Eureka! 2021

EUREKA! - Spring 2021 Cover art by Caroline M. ’25 and Lillian C., ’25, inspired by Emily Dickinson’s

“Hope is the thing with feathers -“

Eureka!

Spring 2021 Edition

Dear Readers, Welcome to the 2021 edition of Eureka!, The Country School’s magazine for art and writing. In these pages, you’ll find a wide variety of drawings, paintings, and writing from students from PreK to 8th grade, and even a faculty submission or two!

This year’s magazine is all about hope and perseverance, because that’s what this year has been about. Despite all of the challenges, we have maintained hope, persevered, and made the most of our incredible year together. We hope you find strength in these pages, whether in an inspirational message, a beautiful piece of art, or even just a poem that makes you smile.

Thanks for reading!

Sincerely, The Eureka! Editorial Team, June 2021 Rosie Liu (’21), Evelyn Reach (’22), Devri Aronson (’23), Whitman Liu (’23), and Chloe Nelson (’23), and Mrs. Liu (Faculty Advisor)

The Hope of Spring Flowers from Members of the Class of 2030

Ryder F. ‘30

The Strength of Knowing Ourselves from Members of the Class of 2028

Marvelous Motivation from Members of the Class of 2027

Guiliana, ‘27

Finding Awe in the World Around Us from Members of the Class of 2026

Type to enter text

Sunset, by Henry L., ‘26

Pollution By Caitlin S., ’26

I see the wilting willow tree, And the flowers sitting there wilting around, I feel the depression all around.

The dying daisies and the stepped on ground, Now I see how much harm we do to you.

I am sincerely sorry for making you worse and worse, I hope you forgive us Earth.

You have done nothing wrong and everything right, Although we keep ruining your day and night, We have trashed the sea and polluted the air, but we can help and uncover a beautiful place.

Behind walls of sadness and madness in our damaged world.

Snow Fall

By Simone Nelson N., ‘26

White woods and birches stretching for miles.

Snowflakes are falling on frost-coated smiles.

And it seems the snowfall will last for a while, It seems the snowfall will last for a while.

The lake lies still, as the cold spreads the ice.

And deep in their holes, shiver chilled little mice.

And the snow keeps on coming like droplets of spice, The snow keeps on coming like droplets of spice.

Watching it fall from a small window frame, From which all the white trees and the snow look the same.

And the frozen flakes keep falling like it’s a game, The frozen flakes keep falling like it’s a game.

White crystal sugaring all the green pines, Where they sway and they’re formed in long, scattered lines.

And the snow owl’s winter coat looks so fine, The snow owl’s winter coat looks divine.

THE END

By Emmy L., ‘26

The Tree ‘26

By Lily C., Cornell

As I sit under you reading my book, I wonder to myself how many of there are you?

Are your sisters the oaks?

Are your brothers the pines?

Do you know each animal?

Each bush and vine?

As the squirrels play in the branches above I close my book and send you love.

Quinn F., ‘26

The Hope of the World Around Us from Members of the Class of 2025 and 2026

Leila G., ‘25

Ode to Hawks

By Griffin L., ’25

Your massive wings Your sharp "p beak Your very keen eye You dive #om $e sky You rip your prey You work alone no one by your side Your ca% power&l and majes"c You’re fas(r $an fast Your prey is )o slow Dear hawk I bow ) you low

Light in the Dark

by Mia S., ’25 Trapped in darkness No light No hope No chance of survival All you have is a match You strike it A small flame appears Then something fills your heart Telling you to go on To push through the darkness Past the hopelessness The flame flickers out But you still are determined You push and you pull You wriggle and you squirm Finally, you break free Warm light and hope Stream into you Warm to the touch Coursing through your vanes Surrounding you is Love Compassion Happiness And pure joy The darkness had faded You are free

Ode to TCS

By Mia S., ’25 Oh TCS How I love thee You taught me to type I learned every single key!

You taught me academics Even with a pandemic Even though I am a new kid At the end of the first day I felt included You gave me a breath of fresh air Even though I broke 3 champ chairs Oh TCS

Sydney Ann C., ‘25

Josie L., ‘25

Hope is &% of Joy, Laugh(r And meaning No ma*er where you come #om What you look like, We are a% here And we a% share hope In $ese "mes it is hard ) feel, Remember, And share hope But we have ) because it’s $e only $ing we have left Many of $e people we have loved have died, But we can’t let $at s)p us We are a% here )ge$er, And we a% have hope Because we’re a% in $is )ge$er -Mia N., ’25

Theodora K., ‘25

When Day Comes

By Jamie K., ‘24

When day comes and night falls, we start with gratitude and let the sunshine in You feel the shine And feel aligned and where you are supposed to be If that place is across the country Or a few miles away We are all connected And feel protected As we reflect and look back

The Power of Poetic Devices and Self-Expression from Members of the Class of 2023 CONNOTATION AND DENOTATION NARRATIVES

Luca C., ’23 English Class One day I was sitting lazily in Mrs.Sullivan’s English class when she began to give us an easy assignment on simple verbs. I thought to myself, “This is child's play. This assignment would be painless compared to the 15 paged dissertation on COPS that she had assigned last week.” I effortlessly began listing possible verbs in my mind: run, jump, ski, fly, etc. These words were so accessible to me.

