Archive

THE SYCAMORE WELLS COLLEGE’S STUDENT MAGAZINE / SPRING 2018

THE

Archive

ISSUE

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

CONT features 13 48 DRIED INK WRITING MOUNTAINS

A poem about pen hoarding.

How many words can you write before your hand withers away?

14 52 GODSPEED

“Choose yourself first, yourself second, third, family, and then maybe others.”

ARCHIVES OF OLD HABITS

Notes on struggling with mental health and self-image.

16 60 NOSE DIVE CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

How do you tell half a story?

I’ve always felt drawn to the aesthetics of Southern California.

22 68 DRUM ROLL, PLEASE

A reflection on music’s impact on the writer’s life.

DEAREST CAYUGA

Some sunset photos by guest photographer Mary Kate Barnett.

26 74 REWINDING

A photospread recreating old photos of Wells Women.

GROWTH

A photospread by Samantha Jones.

92 ONWARDS

My appreciation of Wells College has changed since 2015, but I still appreciate her.

2

TENTS constants 7 66 EDITORS' NOTES WHAT ARE YOU MAD ABOUT? A few opening remarks

Submissions from angry Wellsians

8 84 WRITTEN WORK CONTEST “Archivum Doloris” by A.S.L.

10

WRITTEN WORK CONTEST “Testimony” by Greg T. Miraglia

20 BOOK REVIEW

Zach Savich’s Diving Makes the Water Deep

21

MIXED TAPE

A playlist of songs that encompass archive

94 DEAR MINERVA

Advice from Wells’ resident Goddess

100 VISUAL ARTS CONTEST Stacey Eddys winning photograph

ALBUM REVIEW

The Wombats’ new album “Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life”

46 HOROSCOPES

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

THE SYCAMORE is Wells College’s student magazine.

This is our twentieth biannual issue.

In keeping with our mission, we print on sustainably harvested paper and use nontoxic ink.

FSC BOX

4

staff EMILY MARSHMAN

ABIGAIL RUNDLE

MINERVA MARY KATE BARNETT LEXI CASTIGLIONE COURTNEY GOOD CHRISTINE FANOURAKIS KAYLEN FURR SAMANTHA JONES KATHERINE PUELLO CATHERINE BURROUGHS

Editor in Chief Chief Design Editor Staff Writer Assistant to Editor in Chief Chief Copy Editor Staff Writer Advice Columnist Guest Photographer Staff Writer Copy Editor Staff Writer Assistant to Chief Design Editor Staff Designer Staff Writer Staff Writer Staff Photographer Advisor

contact E–MAIL WEB ADDRESS

WellsSycamore@gmail.com Issuu.com/WellsSycamore Wells College 170 Main Street Aurora, NY 13026

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

6

Editor’s NOTE I’m in the office late at night working on the magazine and I simply cannot believe that I graduate in 23 days. I cannot believe my two semesters as editor-in-chief of the Sycamore went by so quickly - almost as quickly as my four years here at Wells did. I’ve never been more grateful for an opportunity. Being the editor in chief has been one of the most fulfilling learning experiences of my entire life.

I have certainly changed my mind multiple times throughout my time at Wells as to what I want to do with my degree in English, but I know that, no matter what, the skills that the Sycamore has forced me to teach myself will always come in handy. The late nights in the office have taught me both to be alone and to value my friends.

Thank you, Gail, for all of the times you’ve braided my hair because I didn’t think I could keep going. Thank you, Annabelle, for sitting with me, silently, just because being in your presence is calming enough. Thank you coffee and Monster and Red Bull for keeping me awake for three days straight and then forcing me immediately into illness.

I’m ready for whatever life decides to throw at me, and I couldn’t be more proud to hand this publication over to Gail. There’s no doubt in my mind it will flourish with her. Don’t forget to mail me a copy when it’s done!

Good luck to all of my peers in the sesquicentennial graduating class at Wells College.

May we all be the first to kiss Minerva’s feet.

Copy Editor’s NOTE

Time is about Growth, and we are expected to grow over time. This year, and this semester to be specific, has been a period of growth for me. I decided that I wasn’t going to let academics kick my ass this semester, and it went pretty well. Working alongside Emily (’18) this year has been such a blessing; we’ve taken on a lot with this publication and we made it out alive. Thank you for everything you’ve don’t for this publication and for me; I’ll take good care of her.

The theme this semester—Archive—has been the most interesting yet. Similar to Drive, it is challenging, but so, so wonderful. I’ve loved all the essays the staff has written this semester, and our photographers never fail to amaze me. What can I say? I’m honored to have such a wonderful staff.

As the semester comes to a close, I’ve been thinking about what next year is going to be like, and what Wells is going to be like without the Class of 2018. I can tell how hard they are holding on to the last few minutes of their time here. And as they catalogue their memories of this place, I look forward to the time I have left. Thank you.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

Archivum Doloris

by A.S.L. There is an archive of pain; Rows and rows of categorized, human-hide, leather-bound books.

There is simply too much anger and hurt in this world to leave it free floatingAnguish this deep deserves order.

The archive moves to the place of the most concentrated sadness it can find: a silent maternity ward, a death camp, the pit of your stomach.

There is no librarian.

Devastation needs no guide; She has always taken care of herself.

Et archive of dolorem qi manducat nobis ...et in fame

8

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

Testimony

by Greg T. Miraglia

Do you solemnly swear you will give the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

I’ll tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.

I’m not here to make excuses. They would have you believe I did this maliciously. The day before the incident, I was upset. The D.A. wants to use this day to vilify me. I am a villain, but not for the reasons they set forward. If you’re going to judge me, I would rather you judge me for my actual crimes.

I was upset that day. I had been sent home after learning my hours at work were going to get cut. I got home and I was still fuming. The yard looked terrible and yardwork usually helped me calm down. I grabbed the rake and wheelbarrow and started in the front yard. I began to rant a little. I don’t have anybody. I’m in the house alone. Sometimes I rant while I do yardwork. Maybe I was too loud. I dragged the prongs of the rake hard against the grass. I pulled up grass at this point.

She came over.

“You’re keeping my baby brother awake,” she told me.

“Get away from me,” I said back. She crossed from their yard into mine.

