspire the answers to life’s little conundrums. In fact, I’m a fan of deadpan humor and heavy doses of cynicism and sarcasm. I really think if some company came out with a magic eight ball or some other kind of fortune telling/advice giving object that themed itself around Woody Allen, it would be a hit. Ask Woody Allen. I really just appreciate the honesty behind a man who isn’t afraid to sound ridiculous.
This isn’t to say that I would model my life after his, or that I even agree with everything the man does or talks about…He isn’t my role model. But I think it is safe to say that I have a profound amount of respect for someone who is not afraid to test their own boundaries, and discover something about themselves in the process. For a while I thought that I needed to “play it safe” and put my immediate happiness on the backburner for a chance to *maybe* be happy in the long run. It was Woody Allen who said “You can live to be 100…if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be 100.”. If that’s the case, I’d prefer not to waste away my youth “playing it safe”. I want to be jumping out of airplanes when I’m 75; I’m not about to give up my plan to squeeze every drop of adventure out of my life. I enjoy being spunky, thank you very much. This is why I choose to be a Prescott College student.

If I had gone the UC-way, like my mother and I had planned since the sandbox, I probably wouldn’t have the same rights as I do at Prescott College. Here, I am Sydnie Bonin, free-thinker—there, I would have been Student X000T935NTNS049975195 (or whatever). My rights at PC extend past those issued to me by government mandate. I have the opportunity to challenge the curriculum, exercise my opinions, and create a competence based on whatever I choose. Here, I am not a number and I don’t have to “play it safe”. You don’t tailor yourself to Prescott College—it tailors itself to you.
Whether my classes are in the field, or inside a classroom, I am given the chance to contribute and participate fully in the learning process, weaving in hands-on experience and self-direction into every aspect of the course. There is room at Prescott College to spread your wings. Everyday, I am challenged to create new ideas and run with them. I enjoy “geeking out”—both in-class and out-of-class assignments at PC are actually fun….homework doesn’t seem like work-- studying is learning. My family laughs at me when I talk about Prescott College. “To think…If you hadn’t gone to that career fair! You’d be sitting in a giant lecture hall somewhere…probably taking a nap!”
It is my second year in Prescott…and I am still loving every minute of it. Sure, my competence changes with every new class I take, but I like it that way. I still have time to figure out what I want to do. For now, I’m treating every single class like its own adventure. And if I end up living to be 100, I will still be the same Sydnie—the only difference? I will have 100 years of experiences and adventures under my belt...and I’ll still be packing up for the next big one.

Is this school hard?

I’ve given a fair number of student tours in the past year and a half or so. After hearing about our experiential learning philosophy and the classes our students take – Backcountry Skiing & Winter Ecology, Environmental Perspectives & Whitewater Rafting, Rock Climbing & Geology, Dance & Improvisation – Common questions, usually from parents are: is this school academically rigorous or when do you study??

Having been at PC for a while, these questions are reminders for me to put myself in the shoes of someone outside of this small educational community. To most people’s mainstream educational experience (my Midwestern Public school experience included) Prescott College’s way of learning must seem slightly odd, intriguingly adventuresome, or utterly rational. Why of course we study! This school IS rigorous!! For me, and many of my fellow students, PC is and has been a pretty darn challenging experience – for handfuls and handfuls of reasons.

As a transfer student, I am fortunate to have an academic experience to compare with Prescott College. For perspective, at my last school (a university with 20,000+ students) a challenge was:
-sitting through a 2 ½ hour lecture with 40 other students, in a room too large for our professor’s delicate voice, about events leading up to the Irish Rebellion of 1919: Midterm next week, 3 essay questions and 40 multiple choice.
-vying for time against 30 other students for help on math homework from our T.A., before being forced to leave the math lab for another class to come in.
-learning about Environmental Science in a windowless classroom on the 8th floor in the downtown of a big city.
-Sitting in the front at each class, answering questions and discussing, only to find out that my professor (and advisor!) still doesn’t know my name at the end of the semester.
-Deciding what classes to take with no advising past the first semester, then signing up for them in an electronic rat-race.