Why were my classmates struggling so much? Mrs.Sullivan's face started to take on a shade more akin to a tomato than to an English teacher. Before I knew it, this simple assignment about verbs became another dissertation. I sighed to myself and pulled up my computer and exasperated started on my thesis.

Keenan B. ’23 The Cows and the Farmer The cows and the farmer live on a farm with each other. The happy cows made sure to not break out of their new fence. The farmer was glad that all of the cows stayed in their pen and made the old farmer joyful. The old, jubilant farmer was anxious that the cows would turn on him. So, the jolly farmer made sure that all of the cows were content with their pen and would not revolt and break their newly built pen. Because all of the cows are thrilled with the new treatment they are getting, they begin to get spoiled and make the farmer do everything they want.

Their farmer was not as kind as before. These obnoxious cows ruined his life by doing terrible things to the farmer, such as tearing up his fields and aggravating the other animals. The farmer begins to scheme and figure out a plan to get back at the disquisit cows. The farmer made a plan that he would ignore the cows and not do anything they say. The cows then realized how much they needed the farmer and never irritated the farmer again.

Gabby R., ’23 An extremely smart kid works in his classroom. Harshly the teacher calls on him out of the blue. “Hey, you there! Come here! They say you're super brainy.”

He says with an award smile, “I guess.”

“Well, solve this math problem.”

His mind fills with thoughts, “Is this a test? What if I fail? Will she get mad at me?” The room feels hot and sweaty. The light looks slightly more lit and the audience is so giant. Minutes later he solves the problem on the Green chalkboard. Mouths open as the children watch him.

The whole class is thinking, “That's an intelligent kid!”

The surprised teacher sits in her chair and says, “Well done.”

The kid, full of pride, gives the teacher the chalk and sits down with a smug grin on his face. All the stress from the math problem goes away as the teacher continues the lesson.

The Normal Day Alexander M., ’23 It was an ordinary day for the customer who entered the burger shop. He told the waiter to get him the traditional burger, the classic burger that never seems to get old, but for the other customers the waiter didn’t seem typical for the restaurant. He wasn't even wearing the required uniform, and nobody had seen them at the restaurant ever before. While waiting the patron did what he would naturally do when waiting, which is looking at his phone. He did not seem put off by the unconventional events that were happening around him, like the people watching him and the waiter, and how the waiter mysteriously chuckled when getting the customer his food. Finally the burger was served. To him it was simply one of his favorite run-of-the-mill burgers, greasy, yet soft, and flavorful, yet when he took his first bite the customer fell to the floor unconscious.

Bob Learns About Friendship Whitman L., ’23 Once upon a time there was a penguin named Bob who was different from the other penguins. Instead of sledding or trying to dive the deepest, he liked to have tea parties with his friends Jake, Chio, and Nugget, who disliked tea parties. One day when he was setting up a fabulous tea party, his friends came up to confront him.

“Hey dude!” said Chio, “do you think that we could, like, um, maybe do something other than tea parties because you see, the thing is, we don’t like tea parties.”

“But I do!” said Bob. Then an idea sparked into his mind. “I've got it!” he yelled. “We can have a tea party, while sledding!”

The other penguins stood in shock until Nugget said, “Sweet, let's do it.” So they all did.

“Fantastic!” said Jake. When they all reached the end of their sledding/tea party odyssey, Bob said, “Now we all can have fun! Thanks to the fascinating power of friendship.”

Whitman L., ‘23

IT’S NOT FAIR! INCLUDING ENJAMBMENT AND ALLUSION It’s Not Fair Sadie F-C, ’23 Dusty darkness settles outside the window accompanied by the click of the clock.

I glance at the pile of dishes: A towering mountain of crusty food-filled plates and bowls, glasses and utensils, all dribbling grease and butter.

Wrinkling my nose at the stench of old yogurt and pizza crusts, I roll up my sleeves.

Force the noisy chatter of my siblings getting ready for the ball out of my head.

Turning on the faucet, I scrub. Dish after dish after dish.

I don’t bother with the pan with burnt butter caking the curve of the handle.

By the time I’m halfway, my clothes are disgusting.

Damp sleeves. A stain of who-knows-what on the seam of my skirt. I know I’m dirty, but I don’t have time to think. If I hurry, maybe I’ll be able to go along with my family.

Hundreds and thousands of minutes later and even though the kitchen isn’t squeaky clean, I consider my job done.

I rush up the twisting staircase, lined with dark wood, a lantern hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

Bump into my mother. She glowers at me, grabs me by the wrist and back into the kitchen.

Why are you going upstairs? She demands.

You aren’t finished here.

I sputter and plead, but with a point of her finger she denies me.

I yearn for that stairway, a ladder into the rest of the world, preparing to dance at the prince’s ball.

A world of lacy ball gowns and dresses, fancy shoes and petticoats, laughter and Exhilaration and joy.

Instead of laced opera gloves I pull on rubber dish gloves.

Instead of walking down a marbled floor adorned with red carpet, I step across the slimy rough tiles.

I am too focused on scraping dried pasta from a saucer to see the flowing skirts and coattails disappear behind the front door.

Too busy scrubbing grease away from a plate to hear faraway violins and pianos waltzing along with happy couples.

I’m too focused, too busy to wish.