“Please, sound travels in the country. The whole place is an echo chamber.”

Echo Chamber, she said. At the time, she sounded like the people cutting my hours. I was a hard worker. I told one person to stop being lazy and get back to work. Suddenly, they think I’m making problems in the working environment.

The neighbor girl was young like my managers at the bottling plant. She talked like them. To me, she was another millennial using her parents and taking everything from me. First my hours and now they wanted my yard.

That’s how I knew her. She was just the neighbor girl. I never took the time to care about my neighbors. I didn’t even know her name was Kayleigh.

10

“Get out of my yard,” I said.

“Are you going to quiet down?” She asked. I threw the rake at her and continued moving at her. She ran back to her parent’s house. I picked up the rake and finished the yard.

This was the moment before the incident that they want you to believe was a motive for revenge. I would have thrown a rake at anybody. That was the first time I met her and the last time I talked to her.

That night, I was still frustrated over my hours being cut. I forgot about the moment in the yard. I went to The Joint. I’d been going there more. I was at the bar fuming. You know, like quiet fuming, not hurting anybody.

I was tossing back drinks and kept asking for another. The bartender didn’t seem to notice how I was drinking. I knew I was killing more money than gin, but I wasn’t thinking about it. I was screwed over by my work. How was I going to afford my bills when they cut my hours?

It was around one. I had another three drinks before leaving the bar and getting in the driver’s seat. It was dark. The road seemed longer. I took the backroads because I didn’t want the cops to pick me up. I drove five under the speed limit. My foot was so light. Everything felt so light. There were trees and the drainage ditch that went on and on. I got dizzy from it.

Food I didn’t remember eating came up. It went all over the dash. All I saw was my insides coming out and the wheel turned. I heard a thump, a yelp, a crunch, a thump, and another crunch.

I turned around. When I got out something was crushed. I looked closely and threw up again. I didn’t mean to hit her, but I did.

I’m not sure it makes a difference, but I wanted Kayleigh’s parents to hear the truth.

You may step down.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

12

DRIED INK

by Abigail Rundle i find it hard to throw away dead pens as if i can find what little life is left in them with every uncapping. throwing away the pen throws away the life it produced. but these dead pens sitting in my desk, in my backpack, make me think that they are living and every time i reach for words i am sorely mistaken

when no life

pours

out.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

Godspeed

by Samantha Jones

“Choose yourself first, yourself second, yourself third, family, and then maybe others.”

I used to have this problem where I hated being alone. Not necessarily physically. I like having my own space to read, watch TV, or just take time to breathe. Moreso, I hated being emotionally alone.

I liked having someone to reassure me that I was enough, someone that I can completely rely on. I was in a relationship for four years in high school, so basically the beginning years where you start to mature and grow, and I was finding my worth based off of what someone else wanted from me. I would spend all of my free time with my boyfriend, which wasn’t a lot, with all of the sports I was involved in. And it honestly wasn’t the greatest relationship to spend four years of my life in. Manipulative and shameful are probably the best words I can think of to describe it. I’m sure you can probably guess my emotional state around senior year after we broke up. Broken and lost. But I wasn’t even broken in the essence of heartbroken; I was broken in the sense that I didn’t know how to be alone, and how to value myself. Funny, though, because I found that this wasn’t only in regards to my romantic relationships, but mostly my friendships.

Growing up in a small town, by the time you reach high school you already have this predetermined role. You’re either in with the popular kids, fall in the inbetween gray area, or you fall in the left behinds, where everyone judged you, mostly for things out of your control. My role was in the inbetweens, because I never thought of one person being lesser than another, like the other kids did. But I also really wanted everyone to like me.

That might be where my initial need for acceptance, and my desire to please everyone began.

14

Fast forward to college. Coming into Wells I was determined to become a different person. You get to come to a brand new place where no one knows you, so they have no predetermined notion of you like there was in high school. I even dyed my hair green, purple and blue, which was way out of high school me’s comfort zone. But of course, I found out real quick that I wasn’t the super outgoing, confident person I told myself I was going to be. I was quiet, and shy, and landed right back into the same old thing I did in high school, trying to cling to someone for comfort and acceptance. That’s how I found myself in my first friend group. They were all on the soccer team, so it was easy to connect with other freshmen who were in the same boat that I was in. That’s more or less of what freshman year is: finding a group of four or five people who look equally as lost as you, clinging to them for dear life, and doing whatever’s possible to fit in with them.

Don’t even try telling me that that’s not true, because freshman year I spent a good chunk of the time getting drunk for no reason, making awful decisions, and putting an absurd amount of my social life before my academics. That’s not who I was, or what I cherished. I graduated salutatorian from my high school, with a clean academic record, and had never drank before in my life. Not because I didn’t have the choice, but because it wasn’t something I found fun. So why was I doing this now?

Acceptance,

most

likely.

It’s interesting, though, because as a freshman you think that these people are going to be your backbone for the next three years. You think

that you know them like the back of your hand, and that they’re never going to hurt you or put you in awful positions. But in some ways it’s kind of like being right back in high school: some people just have bad intentions, and they have their best interests at heart instead of others’. Not saying that I don’t cherish every moment I spent with these people, because I definitely did. There are plenty of memories that were gained that shaped my views for the better, and taught me a lot about people as a whole. I am saying, though, that the people that I did everything for, did not do the same for me.

I really, really don’t like it when people feel hurt.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I did something to hurt another person. When people hurt me, I kind of just let it happen instead of holding my ground, because what if I hurt them back? Which, I know, is not a good quality at all.

I also have this way with words, that if I get angry enough to say something, it’s not going to be pretty, and it’s probably going to sting. My mom’s an English teacher, what can I say. So I always keep my mouth shut. I guess you could say I’m a pushover. Regardless of all the shitty things you could do to me, I would still be there for you in a heartbeat if you needed it. I don’t know if that makes me a stronger person, or just plain stupid, but I’m going to go with the former rather than the latter.