What makes Prescott College challenging?
-Self-Direction is emphasized. While there are great advisors to encourage you, tons of classes and classmates to inspire you, and a library full of knowledge to beckon you – it all comes down to the fact that your experience is what YOU make of it.
-Most students spend a minimum of 13 ½ hours in classes each week… that’s not including outside field trips, or time spent on homework. A normal course load is 3 classes during the semester. Many students have jobs as well. A semester at PC is time management 101.
-During Block, most students are in class, all day, every day, for a month straight. For example, after an 8-hour day of rafting down the Green River in Utah, we set up camp, unload gear, do our daily chores, then sit down under a giant cottonwood to write a natural history journal, daily river/rapid log, answer study questions on geology of Desolation Canyon, then circle up after dinner to discuss readings, share ecological observations, and debrief the day.
-All courses have an academic component – even if the class is primarily skill building, such as Introduction to Rock Climbing. This generally takes the form of readings, reflection writing, discussion, group work, presentation sharing, essay writing, and portfolio-keeping. A Writing Emphasis class will have you writing short essays weekly, and include one or two longer, peer-reviewed research papers.
-Creating an independent study – from the ground up, all based on what you want to learn, an activity, internship, or other experience, and putting it into an academic context.
-All students will apply knowledge and skills learned throughout their time at PC and incorporate them into a Senior Project of their own making.

Basically, the way we do things here are a little different than the mainstream. We think that education should be experiential – that the best way to learn is by doing. This brings on inherently different challenges than one would find at a more mainstream academic setting – but nonetheless rigorous! Many say we’re the Harvard of the West!

<.....One of our geology "classrooms"

Pilgrimage to Big Mama Juniper

This story begins a few months ago, in Tuftonburo, NH.

I was working at a camp as the rock climbing/adventure education coordinator, and a former Prescott College graduate, Randy, happened to be working there as well. Late one night during staff training, he popped into my room as I was killing time on Google Earth, saying he had something to show me. He grabbed a chair and spun the globe on my laptop to Prescott, Arizona, and zoomed into the north side of town near Granite Mountain.
"The largest alligator juniper in the world lives outside of Prescott. Right here," he said, pointing to the convergence of two dry creek beds in the hills.
"You have to go there sometime before you graduate. I wish I had gone back more than once."

I wasn't sure exactly how to get to this spot, but Randy's enthusiasm inspired me to check it out when I arrived back in Prescott. After all, I thought, what better way to spend time off than seeing a magnificent old tree?

I asked many people about the tree upon my return to town and a few people knew the spot, but what I found out is that many people who know about the tree follow a strict rule of not revealing the location unless they personally bring someone there. I thought it was a pretty neat rule, hopefully it meant that the site hadn't been impacted tremendously by human presence. I was not, however, going to give up on finding someone who would at least give me a general idea of how to find this tree.

Two weeks ago I started working here at admissions and one of my co-workers was kind enough to provide me with a hand-drawn map of a route to the tree. After that, it was simply a matter of setting aside time for the expedition.

Eight of us (seven people, one dog) left on a cloudy Monday morning, carpooling in two cars each with about six inches of clearance, which became important very quickly. As soon as we turned off the maintained dirt road, it was apparent that our trek would have been made easier by simply parking the cars and walking a bit further. This pot-hole ridden dirt trench didn't really allow for us to turn around, however, so we pressed on. A mile of bumping and scraping later, all but the driver piled out of our vehicle to avoid tearing off all the essential components of the car. Half a mile from where we were supposed to park we came to what the map labeled as a "hill," but with this car's clearance it might as well have been a drawing of the grim reaper, mangled car parts hanging from his scythe. Luckily, there was a place to park below the hill of death, so we decided to cut our losses and continue on foot.


The hike along the road, and along the creek bed, was spectacular. Between the large crags of granite erupting out of the landscape we were greeted with the sight of an abundance of life. Alligator junipers, mountain mahogany, a plethora of oaks, as well as many cactus species, were there at every bend. The view of Granite Mountain was beautiful, like some sort of ancient but friendly behemoth on the horizon. We came around the top of a small hill, and there was the Big Mama Juniper. Unmistakably large, it didn't even seem possible that an organism could tower that far over all of it's neighbors. We crept along in silence and reverence as we approached the tree, in awe of its beauty and ability to thrive in such a place. There were no words, and it was impossible to fit in the frame of our cameras, though we certainly tried.