If only I could be there.

Sadie F-C., ‘23

It is Not Fair Cade R., ’23 Poverty, starvation, hunger.

Why do some people have to go through this to survive?

While some people are fighting for their lives others are relaxing in their mansions with enough possessions for many but instead having it all to themselves.

Does this seem fair?

Can’t everyone live the same way?

Why does there have to be money?

Why don’t we just live for free?

There are people who put their lives on the line for this country and yet we leave them to die on the streets, in hunger.

There are kids scared, without the comfort of a home.

Tears fill their eyes.

Is that what we want world?

There are people with addictions who have lost everything.

But that does not mean they are not trying to heal.

It just does not make sense.

Why do some people think they deserve more than others?

Ten dollars might change a homeless person's day: It could buy them a snack to satisfy their hunger.

It is not fair that some people are are homeless, sick addicted, or abused but are afraid to reach out for help.

My Grandma gives to every homeless person she sees.

Some people are in need of a hand.

Because not everybody gets a golden ticket.

It's Not Fair!

Michael D., ’23 It is there in the morning At noon From 8 to 3 We work hard Put in effort Take our time It's still there School All day Five days a week Homework is the worst All this I don't mind that I have to read about dropping out of a muggle school to learn magic Math, I guess might be helpful english not a skill I desire Science though might be an exception Physics also catches my attention

It’s Not Fair!

Emily D., ’23 Why do we have to have homework Over the weekend, I asked myself.

Paula, a girl who enjoys homework, Responded teasingly, “We have homework because it is good for our brains.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

Mrs. Smith came into the classroom, She apologized for being late.

She then let out some disappointing news, “We have homework over the weekend.”

Paula jumped and shouted, “HOORAY!” She looked like she just won the Golden Ticket.

I let out a big sigh, And the teacher rolled her red, tired eyes at me.

I don’t understand why she assigns us homework Over the weekend.

Doesn’t she realize we have stuff to do?

Doesn’t she realize we need a break?

We don’t force HER to waste HER weekend on topics that SHE won’t find useful in the future.

When Paula saw that I was upset about having homework, She smiled like a Cheshire cat.

I wondered what Paula did over the weekend.

Did she devote her WHOLE weekend to homework?

That would be a pretty sad life, then.

I wish homework didn’t exist.

We learn enough in school.

Sometimes I feel that My head will explode from the stress given by homework.

Homework should be stopped!

In Finland, homework is banned.

Kids in Finland don’t even start school Until the age of seven.

Why can’t we follow those guidelines?

Jake S., ‘23

It’s Not Fair!

Braden R., ’23 The way my oldest brother is treated is not fair!

He acts like he is disabled Lazy as a slug He’s served breakfast in bed.

Like a king, with his servant And guess who is the servant Well, it’s me.

My father tells me: “Go get your brother’s dirty plates” In the back of my head I say to myself “Don’t go get them; you’re not a slave” And yet I am forced to do it anyway Sometimes I am astonished About what I find on his bedroom floor Piles of candy, granola bars, and sports drinks When we clear the table after dinner He creates the most outrageous excuses.

His favorite: “I have so much math, I think I need to leave.”

I have made a chart Out of furiosity On how many times the kid has left The table without clearing it, I think it is about twenty in a row!

I am now on the verge of Passing out just writing this thing.

Because it is just not fair.

It’s Not Fair Devri A., ’23 The disappointment is overwhelming!

The Spanish teacher said that the French class gets cookies and we don’t!

Students are growling.

The teacher states that life is not fair and that we have to learn to deal with it, whatever that means.

I can feel my anger bubbling up to the roof of my mouth in utter rage! when I hear the teacher saying that we don’t have anything to celebrate.

Excuse me! The Spanish students just finished our play that took us a whole month!

We should have the same privileges as the French students!

Do you think it is fair that only half of the class gets cookies?

Let me put it this way, would you think it was fair if the rest of your family had a big feast while you did not get so much as a crumb?

I don't think so!

Well that is how I feel.

I know that I should not be so caught up on one little thing but it hurts.

I should not be excluded from perfectly baked, crispy, delicious cookies!

It doesn’t sit right!

While we have to write a book in Spanish, they sit around and devour cookies!

Being left out on such a delicious thing is not fair I repeat, not fair!

So please Spanish teacher spare us a crumb of sympathy and give us our well-deserved cookies!

Devri A., ‘23

Why Not Spencer M., ’23 It’s not fair that we have to wear masks In the sweltering heat. It’s not fair.

That the people who are vaccinated don’t have to wear masks, Covid is not fair.

When Covid first hit, We were cooped up in our houses With nothing to do. Unable to leave And see friends.

Local businesses and online websites Started to slow down.

With no inventory coming in, Fewer and fewer people came in.

With nothing to light the spark, The room stayed dark.

But now, let’s put the worst behind us.

Let’s open a new door, Not worrying about the past Forgetting what lasted so long.

It isn’t fair, just quite yet.

It isn’t fair that I can’t play hockey, My favorite sport.

But in some ways, it is fair, I tried new things that I could do.

I learned how to snowboard, I played kickball with my family, I started to play board games.

And let me tell you I had loads of fun.

But it isn’t fair because nothing will ever be the same again.

It’s Not Fair!