After the past year, I’ve finally learned that some people are better to say goodbye to, than to continue to try for. This realization came to me post-shower cry session, after feeling completely isolated from the people I called my friends. I was over my head that semester. Taking on six classes, working more than 10 hours a week, being a TA, playing soccer you name it, I was doing it. After always going out of my way for them, to make sure they were okay, putting them before myself, I realized that there I was, crying in the shower, longing for the tight knit friendship we had back, when they were out posting Instagram pictures together, not giving a shit that I was stressed, hurt, and feeling alone.

I know it’s super cliche and all, but you have to know when to walk away from bad situations, and that was my end point. It took getting completely crushed through friendships, not relationships, for me to realize that I need to start relying on myself. I was completely sick of feeling so angry all the time. Anger makes you self-destruct; I can attest to that a million times over. But what is the point in being angry over people who feed off of your destruction and pain? Aren’t you just giving them what they want? Screw the people who want to see you fail. Screw the people who take you for granted. Screw the people who are jealous that they could never be half the person that you are. Don’t get me wrong, walking away from friendships sucks. Friendship breakups are worse than relationship breakups. And the worst part is the backlash you may get from it, even though you never did a single thing wrong. But in the long run, who cares? If you need to do something for you, then you do it for yourself, not to appease others. I can not emphasize this enough.

I don’t have a problem being alone anymore. I don’t feel the need to please everyone anymore. I don’t feel the need to be accepted and liked. I do things for myself because I want to. I make my own decisions based on my desires first. I am my biggest advocate. I think the biggest part of personal growth, is being able to be unfazed by the negativity of others, and not wanting to participate in it anymore. I now surround myself with people who care about me, but let me be my own self and do my own thing. There isn’t any pressure to conform to someone I’m not, and go out of my way to make them happy. Those are the people that will be around for the rest of your life, and I owe a big thank you to the people who are those people for me. But I also owe a thank you to the people who aren’t, because now I’m a stronger person, and without you, I would still be stuck in a cycle of finding equally as negative people to surround myself with. Godspeed.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

NOSE

DIVE

BY LEXI CASTIGLIONE

1. fall

Your story starts where the blank space begins. You fall down into the creek bed and as soon as the rocks catch you, they start poking holes in your tale.

How do you tell half a story? It’s one of those things that is just as much about what is not there as it is about what is there.

What is not there: water. The creekbed is dry. It has been a rainless summer.

What is there: a darkness so heavy and wet you paddle your limbs like fins just to get upright again. Head swimming with schools of fish. Above, some boys call to you from the bridge, but their voices seem lost under so many leagues of sea. And then you are floating toward the surface.

It will be hard to sort out what you actually remember and what is just filler material your brain has used to supplement everything you’ve lost. You will tell yourself you remember getting dragged from beneath the bridge up to the road, propped on your feet by the freshman boys you’d previously been leading to a party, and pushed toward home, but the thing you will really remember is drifting down the road into an orange pool of street lamp light, pressing your hand hard against the beating inside your skull, and drawing it back to see your own blood smeared on your fingers, running into your lifeline.

There are other parts of the story, of course, other plot points, but that will be the one your brain commits to film. Somewhere in your archives will be a tape titled “Nose Dive” and it

16

2. forget

A concussion is many things — mainly, a breach of barriers. A bashing of the brain. If you ask a professional to explain it, they will use nuanced phrases like trauma, altered mental state, and equilibrium disturbance. Some will insist brief or sustained loss of consciousness be a requisite. To you and to others who have felt their brains kiss the insides of their skulls, it will seem much more simple. The words vacant and null will come to mind, if nothing else.

Despite years of the American tradition of lobotomizing young men for the sake of college football, or even rattling soldiers’ brain cells with bomb shells overseas, concussion research did not begin until the 1980’s. In the thirty years since then, not much has been unearthed aside from the obvious: a concussion is what occurs when the head suffers an impact so great as to allow the brain to wade through the water in the skull and strike the bone. Like a bell. Or like the crack of baseball to bat. And like the ringing of a bell, the reverberation continues long after we are no longer able to hear it. The batters keep running the bases while the right-fielder fumbles to throw the ball to home.

The most common symptoms are light, but pervasive. A few minutes of blurred vision, a week of wooziness, a couple weeks of headaches. You may find yourself staring into a plate of food with nothing but disappointment, or find the clangor of music and laughter too much to bear. But for those who are lucky, these after effects wear off with time and sleep. The crushed side of the brain will slowly re-inflate itself.

You will not be so lucky. Among the things that will return to you — your vision, your stomach, the little dent in your skull — your memory will not be one of them. It will continue to slip away in little pieces, faster at first, then slower and slower, a mere dribble. Names, dates, little promises will run away from you. But you will notice.

The morning after your tumble, you will roam campus with a hand shielding your eyes, searching for witnesses, anyone to tell you what happened. The night after your tumble will be spent on an Emergency Room gurney, relaying what the three freshman boys told you about the fall (I was walking them to a party, it was in the woods, I’ve been there hundreds of times before, and I mean I guess I was drunk but then I turned — I turned and I disappeared — and then I was in the ditch) with an IV drip hooked to your arm. The second night after the incident, lay on your bed and wonder what happened, what will happen now, how you are to perform with a hole in your memory.

Wonder for weeks. You will never truly get the answers the way you want them. Simply start forgetting the want to remember.

3. football

Memories are not the only things you lose. Some days you lose time, missing minutes spent staring into space with radio static rolling through your head; sometimes you lose words, hearing nothing as you gaze into the unhinging maw of a friend speaking to you. Often you find your head adrift, untethered from your body. Often you must tow yourself back in.

Spend entire afternoons swimming inside yourself, faithful to your bed sheets: you will find that hiding beneath the blankets with your eyes shut, blocking out sunlight and sound, is the only thing you can remember how to do with efficiency. That, and drinking. You will wait the daylight away and then you will lose yourself in booze, the very thing that steered you off the bridge weeks before and into this mess. Spend entire days drunk, entire weeks; you will drift through your days and in your bubble-headed daze you will begin to savor only the things you can hold close.