Many of us interacted with the tree in the way our ancestors would have, we climbed. It was the only way to really engage all the senses in this wonder of nature. From up above, you could see all the area around the tree that was influenced by its presence. I observed that nothing bigger than a shrub had grown alongside this one's great roots in a long time. I imagined what sorts of catastrophes this creature must have experienced in its lifetime; flash floods, fires, earthquakes, lightning, and humans. Trying to fathom that sort of lifespan hurt my head, so I decided to simply feel the tree beneath me and let it speak for itself.

After a few hours, we said our regretful goodbyes to the tree, and hiked back to the cars. I remeber looking back many times before we dropped back over the hill, wishing I could stay longer.

I know now why Randy suggested I make a point to travel to this old tree. You could spend years there, listening to the stories it has to tell. I hope that in my last two years here at Prescott College, I can at least give it a few days of my time to be listened to and enjoyed.


Zach Schiewetz.

Romanticism

I am feeling satisfied with the semester as it is right now. Sure, I have some late articles for the Raven Review to write, an
annotated bibliography, and a collection of term papers for History and Culture of Native America. Yeah. So?
Are you trying to tell me that I should be working?

Every once in a while, I have one of those beautiful days that distracts me so much, it (hopefully) invigorates my work.And then...Oh God! Poison! That bad song comes up on my ipod.

Thank God I Have A Skip Button.

When I Was Little: I wanted to be an archaeologist or a detective. I was fascinated by possessions, the idea of possessions. What
belongs to a person and what that says about who they are. Especially purses. What's in your purse? What's in your
glovebox? I love those prints of different types of one category of foods. Like breads, or pastas. It's a whole genre of art. (this particular one is by Mike Ward)





I was also fascinated by the apocalypse (the coming one). What, I imagined, would archaeologists of the future think about me
knowing only what I was carrying in my backpack? What if my backpack was the only backpack?








Much Later, I kept thinking about it. Possessions are the building blocks of capitalism. Possessions as identity is the meme that
anyone selling anyone is successfully using. I don't just carry lip balm, I carry lip balm in a tiny wooden sphere with flowers on
it, because I like that it's not a cylinder. I carry a tape recorder, not just because I use it, but because I am *being* a *reporter*.
My planner is a Slingshot. I've got my hipster ID Card, right there. My professional ID. My vain ID (hairbrush).

What I carry in my purse might also be influenced by how I'm feeling. There might be tissues in there, or painkillers, etc.

You can imagine, from my purse, what you think I do, how I'm feeling, what I like, and who I think I am.
Ipods are a whole new level of carrying ID. They're not just about identity politics, they're also an emotional readout device.
Especially the little 4 GB nanos. *Nothing* fits on there, so the songs that end up uploaded are premeditated.

I won't get into the psychology of reading different playlists. But I have thought about it.
I'll let you figure that out. Instead, I'll just show you some stuff.
This is for context:

Top 25 Most played:
In Dreams - Roy Orbison
Crying - Roy Orbison
Elephant Pao Pao - Shonen Knife
It Comes Right Down To You - It's A Beautiful Day
Animal Song - Shonen KnifeCecilia - Simon & Garfunkel
Paralel Woman - Shonen Knife
Girls - Eleni Mandel
4th Time Around - Bob Dylan
Moonglow, Lamp Low - Eleni Mandell
Salt Truck - Eleni MandellTu Solo Tu - Selena
New Feeling - Talking Heads
Wings In His Eyes - Eleni Mandell
I Wish I Knew (How It Would Feel To Be Free) - Nina Simone
Make-Out King - Eleni Mandell
Bang On - The Breeders
The Weight - The Band
Quinn the Eskimo - Bob Dylan
You Ain't Goin' Nowhere - Bob Dylan
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right - Bob DylanMy Time Ain't Long - Canned Heat
My Twin - Eleni Mandell
Miss Me - Eleni Mandell
Mujeres Divinas - Vincente Fernandez

I am a little embarrassed, yes. I'm kinda girly.

OK, But Listen: I just added these. This is the difference, now. I got rid of Radiohead, The Castanets, all of my Chavela Vargas,
and Gogol Bordello. Instead, I put on stuff by:
The Incredible String Band
The Pentangle,Creedence Clearwater Revival,
Islands,
John Lennon,
Mimi and Richard Farina,
The Be Good Tanyas,
The Beatles,
& The Velvet Underground.

