Two years ago, a fellow alum stopped me on my way to class with pressing news. His mother, also an alum, had just called with inside information that Northfield had been sold as a satellite campus to Brigham Young University, the famous school of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. I was crushed. Less than one year into college, I had only just begun my journey of building a new home, and the pain of losing Northfield was fresh in my memory as one of the fundamental experiences in forging my identity and my adulthood. To hear that upon my departure, the administration had turned around and sold my home to an organization with no local roots, a reputation for aggressive evangelism, and a history of narrow-minded fundamentalist perspective – I was outraged. I proceeded to class, planning on dropping my bookbag and immediately calling my mother, halfway in tears, when a friend asked me what was wrong. When I explained the situation, she said, “San – don’t be stupid. It’s April Fools’ Day.”
Now, having only heard the news for a few hours, I keep expecting the same response. Upon contacting the nearest friend or NMH family, they will simply look up, smile, and say – “San – don’t be ridiculous. Northfield could never be sold.” It’s finals week. It’s the holidays. It’s the middle of winter during the worst recession in decades. But it’s true – the Northfield campus, the first place I learned to call home as an independent, joyous, young person – no longer belongs to NMH.
But has Northfield really been sold? I am often reminded of the first place I felt the magic of homeland – my grandparents’ home in Woods Hole, MA. It was an old, spirited building that breathed with the summer breeze, filled with books on everything imaginable, located in a vibrant seaside community of artists and scientists. It was home to my family for more than 50 years, until my grandparents sold it because they were no longer able to take care of the aging property. I was only 13 at the time, and I remember feeling so jealous, so angry at the people who were going to be living in my home, going about my life as I was meant to live it. When I returned several years later, however, I found that the place had changed completely – not only was the setup of the house completely different, but the energies of place had changed, new meaning had been brought into the same hallowed spaces. Although it was confusing to feel such a mix of familiarity and newness, it felt satisfying to know that the place I lived in would never be occupied by someone else. Though that home lives on in my heart, it was time to make way for new – and very different – memories to be constructed.
I consider Northfield the same way. I have visited the campus many times since being forced to evacuate in 2005, and each time I return, I feel more estranged from what Northfield used to be – the vibrant, nurturing home that I loved. The longer the campus sat idle, the less energy I felt as I walked through old haunts, trying to feel that same sense of belonging that was lost to me. It got to the point where upon thinking of Northfield, I though not of that big, beautiful, barefooted home full of excitement and laughter, but rather of an empty, ghost-like emptiness that was eating away at my heart. It is therefore with great joy – and understandable apprehension – that I meet this news today, that one day I can return to NMH as an alum and see what new life can be sustained there, what new dreams will fill that place of immense beauty.
The idea of new ambitions and principles filling that landscape is scary to some, and exciting to others; I personally believe the goals of the C.S. Lewis foundation in creating their college are sound, and will continue a tradition of holding the beauty and spirit of place at Northfield in highest esteem. I also think it is important to separate the creation of a college with Christian purpose with that of a high school. A Christian college is, in theory, a collection of consenting adults who are eager to participate in a Christ-focused community. In a high school, the agency and independence of young people is not always treated with respect – thus, I would be more concerned about the founding of a high school with a similarly narrow Christian focus. (This is no doubt related to my love of NMH as an institution which always prized its students’ independent voices, especially as someone from a family with strict Christian values who doesn’t always agree with what they think is best for me!
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I want to leave you with a piece of my Northfield, a short entry from my first-year Humanities journal, the first love of my life. It’s a poem I wrote after eating dinner with my friend Trudy Hall ‘07 in Marquand, and bringing our leftovers down to feed the fish that live(d?) there.
Feeding Fish to Fish
Down at Perry’s Pond, a place
Where chemically-treated wood floats on rubber-hose wilderness,
Bluegills, domesticated by students’ generosity,
wag their tails in canine anticipation.
Plop! A piece of dinner’s fried filet, no doubt a distant cousin, trails rainbows on the water’s surface,
and also in my stomach.
A flurry of translucent vacuum mouths, an army of pond-mail shadows,
And that brother, that cousin, is gone.
The Lord bless thee and keep thee, and give thee beauty, and freedom, and peace,
San Maday Travis ‘07