Don’t fret — you will bounce back in your own way. Like a blessing, your drunken wandering will lead you to a group of like-minded ruffians. Irony will taste briney as the Budweiser in your mouth when your group of drinking buddies assembles into a makeshift football team. As if you can even afford to butt heads, you will toss a junior-sized football around the upper student parking lot and splatter the pavement with beer from sloppy shotguns, and through the debauchery you’ll find a comfort in the chaos. The nights are warm and you sleep heavy, dreamless.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

ASD-

Fa

On an usually milky warm March day, months down the line, make the broad front lawn of the dorm building your field. Your team needs no painted lines, no referees, only sneakers and sunshine; with the light in your face, make field goals of your arms. Catching skills having grown rusty over the winter, you will spend lots of your time chasing the ball across the grass. One particular toss, however, makes its way straight through your forked arms to collide between your sun-blinded eyes.

Suddenly, simultaneously, you will bother forget again and remember again. The moments before and after the ball rattles your head will instantly become vacant rooms in your memory, but the strange sense of loss, the vacancy itself, fills the spaces in between. You’ve been shook in more ways than one.

When your vision clears, you will hear yourself laughing convincingly. You’ll want to ask what the joke is, but choose instead to go inside to “change your tampon” and sit on the toilet staring sightlessly into the dirty floor tile.

It doesn’t last. But its presence will haunt you like a ghost. Be prepared to momentarily lose yourself to these little bumps and thuds — if you keep the best of you locked away, the loss will only be minor.

4. fix

Drinking and diving, like all indulgences, eventually becomes more draining than it is worth. Stopping will only be a semi-conscious decision. Your recycling bin will slowly and mysteriously stop building up cans and glass each weekend. Your friends will find your once-revolving bedroom door locked. You will begin to binge exclusively on crossword puzzles, cups of excessively sweetened tea, and copious amounts of amateur porn. One vice for numerous others, but at least now most of your blank spaces came in the form of unanswered crossword columns.

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You’ve become a different kind of degenerate these days.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

Diving Makes the Water Deep

by Zach Savich

Exploring friendship through poetry, pain, illness, and memory. Zach Savich’s memoir takes the reader through his meditative process on cancer, teaching, death, and poetic friendship. It’s intimate tone and narratives allow the reader to act as a confidant while Savich relives important pieces of his life.

His delicate and powerful prose makes up this book-long essay of nonfiction that compares illness and literature. Savich writes of email correspondence between friends, his time in Paris and teaching in Rome, and of his life before he was diagnosed with cancer.

Although this is not a book about pain and illness, those themes play a huge part in Diving Makes the Water Deep.

“A poem isn’t about what you think or how you feel, it’s about how you feel about what you think and what you think about how you feel.”

{review by Abigail Rundle}

20

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life The Wombats

The Wombats released their fourth studio album, “Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life,” on February ninth, 2018. Since its initial release, I have known that this would be my quintessential summer soundtrack. As soon as I heard the first few notes of the opening track, titled “Cheetah Tongue,” I started to dance.

The Wombats have always written, recorded, and released very eclectic music, and this album is no different; each song is interestingly titled, a phrase taken from the chorus, and the music itself is upbeat. The most popular single off the album is the third track, “Turn.”

It’s slower than the first two songs, the lyrics more emotional, and you can’t help but want to drive somewhere with the windows down and croon along with lead singer Matthew Murphy. The album starts to quiet down around the fifth track, “White Eyes,” but picks back up a few songs later with “Ice Cream,” one of my favorites off of the album.

The

record

as

a

whole

sounds

like

warm

weather

feels.

{review by Emily Marshman}

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

WVQyQVW DRUM ROLL, PLEASE

by Courtney Good

I

was in the car a lot when I was younger, riding in the back seat to and from each parent’s house, sitting for long periods of time to see family in other states. In the beginning of these rides, there was silence. I would look out the window and see the trees go by, waiting for the radio to come on.

But it wouldn’t. Most rides would be in silence, or consisted of tedious conversations of what I did at soccer practice and how the new “Magic Treehouse” book was going. And it wasn’t until one day when I spoke up, said I was bored of the silence, that the music came on.

The sound of the drums, the rhythm of the electric guitar, the beat of the bass. They made me bob my head, and they made me smile.

I remember asking my dad, “What are we listening to?”

In reply, he said, “This is what I listened to when I was your age.”

Being a little kid, I was fascinated that such good music could come from so long ago. Instead of simply saying that the music we started listening to was from the 70’s or 80’s, my dad always called it “the oldies” or “the classics.” Not classifying the music by the century it came from made me feel like I was part of that generation, that I felt the same nostalgia my dad did when I listened to it.

22

WVQyQVW Flash to middle school: the awkward teenage phases. No matter what seemed to happen, the music of my childhood was always there for me. The first slow dance I had was to The Beatles’ “Hey Jude.” I learned to waltz in gym class to Journey’s top hits. I’d fall asleep to Elvis’s top hits.

High school came along and I’d still jam to hardcore power ballads, especially KISS and Meatloaf. Rather than bang on the door of my room to tell me to turn the music down, I could faintly hear my parents singing along. Just the thought of my parents singing these songs along with me, and the music, made me happy.

Time and time again my parents jammed along with me in the car - my age never mattered.

To this day I’ll be in the car with my parents, turn on the radio, and groan at the majority of modern music. Rather than just dealing with it, I plug in my phone, put on my throwback playlist on Spotify, and sing along with them. Just knowing the songs that they grew up with is exciting for both my parents and myself. But the fact that I love and appreciate them so much makes it even more thrilling.

No matter what I did, where I went, or what was happening in my life, the songs I was raised with stuck with me. Listening to my old playlists brings me nostalgia fromon my childhood. , IiIt’s a comfort I’ve always had and continued to have. It’s been a part of some of the biggest and weirdest moments of my life. Without this music, I would not have such an appreciation for pop culture and media in the 70’s and 80’s. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have as strong of a bond over music with my parents.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

24

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

REWINDING

by Katherine Puello

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A note on the Wells College Archives from Tiffany Raymond, Wells College's research librarian.

The Wells College Archives, located in the Louis Jefferson Long Library, contains materials relating to the history of Wells College, members of the Wells College community, and the surrounding area. These materials are preserved for future generations, while also being made accessible to members of the college community and the public. The archives grow with donations from the college community, including alumni, faculty and campus organizations.