And this is the list of songs I haven't skipped and listen to:Across The Universe - The Beatles
Well Well Well - John Lennon
Remember - John Lennon
Out of Jail - Algia Mae Hinton
One More Fact - Holly Golightly
Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Who'll Stop The Rain - CCR
Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd (Really? Really.)
Dig A Pony - The Beatles
Octopus's Garden - The BeatlesLodi - CCR
Wrote A Song For Everyone - CCR
Green River - CCR
Dream On - Aerosmith
Knocked Up - Kings of Leon
Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd
Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby - IslandsMiserlou - Dick Dale
One Kiss - Holly Golightly
Painted On - Holly Golightly
An Eye For An Empty Heart - Holly Golightly
I Hear You - Holly Golightly
The Sign - Holly Golightly
Nzage - Smokey & Miho

My interpretation: Cheesey. But I like it. Obviously.

Why are you ruining my silk ties

“Why are you ruining my silk ties?” my Dad asks, as I am tying them together to make a rope.
“These seem to be the strongest ones and I don’t want to fall,” I said.

I am six years old and just wanted to climb, apparently my Dad did not understand. This is where I met my first love, her name is found high above the trees; hair like the wind, eyes like the sky.

My connection to climbing is one beyond mere sport, but it is how I think, how I move, how I am me. However, at times I must step back from what I love in order to see why it is such a large piece of who I am. A great teacher of mine once said, “If we cannot venture off by ourselves without the one we love, it is best to let them go.”

In many ways there is nothing like pushing our entire limit of fear while our last piece of protection is dwindling twenty feet below, only passing into the unknown, and then having the volume turned down on events that before may have seemed important, but only coming to understand they meant nothing at all. Or, climbing half way up a project and working the same route over and over until we are so exhausted that we have only one more try left in our bodies. Then miraculously, when we are most tired, and our minds become quiet we flow through what seemed so far away, and understand that it is only when we let go do we ever truly hold on to what really matters.
Everything that I hold to be important in my life I have learned from climbing. Is the fear that I am going through real or is it just my imagination? What is important right now, and what can wait? Can I trust the person belaying me, of course I can? Should I just walk away, or perhaps get myself into a mis-educative danger?

Bruce Lee once said that a martial art is, “Honestly expressing ourselves through movement.” For I believe that spoken language can only reach so deep into our souls, but that most communication comes from body language. Climbing is how I express myself; no words, just moving, because that is how I think; attempting to understand the rock rather than trying to conquer it.

Life is a shovel, now dig

How did I know that the sun was going to come out this morning?

a) I guessed
b) I was lucky
Or,
c) It was written


Many things happen in our lives that seem to “just make sense.” As Joseph Campbell once wrote, “We must stop living the life that we have planned, in order to live the life that is waiting for us.” This is the life that was written. Some may say there is no destiny, and they are right, just as some say there is no free-will, and they are also right; for we have both, we have a free-destiny. We have the freedom to choose, but only to choose from what is in front of us.

We can do anything, and this is sometimes forgotten. Some say, “Well, we just need to think positively and it will come true,” but this is only half of what needs to be done. For the entire equation is something I call “Activated thinking;” this not only means knowing we can and will, but also doing, preparing, and activating our entire life. We must change in order for a change to take place in our lives.

In the fall, I will be participating on an expedition, traveling the entire Arizona trail; 800 miles on horseback. This has never been done before, and the course will be part of the Paul Smith’s PhD dissertation, a faculty member in the Human Development program. This is an entire semester length course sprawling from September to December, with four classes taught on the trail. One of these courses is an independent study that I am putting together that asks: how can an expedition like this be implemented in a public school with a standards based curriculum? How can a school with students from medium to low-income families raise the money necessary to carry out such an expedition, or one of a shorter length?
In order to get into this class I needed to turn in an application with references, and then was reviewed by a committee. During this time there was no need to worry, for how do we know if the sun will be out the next day even if the clouds are in the way, “it is written.” When an action takes place that seems to just fit with the world, with our current lifestyle, and our current mindset, it is no longer a struggle to fit the piece into a puzzle, but a peace of mind that overtakes all worry. Just breathe, be patient, listen, learn, and take action according to what we truly want in life; this is the secret, nothing more.

As Emerson once said, "Always do what you are afraid to do."

For the biggest risk is not taking one.

Easter

Easter.