Lucy B., ’23 It doesn’t bother me when we have to split the cookie, Or when we have to Share the rest of the chips.

But when someone steals the last cookie in the jar I feel like I have have been shot in the heel: My only weakness.

I glare at my brother, My own brother, (Who everyone claims to be always right.)

We are both determined to be the winner We run like we are in the biggest battle of our lives.

Then with a simple movement, a snatch, catapults the prize, the treat, far beyond my reach.

As if that loss weren’t enough, I get shot in my only weak spot.

I try yell at him, but my cries won’t come out.

I exhale a long, sad, miserable sigh But that doesn't last long I am furious. My anger cannot be controlled Bubbling from my stomach, up to my throat, out of my mouth I can speak again. Yell again.

“It’s not fair that you get the cookie and I don’t!”

I run over to my other siblings Like achilles rallying my army “He took the cookie and it’s not fair!”

We rebel To take what is rightfully ours It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

We chant as if we were a choir of birds singing the song of protest But as soon as we start, The Evil queen of the kingdom smiles as she takes the whole cookie, places it between her lips Bites into its chocolatey, gooey, crust.

Silence descends.

For some reason After all of this bickering between us, we are together against her majesty We, furious in every way, demand a bite.

It’s not fair that we have to watch her Devour the cookie before our eyes And under our noses It’s not fair, Not fair at all.

Lucy B., ‘23

It’s Not Fair Rosie L.., ’23 My room is next to my older sister's bedroom, and let me tell you it’s the worst, especially at night!

Let me tell you how my night goes: I jump into my bed, setting my alarm clock just before I go to sleep.

I go under my cold covers.

I twist and turn trying to find the perfect sleeping position.

As I stretch out my legs, I can feel my feet getting closer to the edge of the bed.

My legs reach all the way to the end of the bed, and the only thing stopping my feet from getting off the bed is the cover tightly tucked under my bed.

It gets tiring twisting and turning under my covers, so I just stop.

I turn to my side, hugging my pillow, and close my eyes.

And that's when my older sister starts bothering me.

She starts laughing, literally banging on her computer keys, and sometimes swearing.

I just can’t go to sleep!

I mean, how can I!?

The laughing and banging are echoing throughout my room.

Despite all of that, I still attempt to go to sleep.

Type, type, type!

Laugh, laugh, laugh!

Swear, swear, swear!

Like, really can she stop? I have stuff to do tomorrow!

And if she doesn’t stop now, and she stops later, I might just be sleeping forever!

What in the bananas is she doing?

Playing video games at, oh, I don’t know, 11 o’clock at night!?!

I attempted to cover my ears with a pillow, but the echoing overpowered the poofy fabric barrier.

After what feels like countless hours I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

Dad. He passes my room, most likely heading for my older sister’s.

I hear my older sister quickly close her computer and get under her covers.

The computer falls off the bed thumping between the bed and the wall.

My dad bangs on her door about three times, and tells her to be quiet.

He starts heading back to his room, closing the door behind him as he enters his room.

After about five minutes or so I start to hear my older sister moving again, but this time she is going to sleep!

Yes finally she starts to go to sleep!

I can finally go to sleep because nothing is echoing through my room!

It feels like I’ve just won the golden ticket or something.

A relaxed feeling crosses over my body, still hugging the pillow, I peacefully fall asleep.

Emily D., ‘23

Kesenia P., ‘23

Rosie L., ‘23

POEMS ABOUT FOOD INCLUDING IMAGERY AND ALLITERATION Chocolate Swiss Roll Andrew H., ’23 Chocolate stuffed It's the best food ever I love its center It is the best snack treat My grandma makes it Its chocolaty flavor is divine It’s moist and creamy The best part about it in my opinion is The center because It has the whipped cream and chocolate bread Its bread is like ice cream without the ice in the cream It taste like the best food in the world You have to cook it like you would make any other bread Except it has a chocolate bread and it has to have cream Its sugar flour makes it divine Do not eat the regular whipped cream version it would just ruin it The worst is when she puts the white cream instead of the chocolate cream My sister likes that version way better I hate it I enter house with the best feeling ever It's called you ready...

THE CHOCOLATE SWISS ROLL!

The Milkshake Oli S., ’23 After a long, dreary Monday at school, I am rewarded with a trip to Ashley’s.

As I walk in, I am immediately hit by the scents of chocolate, vanilla, and a vast variety of other flavors.

I have only one goal: A perfectly concocted, cold milkshake.

It’s time to order. My eyes peer at the daily flavors; the flowing bins of creamy deliciousness.

I make my decision quickly; I don’t want to waste any precious time.

“A simple malted milkshake,” I say.

“Make that chocolate malted, please.” I say again.

As the server prepares the shake, I gaze at the lighthearted pictures drawn by little children on the long wall that is the art gallery, Anxiously waiting for the taste of chocolate and malt on my tongue.

The server has finally finished making the milkshake; I reach for it eagerly.

As I take my first sip, my taste buds start screaming in delight: I long for a masterfully crafted milkshake like this everyday.

There is just enough chocolate, just enough malt; the server has combined them in a jarring fashion.

I drink it slowly, contentedly, And I get a brain freeze that rivals the frigid air of the Arctic.

As my brain begins to thaw, I notice that the heavy sludge has stopped seeping through my straw, stopping the elation that I felt a moment ago to continue.