Our major collections include scrapbooks from alumni dating back to 1891, letters from First Lady and alumna Frances Folsom Cleveland, letters from founder Henry Wells and his friend E.B. Morgan, research of former faculty members, letters from alumni working overseas during World War I with the YMCA, student memorabilia, and artifacts donated by friends of the college. We also have an extensive collection of photographs of Wells College throughout the years, depicting student life, traditions, campus growth, and major events. Some of those pictures you can see, with recreations by current students, in this issue. We also collect faculty and alumni publications, as well as student publications such as campus newspapers and The Cardinal.

The library staff regularly highlight various parts of our collections through displays, social media, and digitization projects, to make these materials accessible to others.

Some of our collections have been digitized and posted online for public use through New York Heritage.

We encourage everyone with an interest to come visit the archives. Wells College had a rich history, from our beginnings as a women’s seminary to the present, and it is interesting to see the growth of our campus community through the materials in our collections. Our collections also cover topics that expand far beyond this campus, and can be useful to students and researchers in many fields. Information about our collections can be found on the library website.

In addition to visiting the archives, we hope that everyone will continue to remember the archives when they come back to campus to visit. We are happy to accept donations of photographs of your time at Wells, materials about activities that your campus organization put on… and don’t forget a copy of your senior thesis! These materials provide a snapshot of what Wells College is like right now. Years from now, when you come back for reunion and are able to look at pictures of your time at Wells, you’ll be glad you did.

As the college celebrates our sesquicentennial, and we look back on the last 150 years of Wells College, the archives hopes to continue being able to spread knowledge about our history, while preserving our past and present for our future.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

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L

V i r g o

March 21-April 19 Today you have a chance to do something truly meaningful. To start, just considering what’s best for everyone, not just you, and recognizing that this really is a better way to live.

May 21-June 20 Do something meaningful today. It happens by focusing on the things that are the most important and realizing that every second is a gift. You can do anything you want, if you put your mind to it.

e

o

July 23-August 22 Your Mercury is waxing, which means that you should think about persons of the sign Leo as they may be kindred with you, as likely as not. There’s no reason to weigh the options any further. Enjoy life’s little pleasures. You deserve it.

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April 20-May 20 If you’re trying to balance what you want against what people in your life want you to want, then come to a decision and see it through. Come to peace with the fact that the road to success is paved with the stones of failure.

June 21-July 22 Soon you will uncover something important, and it will start to mean something to you. Consider what you will do about this.

August 23-September 22 You got up today knowing you had to do something meaningful.

To start, just looking at the bigger picture and appreciating each moment for what it is. There’s no reason to think you’re anything less than amazing.You can do anything.

ghijkl L i b r a

S c o r p i o

S a g i tt a r i u s

Capricorn

Aquarius

P i s c e s

September 23-October 22 Soon you will earn an item that was lost that had significance to you, and it will become important to you once again.

Now you know, so take action.

November 22-December 21 If you’re going to do one thing this year, then consider embarking on that journey without haste. Don’t do anything you’ll regret for the rest of your life.

January 20-February 18 Based on your sign, your Neptune is illuminating, which means that you should watch out for individuals of the sign Leo who are likely the sign where you’ll find the most comfort, which says something. You know what you need to do.

October 23-November 21 This week you should give someone you love a word of encouragement. Also, the answers will become more clear. Your grasp of the details is unshakable.

December 22-January 19 Why not help a stranger. Once this is done the answers will become more clear. Beware of unfamiliar places. You’re feeling the urge to nest and take care of yourself, and maybe your family.

February 19-March 20 It is clear that you will realize the facts surrounding an event from when you were younger, and it will become important to you. Don’t just sit around, take this advice and run with it.

m THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

WRITING MOUNTAINS

by Abigail Rundle

My room is filled with stacks of notebooks. Some are half full, some only have a few lines filled, some are completely used up. They are from years and years of lessons that I’ve been taught and tried hard to remember. Spiraled, college ruled, legal pads, and composition. They take up my small room, lining the walls with words I forgot I wrote and scribbles that I couldn’t seem to forget. They run up the walls and insulate my room, keeping me from getting rid of them but always allowing me to add more to the piles. They over-flow and lean to one side or the other, tall enough to need support from something other than just me. These mountains of paper get rearranged and moved every now and again, never in once place for too long.

My room is orange and when the sun shines in through my one window it glows like a fire and it’s the coziest room I’ve ever made for myself. This is their room, too. My words and thoughts live here with me in this room with only one window and a closet big enough to fit my whole childhood. Since I’ve grown older, I’ve traded out old notebooks for new, so that the young thoughts could also grow in the sunlight of my room. And when I come home I will have more notes to fill the walls and floor and ceiling of my room like the ivy on these red brick buildings.

At school I have piles of notebooks accompanied by a stack of books.

My bookshelf is full of words written by scholars and poets and playwrights and essayists that I have been taught to love, then falling in love with on my own. Men and women from across the world fill my room with imagery and metaphors that I have attempted to understand, never fully satisfying my desire for more. The boards of my bookshelf groan every time I replace a book with another, bigger book, and then again once I am finished. Some of these have traveled with

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me, seeing different parts of my life other than the inside of my backpack. They’re the books with writing in the margins and underlining and hearts next to the underlined words. But there are too many. The bookshelf has spilled on the floor in front of it, creating waterfalls of narratives I have yet to touch. These books have seen better days, but there are still good days ahead of us, as we have yet to journey together.

Companion notebooks that are scattered on the floor, in no particular order, all have purpose and meaning to me. They hold my most recent thoughts. The seedlings that have just sprouted and need the most attention in order to become fully developed ideas. These notebooks come with me to class every day and are filled with extensive notes on different topics. No two notebooks look the same. For one class, I wrote in blue; blue notes, blue annotations, blue doodles, blue notebook. Pages have been ripped out and there are days missing from when I skipped class. Some pages have a few words written, surrounded by elaborate doodles and markings that don’t make any sense to anyone but me.

In this room, my notes and thoughts move slowly up the walls, creeping around pictures and dead flowers that I can’t seem to part with. There are sticky notes on the door to remind me to water my plants and another for a paper I need to print. I imagine myself dying while writing something on a sticky note, reminding myself to do my laundry or wash my dishes. Something I shouldn’t have to remind myself to do.