Listen, guys. I know. I know, I know that Prescott College is not in to religion. We're into Spirituality. Sometimes. And we are so definitely not into Christianity.Neither am I. Not in the strictest sense.But I love the story of resurrection.

Radical.

I love ceremony, I love that feeling you get with 200 people in the same room thinking similar thoughts, focused, on love of other people, love of the dead, love of that feeling. I've been thinking about ceremony a lot.I read this page, about one of the Latino cultural centers in Dallas (my home): http://www.dallasartsrevue.com/ArtSpaces/IceHouse/new/TheVirginPage.shtml

The show is all of images of La Virgen de Guadalupe. That art critic is annoyed with repetition. He wrote: "As we drove up, we noticed three male Hispanic* artists rendering Frida, Diego, a Super Lucha and somebody I didn't recognize, super realistically in lush, dark mural colors on the front wall.

I was dismayed by the un-original images and forms portraying America's most original and individualist artist couple ever. The irony was weightily whelming, and I tried to escape inside the building, but Kathy lingered long out there, insisting I come watch what I'd already seen too much of.

Inside, we were seriously un-awed and actively annoyed by the tedious exhibition of me-too copies in differing colors but few different concepts lost in a hopelessly PC, taste-free zone. Kathy worried aloud about the nightmares she expected next time she'd try to sleep. It was, she said later, "the stuff of bad dreams."

We do that. I do that. It's not just tourists who shop for luchadores paraphernalia, Frida prints, the same dia de los muertos figures every year. My mama is obsessed with milagros, which are the same images, in a thousand tiny silver incarnations. Pressed hands, legs, arms, breasts, flowers, boots, eyes, hearts. I love these things. I love that they are all incarnations of the same idea. We love those ideas. I love the idea of the ideas.

Those art critics see that as unoriginal. Typecasting artists into limiting stereotypes. Maybe we should make art that isn't about Guadalupe, Diego, and Santo? I joke all the time, anything that I cook is Mexican food because I'm Mexican. But that doesn't ring true, does it?
I think this art is ceremonial. It is an affirmation that we love who we are, and we love our culture.

I have 4 images of Guadalupe in my room here in Arizona, and I didn't have any at home in Texas. I didn't need to. In the absence of my family, and of the neighborhood, and of the music everywhere around me, I have these little statues and pictures instead. They make it easier for me to sleep. Cheesey as they are to high art, they make where I'm from part of where I am. Putting them in my room was itself a ceremony, each time.

Ceremony is a way of making emotional, mental, and spiritual things physical. That's what I see in this art, and that's what I get out of mass. It's not even that ceremony is beautiful...it's that it's necessary.

Easter is this weekend. I am searching for things to do. Prescott College is far from religious, and I think in most other places, I would describe myself the same way. Here though, I miss my family with an intensity that itself is nearly religious. It is transformative! I lament my diet, I chastise myself for not making my own tortillas. Insignificant and distant memories take on so much more weight, and I want to listen to nothing but Rancheras alllll day. I want to cry. Something so stupid, like wearing my hair back and out of my make-up-laden face is now worthy of Vincente Fernandez soundtrack and despair! What's up with that?!

In sum, I have decided to buy a nice white dress and go to mass tomorrow, things I haven't done at home in years and years. In my beautiful mexicana family's absence, I am everything they want me to be. Except there with them.

*I hate this word, and I never use it to describe myself. It's the critic's word. Write me sometime, and I will explain in copious detail why.

PS. I watch that movie, Frida, nearly religiously, too. For exactly the same reasons.

car trips, pesos, and parking lots

Our eyes took in the viridian water of the Sea of Cortez as we stood at the end of the nameless road. My eyes’ wanting to close from sheer exhaustion, but my heart keeps them open for the sake of beauty.

Oh Guaymas Mexico, I will forever remember your name, never able to count the ways.

Spring break for many students means different things. At many other colleges this may symbolize a week of debauchery and broken bottles. For me, when the classroom doors close, my arms open up to what the world has to offer, with nothing in my hands but seventy mile-an-hour winds while their hanging out the side of a an open car window, traveling.

This time was a little different. One of my best friends, Elise, came down from Utah to visit me and one morning we decided it was a good idea to pick a town on a map and go. No planning, just the constant surprises of a journey, and the mesmerizing ideals of pure freedom. Little did we know of the quote by Benjamin Franklin, “Those who do not prepare, are preparing to fail.”