I reposition my straw in the cup and take a long swig, savoring the bitterness of the chocolate dearly.

It smells like a warm cup of steaming, scalding hot chocolate during winter, and it looks like the quintessential diner dessert.

As I finish my shake, my mom brings news I’d rather not need to hear.

“It’s time for soccer,” she says with sorrow as she dives into her own ice cream: a simple, small chocolate sundae.

As we walk toward the car, I cast a final glance at Ashley’s, longing for another cup. Another cone. Anything.

I will never forget the joviality that came with my simple malted milkshake.

Alexander S., ‘23

Keenan B., ‘23

Fast Food Fridays

By Austin H., '23 I love the expressiveness and savoriness of fancy fare And the foreign flavors of flawless food from countless cultures But at the end of a long lousy week I turn to fast food I pick up the thin sliced sliver of salty Yukon gold Warm, crispy, skin of deep fried potato fills my mouth Flash-fried aromas that make me want more Starchy flesh of golden goodness That makes my tastebuds light up like a Christmas tree The fabulous french fry Hello heavenly hamburger!

The silky buttery bun Blankets the moist meaty patty Potent pickles, luscious lettuce, tangy tomato Juicy drippings dribble down My chin Now covered in ketchup Immediately my mouth is a magnet for the milkshake The smooth creaminess of the first sip A snowglobe of goodness inside my glass I struggle to suck up the last little bit The sound of my straw vacuuming the velvety heaven hitched to the bottom At last the satisfactory sweet shake is in my stomach

A Special Meal Henry O., ’23 After a long day of difficult, sweaty work After endless hours of struggle, and toil.

And when all seems miserable, and nothing pleasing…

A nice yummy dinner will cheer me right up The smell comes zooming in, infiltrating my nose and overpowering my brain, Forcing me to drift over, eyes closed, nose in the clouds, Dreaming of what could be inside the oven.

Lasagna, steak, cake maybe?

But whatever it is, my excessively enriched nose might explode The reveal is next… It's steaming hot London Broil.

Cooked red, juicy, and rare.

Along with it, some mashed potatoes as white as snow, And savory stuffing that’ll make my mouth water.

Next… the salad. Lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, as colorful as a lush, lavish rainforest.

After that, the desert. A skyline of cold, chocolaty ice cream cakes, as far as the eye can see.

Now, spoon in hand, I dig in.

The cake is as wondrous as an ocean filled with chocolate sauce, it’s an oreo abyss that seems to never end.

Like a peach tree, with endless peaches.

And after this wondrous delight of a dinner, It’s time for a nice… long… rest… “zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”

Cheesecake Nicolaas S., ’23 Buttery, bittersweet, beckoning New York style cheesecake On a Saturday afternoon Binge watching YouTube.

What is this Creamy, cooling, cookie on the bottom Sugary perfection?

Why wouldn’t someone enjoy such a tantalizing on the tongue treat?

Where to find this Delicious, delectable, decadent, delight The Cheesecake Factory, Lenny’s in Branford, The forbidden refrigerator shelf.

What flavor today Sweet strawberry, crumbly cookies & cream, chewy chocolatey chocolate chip And my all time favorite The classic New York style cheesecake.

When to indulge My birthday, of course There is only one surprising, stunning, staggering choice The amazing, astonishing, astounding Cheesecake!

Oli S., ‘23

A Seasick Story Ksenia P., ’23 I walk downstairs, swaying side to side I am on a ship, seasick and full of weakness.

My mother had just made My least favorite meal, fish.

Nauseous and numb, I am soon accused of being naughty for not wanting to eat the meal.

While waiting at the table, I cannot even sit still.

Shaking, I pick up my cup to take a sip of water, Then swiftly shivering as it splashed onto my shirt.

Even though it is still in the hot oven and cooked, The strong, stinky, seaweedy smell Of the steaming fish Is the worst part of the disgusting dinner.

As my mom opens the oven, A mighty wind blows me off my chair.

Holding on to the slippery side of the boat, A wave of water from my cup splashes down on me once again.

I hide under the table, Which is the safest spot in this situation.

Then, I wait until everyone is finished To finally stand up and sneak away onto the safe shore.

The only problem left I am still starving and seasick.

So you see, This is just the beginning.

Pasta Alexander S., ’23 Inside the kitchen, brilliant smells brew in the steaming pot and fill the air.

The gooey red ocean of sauce streams into the steaming pot and seeps into the cracks between each string of fettuccine .

I hear the satisfying sounds of the cheese grater rubbing against the Parmesan cheese, floating down like tiny snowflakes into a small glass bowl.

As the bowls come to the table one by one, the delicious smells only become more vivid to the nose.

I see my bowl placed in front of me and I look down, I set my gaze on the full marveling fettuccine.

It is so mesmerizing that I just stay there, staring.

But this is not all.

I take the glass bowl of shredded Parmesan cheese and take a spoonful.

I shake the Parmesan over my pasta, as if I am a blizzard blanketing rolling and squiggly hills.

Inside the oven, there is a chicken parm baking in the intense heat.

When it was taken out of the oven, I got to see firsthand the delicious marvel that was sitting right in front of me.

The chicken covered in a brilliant blanket of melty and mouthwatering cheese as white as milk.