I write everything down, but not really everything because I forget a lot.

My notes are often unfinished thoughts that I have to piece together; a connect-the-dots puzzle that is never fully completed. My notes fill the pages of novels and lined paper, not quite matching up to each other and making studying that much harder. And I carry all these notes with me, every day, scared of not writing down that important thing you just said.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

Can you repeat that?

SORRY, I was just trying to Find a blank page.

I can’t seem to part with any of my notes, deeming them too valuable to discard.

These are notes on poets, historical events, policies, genders, animals. To get rid of these notes, to me, would feel like throwing out everything I’ve ever learned, everything I’ve ever been taught. What if I need to know what my professor thought about ‘Leda and the Swan’ in twenty years and I won’t be able to know because I’d have thrown away the notes? It would be a tragedy, almost, to be without them.

A dream of mine is to one day have a study in my house, filled with books, and filtered into those stacks of books will be my mountains of notes from the years of having something intelligent to write down. And in this study I will cultivate more good ideas and thoughts to write down, continuing the perpetual taking of notes and archiving of my mind. I will scribble like a mad man for the rest of my life, filling every blank page with nonsense until my own pen runs dry.

How many words can you write before your hand

withers aw a y ?

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THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

Archives of Old Habits Kaylen Furr Trigger Warning: talk of eating disorders.

Being told that I’m too skinny sends me spinning out of control, into an abyss of anxiety and self-inflicted guilt. I still don’t like to admit it, but I’m bulimic. Labeling myself as such means admitting to being unhealthy for so long and coming to terms with how much I’ve put myself through. My unusual eating habits started as young as six; I was always considered “skinny,” but feared getting fat. The majority of my family was on the bigger side, so family gatherings always consisted of receiving comments such as “skinny minnie.” Big meals vanished from my plate, which was always followed by “where does all that food go?” “Wait until you’re my age and your metabolism doesn’t work in your favor,” and an overall a familial obsession over my figure. To them it was harmless, but to me, obsession over my weight would impact my daily life. At the age of six, I had been taught that there’s a correlation between the amount of food you eat and the amount of weight you gain.

If I wanted to weigh less, I had to eat less.

To my six year old self this meant eating at meal times only; a bowl of cereal for breakfast, a hot lunch from my school cafeteria, and a minimal amount of whatever my mother had made for dinner. I didn’t see this as a problem, to me it was just a healthy way to maintain weight. But as I got older, it got worse. Before I knew it, going to sleepovers and birthday parties became stressful situations in which I would have to fight temptation to eat unhealthy food. By sixth grade, I started skipping meals on days where I felt

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fatter. It was usually breakfast, but it slowly progressed in skipping lunch, too, and eating just enough at dinner so my mother wouldn’t notice. By eighth grade, I started eating three meals a day, each meal followed by anger and guilt that I couldn’t resist that temptation. I felt out of control. I felt disgusting. Some days I could fight the desire to eat, but on the days that I couldn’t, throwing up became my solution. This continued throughout the majority of high school.

I knew that what I was doing wasn’t healthy, but at that point it had just become a habit to me. I would throw up after each meal and think nothing of it, it was just my way of combating my fear of getting fat. This only worked for so long, and took me until my junior year of high school, when I fainted in trig class, to realize that I could no longer live like that. I started seeing a counselor, and by the end of my senior year, I had been in recovery for six months, so I thought. Coming to college was a change for the better for me, especially at a place as amazing as Wells. It was a new plate; I was fully recovered and no longer felt that I needed the counseling, so I stopped. For awhile I was doing fine. Really well, actually.

But then I had a bad day, which turned into several bad days. Just like that, I had slipped back into my old habits. I had never been so scared in my life. There’s a common misconception that those with eating disorders are just being dramatic. I wish I was just being dramatic. I wish I had control over what I was doing to myself, but I didn’t. I had my body under control for so long, and then all of the sudden I didn’t.

Writing has always been there for me; it helps ground me even if I’m not quite sure where to put my feet. In trying to understand myself again, my journal has become the archives of a bulimic.

12/4/17 2:30 PM I am going to start writing again, as much as I can, because this weekend was terrifying.

Actually, this past week has been. Following the end of my cross country season, I started getting worried about my weight. At first it was mild; I would ask myself “should you be eating that?” and just ignore the voice in my head and eat it anyways. But last week, it became more than just a voice in my head.

It was now a demon obsessed with weight.

I would either eat too much and feel the need to throw it up or skip meals. This all followed seeing my weight at the doctor’s, the scale reading 138 pounds. I needed to weigh less, doing my best to avoid that inevitable “freshman fifteen.” So I spun out of control. This past week I’ve been eating less, and when I felt that I ate too much, I would just throw it up. I’m so scared right now. I don’t want to go back to where I’ve been, but I feel like it isn’t even self-directed, my demons are just pushing me there.

12/5/17 10:04 AM Guilt. This guilt isn’t necessary. It was only a handful of Cheese-Itz and a mini oreo. That’s all. But I won’t do it. But I’m too scared to tell anyone, I feel forced to keep all of this inside. I’m okay, just a rough moment.

12/5/17 11:47 AM I’m okay now. I ate breakfast, and I’m about to eat lunch. For a confidence booster I’m wearing my favorite outfit. All is good.

12/8/17 12:52 PM I had a dream last night; something that would have been an amazing dream before is now a nightmare to me. In my dream I had to eat snacks for some science experiment, a lot of snacks. Everyone else was

thrilled, who wouldn’t love being forced to eat copious amounts of snacks? Well, I didn’t. I did, but I felt so guilty- my dream consisted of calculating how many times I would have to throw up to lose what I ate.

In the dream I moved past the urge, but I have never woken up feeling so guilty.

12/9/17 4:55 I am NOT a burden. That is all.

12/11/17 10:27 PM Flushing the pounds down the toilet; watching the newly gained weight swirl until it is sucked into the drain. There’s suddenly a weight being removed from my shoulders seeming more heavier than the food I had just thrown up. These are old habits, but it is inevitable that they will resurface: once a habit, always a habit. I haven’t been doing it as much lately; it used to be multiple times a day, then once a day, then a few times a week, then once a week, to now, where I only do it if I’m having a bad day. For a while, most of the days were good days, but those good days are becoming less and less frequent.