The tip of my finger found its way south to Guaymas, Mexico on the Sea of Cortez; 300 miles over the border. We tossed our tooth-brushes in the car and headed out at 11am without a whim to the air, but a beat to our hearts.

Passing through Nogales; bam we were south of the border. In a place that everyone said we shouldn’t go, probably for good reason, but I believe that the biggest risk is not taking one, for this is where the wild things are and this is where lessons are learned. To be shaken out of habit, fully aware with every one of my senses turned on; nothing written in English, men washing our windshield at stoplights, people everywhere, the sound of cars with no exhaust, and a slight sweetness to the air; we are alive.

Outside of town, the Sonoran desert is beautiful and allowed to be itself; no gas-stations, electrical wires, and few cars, out here life is allowed to live.

We arrived in a city called Hermosillo around 6:30 and stopped in a hotel to find a bathroom and get some pesos. Nobody spoke any English which was refreshing, but Elise found a piano and toned down our culture-shock with some Beethoven; still no pesos though as all the banks were closed.

Arriving in Guaymas at 8:30pm, there are many people out walking, although the town seems a little rough on more than just the edges. We have an eighth a tank of gas, no money, and no place to sleep other than the car with Illinois license plates and “Happiness” written in soap on the windows. I suppose Benjamin Franklin was correct in his prior justification towards preparation.

We parked the car in a blockbuster parking feeling a little bit closer to home, reading each other poetry in order to let go of the fears that kept bubbling up. Then, waking up the next morning everything was beautiful; the sun greeted us with its brilliance and the mountains said hello with great humility. The locals were very beautiful people and we became instant celebrities being the only Americans around. We found a bank, bought some gas, ate some food, and decided to drive to San Diego, but in the end just drove home around the Mexicali boarder. Both of us were exhausted from the night before, and wished we would have planned a little bit more, definitely learning a very important lesson. However, we fulfilled a dream of picking a town and going without any preconceived notions, but we overwhelmingly scared ourselves by sleeping in a parking lot deep in Mexico, the one place everyone said we shouldn’t go.

Self Awareness at PC

This spring is my first semester as a transfer student at Prescott College. It kicked off with a backpacking trip through the Grand Canyon (which was amazing) and now I’m taking courses in interpersonal communication and Central American history. So far I have been gaining new perspectives on the world around me, as well as insight into my own state of self-awareness. One of the most rewarding aspects of my attendance at this school so far has been the connections that I have made with other like-minded individuals. I have made more friends in the last few months than I have in the last few years. An interesting aspect in making all of these connections is noticing the individuality in each person who’s evolved their own perspective and worldview. Despite any differences that may separate us, we are all united in the fact that we are self aware of our impact on the world around us, and we are all trying to figure out how we can make that impact a positive one.

This is Prescott College

Hello! My name is Suzy, and I am a student primarily in the Education and Human Development programs here at the school, although I have taken some Environmental Studies and Cultural and Regional Studies classes as well (gotta be well rounded, right?). I am particularly interested in something called “Ecopsychology,” a field which aims to connect people to each other and to the more-than-human world in a mindful way.

Ecopsych is a holistic psychology which sees people and their psyches as extending beyond their fingertips, and into their relationships. I see Ecopsych as about reconnecting to the natural world, which is healing to everything, although I also see it as about reconnecting to other humans. In particular, I think that it has incredible power as a decolonizing methodology.

My “competence” (Prescott College lingo for “major”) is in Multicultural Education. My teacher, Anita, has really inspired me down this road. I first took Foundations of Education with her, a class I expected to be fairly straightforward and dry…but no! Every Anita class is steeped in themes of social justice, so we went through every category of ethnicity in the United States and their relationship in history to the education system. It was incredibly revealing, to say the least. I then took a class called “Rethinking Our Classrooms: Race, Power and Identity in Education” with her, which was really amazing as well. We spent a lot of our focus on what it means to be educators who identify as white, particularly when our students are not. We reflected on our identities and those of people who have had to live in a culture that is not equitable or supportive of them. In particular, we discussed topics of race, language, gender, sexuality, ability and class. To finish it off, we had the opportunity to work with the Paulo Freire Freedom School (a middle school in Tucson) on overcoming stereotypes. Whether I end up being a teacher or not, the class was so valuable to me, and I find myself coming back to it every day.