I devoured my delicious meal in a matter of two minutes, not chatting the whole way through because I couldn’t focus on anything else but the wondrous taste in my mouth of the chicken parmesan and fettuccine with sauce and more parmesan cheese.

Next came the dessert, and when it came, I couldn’t look at anything but what was in front of me.

The sight of chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce streaming down the sides like a volcano that just erupted, it was an amazement to my eyes.

There was a problem, though.

I was too full.

Nic S., ‘23

Chocolate Elizabeth R., '23 Sweet, smooth, and oh so good Almond, coconut, and marshmallow centers just to name a few Melt-in-your-mouth milk chocolate Chewy caramel filling Dreamy dark chocolate Nut-filled nougat core Wondrous white chocolate Mouthwatering marzipan covered in chocolate Rich ruby chocolate - naturally pink colored Cadbury, Dove, Ferrero Rocher, Ghirardelli, Godiva, Hershey, Lindt, Nestle Toll House, and Toblerone, just to name a few And of course, there’s always Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory!

In the summer, chocolate sprinkles on chocolate ice cream In the winter, hot chocolate with a cloud of whipped cream Brownies, chocolate cake, chocolate chip cookies chocolate covered fruit, chocolate donuts, chocolate fudge, chocolate mousse, chocolate pudding, chocolate truffles, and more!

Chocolate goodness, too hard to resist Just remember, chocolate is best melted in your mouth, not in your hand!

Gabby R., ‘23

Pancakes Jake S., ’23 Sunny Sunday morning, Birds chirping, The sweet, savory, fragrant scent of chocolate chip pancakes swarms my nose, I race down the stairs.

Skippy greets me with his wet licks, I sprint to my chair to munch down some pancakes, The sight of the golden pancakes warms my heart.

My first bite: chocolaty goodness, My second bite: the pleasing taste of pancakes, Skippy asks for some with his puppy eyes, But I must reject. He can’t have chocolate.

The taste is so good I need to ask for more, I can’t stop eating.

As my mom makes more pancakes, I hop on the couch and watch TV, But all I can think about is pancakes, JUST PANCAKES, When the second round is ready, I also ask if I can make whipped cream, I also can’t resist the combo of homemade whipped cream and pancakes.

First I add the heavy whipping cream, Next, The sugar, And finally the vanilla— It’s amazing how these create such a pleasant taste, As I eat my second pancake with whipped cream, Each bite seems to be better than the last!

I love the super special spectacular taste of pancakes.

Henry O., ‘23

How to pronounce “Almonds” Chloe N., ’23 I took my fabric mask off as I swung back and forth leisurely, spaced apart of course, and opened my lunch box.

There was a spoiled yogurt cup and a can of salty smoked almonds (or as I like to call them, “ah-mens.”)

They smelled like a warm fire to me, And looked like wooden teardrops that somehow got pale orange Cheeto dust on them.

“I’ve got almonds!” I proclaimed, as if it were important.

“It’s pronounced ‘all-monds.’ Not ‘ah-mens,’” said a red-haired kid with a baseball cap on as he spun around on a swing.

“All-monds.” I said, carefully tracing my finger over the words on the label as if I could find the correct pronunciation in the shape of the ivory-colored font.

“Can I have one?” said my friend.

I look down at the smoked almonds. The can could have covid. Or worse.

But did I have covid?

Hmmm…

“Fine. Here.”

I threw one at him.

He looked at me, surprised. Then he laughed.

“I’m gonna get you!” He tossed it back at my face.

I took a small handful and catapulted it at him, Two landed in his mouth.

He crunched on them and then started stockpiling the Remaining reddish-brown smoked almonds, dust getting on his fingers From both the dirt And the seasoning on the almonds.

His sister laughed and asked for one, But he just flung it at her.

She didn’t really look that mad.

I got on on of the swings, And the world blurred around me.

Almonds were also flying out of the grey tin can.

They hit a black-haired girl directly on the head.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I laughed.

“It’s okay!” She giggled.

I stood up on the swing,

Surprisingly, unlike most situations, The teacher who monitored us at our camp didn’t tell me to stop.

After all, I wasn’t technically breaking school rules, even if we are on campus.

I was summer, and a covid summer, and nobody cared anymore.

I slipped my mask back onto my face, swung higher on the swing, Grabbed a handful of almonds, And tossed them into the air like a flower girl, shouting, “Free almonds for all!”

“Free ALL-MONDS, not free “Ah-mens.”

“Fine! Everybody gets free ah-mens.

Except you.” (I gestured toward the kid in the baseball cap.)

“You get free all-monds.”

He took off his hat and held it out as though asking for money, But I gave him all-monds.

I pitched them at the hat as I swung past. About 8 landed in it, and Some scattered swiftly under the swing and onto the dirty earth.

One even hit my friend, and he picked it up and yelled, “No, you!”

He chucked it at me, I ducked, and it hit the black-haired girl on the head again.

“Hey, that’s the second time!” She yelled and chuckled. She began to swing toward me with her swing, as though trying to hit me.

I was mad at my friend, So I tried to do the same to him.

“He did it!” I said to the girl.

She tried to swing and kick him, And he said to me, “You’re a liar!”

“I’m not!” I yelled.

The girl, who was originally trying to hit me was now kicking my friend, And I was kicking him, too.