I don’t know where my bad days are coming from; sometimes nothing really triggers them. But all I know is that it’s just an abyss of loneliness, where I feel pushed into a void of feeling out of place. These nights result in urges to vomit. I feel as if I wasn’t worthy enough, as if I’m the only one feeling this way. These bad days are coming back, old habits will always resurface. People have said it gets better, and it did get better, but for me I feel like better is only temporary.

12/13/17 8:23 PM Weight is 127 pounds. Not as low as I’d like it, and I look bloated as hell tonight. I’m trying not to stress over it, but being home isn’t helping. I have to remember my goals: look

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

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1/1/ 2018 7:58 PM look at things from a new perspective and stay positive. You’re NOT fat, it’s just bloating. It’s just bloating. Hang in there.

12/16/17 5:52 PM Today was pretty good I guess, but I’m feeling kind of fat. I don’t know if it’s a mental thing, but I don’t look as thin as I would like to. I just feel on the edge. There’s not any reason to be, everything is okay, but I don’t feel it. I’m so worried about gaining weight, but part of me is also really scared about falling into old habits. I really want to skip meals, but my need to eat is overriding that. I haven’t thrown up at all, but there’s always guilt following meals. I just want to live again, without the pounds meaning more to me than my worth. I’m going start running again next week. I need these feelings to stop.

12/30/17 4:35 PM I’m feeling good today. I feel like myself. I can’t exactly describe what that feels like, but this is the feeling, and I haven’t had it in awhile.

You know, I actually think things are going to go well this year. This is a mentality I’m not used to having. I guess I’m just used to things never working out in my favor. But things are actually different now. I know time is just a construct, but I’m treating 2018 as a new start. It’s simply because of the point of my life that I’m at; I’ve essentially moved out, and I get to live for me and for me only for the first time in my life.

1/31/18 I haven’t been writing as much because I’ve actually been okay! I’ve been too busy to worry about my weight. I still do, but it’s not overwhelming, just a thought in the back of my head. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, one plate at each meal, sometimes dessert.

I’ve been working out often. Knowing that I’m being healthier is helping me come to terms with my body. Getting my ideal body will take time and work, but being healthy is the only way to get there. Things are going so well, and I’m truly on the road to self love.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

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california

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california

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california

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WHAT ARE YOU

ative m r o n o r e The het rchy. patria

Macmillan is SO. DAMN. HOT. Turn the heat off!

The heat is still on in the res halls. It's April!

The o people nly Toto so n know is Afr g ica.

That men think it's okay to only give women one orgasm during sex.

That too m any boys ar e wearing jo rts and not enough are wearing crop tops.

onM t ' n a Why c Drink rgy e n E r e t s stead n i e m r sponso awk.

H y n o of T 66

ATlshat o wthey’re hat happmoving ened to Tosmoker’s the ny Hawktable! ?

MAD ABOUT? The Maine aren't playing New York until Warped Tour.

Most of the prof essors on campus a re white and cis.

Why doesn 't Wells Wi Fi ever work?!

ode is c r o n o h The dead.

That people keep breaking the windows in the esophagus!

TH.

HIRE SE

`Why is every Tuesday taco T uesday? I'm gonna get sick.

Nobod y can re cares that cite th I Bee M e entir e ovie s c r from memor ipt y.

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mk?

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mk?

GROWTH

Samantha Jones

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PLAYLIST

archive Created by: WellsSycamore • 37 songs, 2 hr 21 min

PLAY

TITLE

•••

ARTIST

You Really Got Me The Kinks

Come Together The Beatles

2018-04-22

America Simon & Garfunkel

Brown Eyed Girl Van Morrison

2018-04-22 2018-04-22

Tequila Sunrise Eagles

2018-04-22

Stairway To Heaven

Led Zeppelin

2018-04-22

Go Your Own Way

Fleetwood Mac

2018-04-22

Rocket Man Elton John

2018-04-22

Beast of Burden The Rolling Stone

Dancing Queen ABBA

2018-04-22

Heroes David Bowie

2018-04-22

Sultans of Swing

Dire Straits

2018-04-22

Rosanna Toto

2018-04-22

She Don’t Know Me

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Bon Jovi

2018-04-22

2018-04-22

2018-04-22

Only the Young Journey

2018-04-22

Hungry Eyes Eric Carmen

2018-04-22

Should I Stay or Should I Go

The Clash

2018-04-22

Dirty Laundry Don Henley

2018-04-22

Free Fallin’ Tom Petty

2018-04-22

Ramble On Led Zeppelin

2018-04-22

Hot For Teacher Van Halen

2018-04-22

Walk This Way Aerosmith

2018-04-22

Cherry Pie Warrant

2018-04-22

Light My Fire

The Doors

2018-04-22

Rebel Rebel David Bowie

2018-04-22

Somebody To Love

Queen

2018-04-22

Burnin’ for You

Blue Öyster Cult

2018-04-22

More Than a Feeling

Boston

2018-04-22

You Shook Me All Night Long

AC/DC

2018-04-22

Barracuda Heart

2018-04-22

Bad Moon Rising

2018-04-22

Creedence Clearwater Revival

Good Vibrations Beach Boys Tiny Dancer Elton John

2018-04-22

2018-04-22

Here I Go Again

Whitesnake

2018-04-22

Reelin’ In The Years

Steely Dan

2018-04-22

The Spirit of Radio

Rush

2018-04-22

Chelsea Morning Joni Mitchell

2018-04-22

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

photos of records?

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photos of records?

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photos of records?

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photos of records?

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THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

from 2015 When I was applying for colleges during my junior year of high school, I never anticipated that I would be interested in attending a private school with less than a thousand total students. My dream schools were University of Arizona, New York University and the likes; I didn’t even know Wells College existed until my junior year of high school, when I met one of the charismatic admissions counselors at the local college fair. And I’m so lucky I did, because Wells College changed my life forever, for the better.