So this is where I am right now. I have really been enjoying getting my education here. And now it’s time for Spring Break!

I’ll get enough rest when I’m dead

Many lives are led by each student at Prescott College. At times, I am hard at work researching why diversity is usually seen as to how long our ancestors have been in the sun, but in all truth, diversity is a confluence of ideas rushing into the ocean of human experience. Then I slip into another body and take advantage of all the amazing climbing in and around Prescott, among avenues of beautiful boulders and tall granite. However, the idea of going to school here is of the medium that we must stay active whatever our pursuit. This means taking advantage of the opportunities that present themselves and not staying in the house watching videos on You Tube. As Benjamin Franklin once said, “I’ll get enough rest when I’m dead.”
After speaking to many of the seniors here, the one thing they regret is not taking advantage of what is available here Prescott College. There are clubs that promote everything from teaching an immigrant from Latin America the English language and in return they teach us Spanish, any number of the social justice groups, community events, and social gatherings are a normal part of everyday life. I am paying $22,000, before financial aid, for a nine month buffet of experiences I cannot get anywhere else. Yet, at times I feel that I am only eating from the salad bar, nothing against vegetarians, but I want something with sustenance. So, learning from the feedback of those who have traveled down this path before, we must understand that if we want something in life we must reach out and grab it because there is no person who is going to do this for us. When we are born, our mothers and fathers feed us and protect us, but once we leave the nest it is up to us to find what we are good at, what brings us joy, and how we can actively make a positive change in society. For living in idleness is an immorality upon this gift called life.
Please understand I am not trying to be a motivational speaker or an evangelist of any kind. All that I am attempting to do is give an honest view of what Prescott College actually is, we are a place that “Graduates society’s leaders for the 21st century.” Additionally, leaders are not those who live in “quiet desperation,” but must constantly ask themselves, “what is my intention, and how am will I grow from this experience.” For life is short, and if we don’t stop and look around sometimes, were going to miss it. So go out there and live, for death is not just for those who have stopped breathing.

Change is the only constant

Change is the only constant, and I am unendingly shown this through the people I meet and the places I go. Sometimes I get so caught up in my academic work that I forget I am in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

While walking down my street I hear my phone ring, and flip it open. It’s my friend Kelly and she asks, “Do you want to go to a hot spring with me and few friends?” This is what I mean by change, the little nuances that visit us within our days. Some call them miracles, others divine intervention, I just call them beautiful surprises. So, of course I went to the hot spring; for the most powerful word in the English language is not love, or peace, or F#&%, but yes.

About an hour away from Prescott, the Camp Verde Hot Spring sits for those who would like to partake in its wonderfully warm waters, one of many within the region. However, driving there means hopping in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, traveling down a scenic highway for half an hour, then up and down a treacherously muddy dirt road that stops at a trail on the side of the Verde River.

The hike is roughly two miles to where we must cross the crisp waters of the mildly raging river with our pants off, and boots tied together hanging around our necks. Walking barefoot for a half mile because the smooth river stones massage the bottoms of our feet, we arrive and there is already a guy and a girl sitting in the bowl shaped spring, with slight wisps of steam rising from the clear water.

Easing myself in, the girl sitting across from me is from Portland, Oregon and makes specialty chocolate which she sells in jars, and she just happened to have some. It tasted like a garden full of magical flowers, and when I closed my eyes, my nostrils filled with a sweet potion, universally altering my consciousness. For this is the most real I have felt in a very long time, and is greater than anything the pharmaceutical company could ever produce, it is experience that creates sorrow and bliss, not a synthetic tablet that promises escape and numbness; I am here, and wherever I go, there I am.

We stayed until the beauty of darkness prevailed, and the stars were the only ones awake, all the while the moon was under its dark covers staying warm, not awaking and reflecting for anyone. Walking back to the river barefoot, there was just enough light to perceive the shadows on either side of the path, and then crossing the river, a feeling of rebirth rushed over my retinas, and I perceived my life with a entirely new set of perceptions, and the understanding as to what is truly important, and what can glide away with the unanimous night.

Driving back home, I thought about what I planned in the morning, and how different the day actually turned out. For life is one big game of checkers, cause and effect, and on one side I make my own decisions with my black-pieces, but on the other side controlling the red pieces is change. We have a free-destiny in this life of ours, we move our own pieces, and the universe moves some as well.