He attempted to kick me, but missed And almonds flew out of his blue, worn shoe.

The sneaker flew off with them like a torpedo.

A couple of the almonds hit me.

I got startled and swung around, Accidentally kicking the black-haired girl.

“Hey!” She yelled. She was now trying to kick me.

There we were, Kicking each other on the swing (Of course we weren’t really trying to hurt each other,) While my friend’s sister And the boy in the hat Sent almonds into the air to each other.

A shout interrupted our violent almond-throwing: “Time to go in!”

I got off the swing And the ground seemed to rock under me Like the swing I had just been on.

I steadied myself, Opened my eyes, And saw my friend grinning at me.

I looked down at the almond can, Now light and nearly empty.

I slowly peeled off half of the plastic lid, And the other half abruptly came off with a startling Snap!

I almost was going to throw it at him, But then I realized that I hadn’t eaten any almonds yet, Not even one.

I picked it up, And he recoiled as though I were holding a knife to his throat, But I put it in my mouth.

I chewed.

At first it was powdery, Crunchy, Smokey, Cheddary.

Then it was oaky, nutty, And then I got to the inside.

It was sweetish and creamy, And all of these tastes calmed my hyper senses after getting to riled-up, But I was still hungry.

When I got home, my mom asked,“Did you eat your almonds?”

I thought for a second, then answered,“Yes, I ate my ah-mens.”

Alexander M., ‘23

Finding Strength in Knowledge and Beauty from Members of the Class of 2022

The Book’s Longing

By Christopher Y., ’22 Books, on a shelf Books, in a library Its many patrons becoming few, then fewer, then none Books, gathering dust, like a photo, its once pristine depictions Turning gray, with the passing of time The books whose dry pages hold secrets of generations of writers The books whose dry pages yearn to be read Oh, how they wish they could be read, perused even To smell the air, circulating slowly, from a ceiling fan, or the wind from an open window Oh, how they wish they could be heard, calling For Anyone.

They hear the soft clicks of a keyboard, Possibly searching for answers that they themselves hold.

These Books, that are full of knowledge, of generations of fact, and fiction.

Books, full of stories, and characters, and emotion, And life Books, their spines becoming stiff Like the one, leaning over a computer, typing endlessly The irrelevance of their actions, on their books of stainless metal and plastic, Immeasurable.

As is the book’s longing, for the soft hands of a child, yearning for answers, opening a book, finding what they need, but then reading on, going down a path, a road of words, supported by fact, and painted with wonder, with its yellow lines straight and perfect.

Blessed Day

By Evelyn R., ’22 Squirrels scavenge over auburn leaves, My brown boots bounce carelessly with every step.

I lift my nose, cinnamon.

The world is at peace.

True, it is fall, things are dying, But the earth is so beautiful!

Leaves of emerald and jade, Subside and are replaced with heated hues, Making the trees look as if they are on fire, Burning bright but short.

Trees of fire make room for winter: quiet, graceful, still.

Bittersweet and melancholy turn to wonder.

Look at the stars the darkness illuminates, Instead of shadows intruding the light of a perfect day.

Now the dry leaves whisper in the wind.

No paintbrush in the world can capture this wondrous day: Trees of fire, The pleasant blush of the chilled air, Frost, painstakingly painted across the windowsill, A gentle breeze, blowing away the heat of the day.

Emma L., ‘22

Julia S., ‘22

Bella T., ‘22

The Sun is Setting; Make it Rise

By Jack M., ‘22 Countless Wars.

Frightening epidemics.

Tremendous disagreements.

What do these all have in common?

America.

We are no longer on the pulse of morning.

The evening, with its utter darkness, lurks upon us.

We think we are safe, but the sun is setting.

Soon, the sunset, with all of its grandeur, will darken.

The soft oranges and vibrant yellows will disappear.

And we will plummet.

Plummet more than we ever have.

Into darkness.

Into peril.

With no prosperity ever again.

Our country has unfilled voids that need to be restored.

Or else it will crumble beneath our feet.

A small chunk falls off every day.

Each year a large fraction.

Fractions of mercy.

Fractions of justice.

Fractions of freedom.

How many years do we have?

Murder Hornets.

Creeping viruses.

Racism.

Sexism.

Religious inequality.

Riots.

Ignorance.

Our country is dying.

God can not save us.

The Earth can not save us.

Only we can save us.

We can say “Good Morning” again.

We can rise up like an eagle about to take flight…

And soar.

Soar to the skies.

Up to the sun.

And tell him to wake up.

Promise him that we will do better.

Ask him to shed his blazing light upon us.

So we can forget our mistakes.

And remember our successes.

Reflect on our old selves...

So we can plunge into the new.

So we can leap whole-heartedly into innocence.

Utter innocence.

Unearthed after many long years.

Forgotten.

It can be remembered.

It can be revived.

We can work together.

No more bloodshed.

No more death.

Give way to life.

Give way to prosperity.

Embrace the magnificent.

Flowing rivers, sparkling like ice.

Towering mountains, snow-capped and massive.

Deep canyons, loose pebbles skidding down their sides.

We, today, are the canyons.

So empty and hopeless and cracked to the point of complete desperation.

We started on flat ground and we have kept digging.

We have dug so deep that there is only a small flicker of hope left.