From the moment I stepped out of the car on my first visit to the college, I knew Aurora, New York would be my new home (for the next four years, at least). I knew that I would miss Cayuga Lake when I was away, that I would miss the Sycamore tree (that I can now see from the window in my dorm room). I knew that I would never be the same after I had spent so much of my life within its walls and among its people.

Not only did Wells College provide me with a place to live, food to eat and an education for four whole years, it has also provided me with new people to love and call my family. I have been given more opportunities to learn and to grow and to discover myself than I ever could have imagined three and a half years ago when I was still a junior in high school, searching for schools from which I could acquire my bachelor’s degree. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I had chosen any other school, I would not be the person I am today. I could not imagine myself having not known the people I have met at Wells College and having not done the things I have done since arriving on campus a year and a half ago.

When I was in high school I would never have dreamed of the person I would become after even my first semester at college. I like to think that I am being shaped into the person I will be for the rest of my life; someone who is brave, strong, and true. I know that college is supposed to prepare you for the real world, that it is supposed to help you to gain experience that will help you become a proper adult, but I think that Wells College is my real world. I think that it is the beginning of my real world, and that the wonderful, kind people I have met and the experiences I have gained will be my real world for the rest of my life.

The sense of community I feel among the students at my school is on par with the sense of academic safety I am provided with because of professors who genuinely want to see my peers and I succeed. These people are our superiors, but they often treat us as their equals, as well. They treat us with individualized kindness and are often known to do everything they can to accommodate any difficulties we face.

Wells College – my tiny, quirky community full of people just like me – has brought out the best in me, a part of me I had never seen before I joined it. It taught me to love myself and to be myself no matter what. It taught me that I am never alone, regardless of whether or not I think I am. Wells continues to teach me to find strength in the face of adversity, and warmth in the face of indignation. It has shaped me into the best version of me that I could possibly be.

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to 2018 I wrote this article for the Odyssey the spring semester of my sophomore year of college. Not much has changed in the past two years (except for the fact that now my dorm room’s only window faces a courtyard rather than the sycamore tree on the front lawn of Main). I still get up for my 9:25 class in Macmillan and forget that it only takes five minutes to get there from my room. I still wait until the very last second to submit my assignments, half because of my debilitating procrastination trait and half because I want it perfect before my professors see.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I would not have flourished at a school any larger than this.

In the years since I wrote this, I’ve had a professor offer to pay my tuition off so I could apply to study abroad (she did, and I couldn’t). They have reminded me time and time again that the lessons they are fit to teach me extend well beyond the classroom. I will forever be indebted, both literally and metaphorically, to this institution I have called home for the paat four years.

Our yearbooks came in today. I have been flipping aimlessly through everyone’s senior pages all day, amazed at some of the pictures, both new and old. Some of these people haven’t spoken in ages, yet they still decided to put them on their page that will be in our yearbooks forever.

Why? I think it’s because the friendships you make at Wells last a lifetime. I’ve outgrown this place.

That’s the only way I know how to describe it. Wells College has taught me more than I could have ever anticipated, but she is no longer my real world. No matter what, I am so honored to be a part of her sesquicentennial graduating class. But I know for a fact that I have not outgrown my friends. I haven’t outgrown the relationships I created while I was at Wells.

I may be more than ready to leave, but I know that as soon as I step foot off this campus after graduation, not knowing the next time I’ll be back, my heart will be broken.

So thank you, Wells. Thank you for everything you have given to me, and everything you have taken, too.

Thank you.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

WELLS’S RESIDENT GODDESS ANSWERS YOUR BURNING QUESTIONS.

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DEAR MINERVA,

How can I get people to stop talking to me about their problems so I can finish my thesis?

Sincerely,

Stressed-Out Senior Dear Nineteen Days to Go,

Put your headphones in and ignore the absolute hell out of them. Works every time!

DEAR MINERVA,

Why is it so hard to get carts, wheelchairs, etc., around campus?

Sincerely,

A Moveable Force Dear Feels-on-Wheels,

These buildings are as old, if not older, than I am and need some serious updates to allow all students the ability to access their education. I will always stand with you in you’re fight for accessability on this campus.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

DEAR MINERVA,

Why can’t I keep my room clean?

Sincerely,

Last Pair of Underwear Dear Can’t See My Floor,

You’re probably not trying hard enough!

DEAR MINERVA,

How do I best resolve an argument with someone when I don’t want to continue the fight?

Sincerely,

Waving the White Flag Dear Ceasefire,

The easiest way isn’t always the best way - you’re going to have to confront them sooner or later. Sit down and talk about how each of you are feeling. It’s easier to sympathize with someone when you’re looking them in the eyes!

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DEAR MINERVA,

Has Minerva been here since the beginning of Wells?

Sincerely,

Simply Pondering Dear Curious Cat,

I have been here since 1868 indeed! I was a gift from Charles Wells. When the original Main building burned down in 1888, I was rescued, and I’ve sat in the same spot in front of Main since. I’m so thankful for that!

DEAR MINERVA,

Why isn’t the chicken in the dining hall seasoned properly?

Sincerely,

Take Me to Flavortown Dear Master Chef,

I have never had to eat, so I can’t help you with that one.

Sorry!

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

DEAR MINERVA,

I’m having trouble digesting the bones of the children I’ve consumed. How would you recommend I alleviate this issue?

Sincerely,

Wicked Witch of Cayuga Lake Dear Upset Tummy,

I’m not sure, but I definitely wouldn’t suggest going to the campus medical center...

DEAR MINERVA,

Will you date me? If yes, don’t move.

Sincerely,

Crushing Hard Dear Falling for You,

*stays completely still*

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DEAR MINERVA,

Does your arm start to hurt holding that pose for so long? How do you fix that?

Sincerely,

Rigor Mortis Dear Stiff as a Board,

Nah, you get used to it after a century and a half.

DEAR MINERVA,

Some people are mean to me. Why? Sincerely,

Had a Bad Day Dear Kindness Counts,

Not everyone is going to like you - that’s just a fact of life.

No matter what you do. You’ll have to learn to accept it. It won’t hurt as much soon.

THE SYCAMORE / SPRING 2018

VISUAL ARTS CONTEST WINNER

STACEY EDDY ‘18

“GUARDING THE ARCHIVE”

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