A small flicker of sunlight.

And soon, very soon The sunlight will give way to a moonless evening.

But we can change.

We can expand that flicker of sunlight.

We can start to build the ladder.

The ladder leading out of the canyon.

Up to the mountains.

The mountains are what we can be in the future.

The mountains give us hope.

Towering over everything, strong yet harmless.

Powerful yet generous.

The mountains do not use their power to send us into peril.

The mountains do not take us as slaves.

We strive for the mountains.

As a faraway dream.

But any dream can become a reality.

We need to begin today.

We need to do something.

And no matter how miniscule or monumental that something is, it will make a difference.

Start climbing out of that canyon.

Start pulling yourself over the edge, into the past.

Where we began.

Where America was nothing.

Where we, the people, would soon destroy this land.

Where we, the people, would eventually rebuild.

Rebuild the land from its destroyed state.

Rebuild it stronger.

Rebuild it to enhance the values of our country That have been forgotten.

We can experience, yet again, the pulse of morning.

We can eliminate the darkness that has covered all but one flicker of sunlight.

And expand that flicker into a magnificent sunrise.

A sunrise of hope.

A new beginning.

Then we can climb Up the mountain To the top.

And we can say one word as we look out upon our country.

Our strong, gorgeous country.

Over the culture.

The culture of America.

The diverse culture formed by many branches.

Many branches of different people and their practices and actions.

Brought together to form something wonderful.

The cities.

Chicago and New York with their colossal skyscrapers.

The diversity.

All different people sprinkled across the land of the free.

The monuments.

The Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate Bridge, their metals shimmering like diamonds.

The beauty.

The emerald green grasses and the soft, whispering wind.

The freedom…

As we look upon the expanding sunlight And we see that flicker of hope start to spread...

We will whisper One word: “America.”

Evelyn R., ‘22

Looking Back and Looking Ahead from Members of the Class of 2021

Paradoxical Pandemic

By Mrs. Jackson, advisor to the Class of ‘21 As the tight band behind my ear stretches, I strive to provide an equally unyielding flexibility, Desperately hoping that I can make a similar difference in this remote world.

Individual classrooms are re-invented as we slowly Zoom and unlearn knowledge as we know it.

Technology becomes our unstable anchor as we navigate the murky untouched waters.

Undying death tolls, quiet cries for help, we’re inundated with incomprehensible information.

Finding an aching solace in the significance of the smallness of my orb and an Unbending tolerance for tomorrow’s today, calmly yearning for a new past.

The same inconsistencies chaotically order my day.

Masks openly cover our exquisite imperfections, disguising our fear, yet making us feel safe.

Our firm resiliency has strengthened our weaknesses and given us light in the darkness.

Look over your shoulder

By Molly P., ‘21 Many people have died so that we could be here today.

Many people have fought so that we could be here today.

Many people have worked exhausting hours for us to be here today.

Look over your shoulder.

Say the names of the people who brought us here today and thank them.

The people who built a lot of the buildings that you live in and work in.

The people who laid down the train tracks that you ride to work every day The people who brought you to this country by leaving everything behind.

Are we just going to keep going through this crazy fast world only worried about what's happening next and forgetting about our history?

Look over your shoulder And thank all the people who worked exhausting hours, days, years to get you here, while you think about the future and what you want tomorrow forgetting about their sacrifices?

Look over your shoulder The world we live in now is so focused on what is going to happen next that we are forgetting what happened before us.

Look over your shoulder Knowing history is the only way we can fix our present-day and future by learning from our mistakes.

As George Santayana once said, “Those who can’t remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” People who can not remember history are going to repeat it.

Look over your shoulder “Knowledge of the past helps us see how humans react and deal with situations” (123 help me) Look over your shoulder We need to break down the wall, The wall that separates us from one another.

The wall that has torn our country apart The wall the separates our friends and family The wall discourages fellow humans from wanting to come to the United States.

That wall that makes people unsafe

The Essence of This Land

By Rosie L., ‘21 America, the home of the free, and the bearer of beauty.

Your skies blue, your grass green, your people all multicolored.

For that is what makes you beautiful, The variation of color on your lands.

The vivid tones of all beings, all objects, all life.

It brings us joy to see the vibrant colors flowing through this world.

As we rush through the day, do we take in your beauty?

Or are we too busy to pay any attention?

Too busy to notice the natural essence of this land?

The hues of nature, the tints of the world, and the coloring of people?

Because that is what I see in this country, the beauty.

But this place has been distorted by its own beauty.

There has been blood strewn over the delicate ground, Leaving the color displaced, destroyed, and damaged Within its own land.

Is it better now?

Yes, it is, we have the vibrant hues that once shone through our country, And yet, it is not the same.

And it will never be the same again.

Color changes.

When you mix red and yellow, you get orange, Red and blue to make purple, And yellow and blue to make green.

We are not fixed, you are not fixed, yet we are still here.

America is like water.

It changes so much, and each form is beautiful.

We have changed, we have overcome, we are the people.

We are the people who live in a world filled with all different colors.

We are the people who live in a country filled with wonders.

We notice the beauty, but even when we don’t, The beauty is always there.

Because this is our home, America, the home of true beauty.

Thank you for reading!

Back cover art by Ava K. ’25, inspired by Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the thing with feathers