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Campus Wellness

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)



 (Unpublished) April 22, 2010

The 8 Colors of Fitness: Understanding and Embracing Your Fitness Personality
Friday, April 30th, 12-1pm, JRC 209
Open to all staff, faculty and partners.

Part of the key to maintaining a healthy lifestyle is figuring out what kinds of physical activity works for you– which we all know can take years of trial and error. If you would like to "cut to the chase" and discover your fitness personality, join us for a brown bag lunch presentation with Suzanne Brue, author of The 8 Colors of Fitness: Discover Your Color-Coded Fitness Personality and Create an Exercise Program You'll Never Quit!

Read about Suzanne's work and take the 8-minute quiz at http://www.the8colors.com, (based on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, MBTI). Hey...you might discover that you've been pursuing activities of the wrong color!

Please RSVP to Jen Jacobsen, Wellness Coordinator - jacobsen[at]grinnell[dot]edu


Community Wellness Fair
Live Healthy Grinnell Finale + summer community wellness preview
Tuesday, April 27th 4-7pm in JRC 101

Come celebrate 100 days of healthier living plus find out about summer wellness opportunities offered by Grinnell College and the larger Grinnell community. All faculty/staff/partners encouraged to attend, (whether or not you participated in Live Healthy Grinnell.) We'll also help Imagine Grinnell kick off its spring bike and hike programs!

Sponsored by the Grinnell Wellness Collaborative. Light refreshments provided. No RSVP needed.


Interpreting Test Scores

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


Interpreting Test Scores

To interpret an individual student's standardized achievement test scores, please refer to the following concordance table which compares scores of the two national achievement tests.

1440 and up 33 and up
1400 - 1430 32
1360 - 1390 31
1330 - 1350 30
1290 - 1320 29
1250 - 1280 28
1210 - 1240 27
1170 - 1200 26
1160 and below 25 and below

Grinnell College first-year students have an average (mean) composite score of 1325 for the SAT and 30.0 for the ACT. Nationally, the average SAT score is approximately 1011 and the ACT is 21.1.

Although the writing scores for both ACT and SAT are recorded in a student's official college record, the Admission Office currently does not use the writing portion of either test to determine admissibility.

International students also have scores for the TOEFL (the Test of English as a Foreign Language). It measures a person's proficiency in English; it is not meant to be an indicator of academic ability. In order to measure language competency, sub-tests are broken down into three areas: reading comprehension, listening comprehension, and grammar.

The test is offered in paper-based and most recently, internet-based formats. The scoring systems differ for each:

640-677 273-300 111-120
590-637 243-270 96-110
550-587 213-240 79-95
513-547 183-210 65-78
477-510 153-180 53-64
437-473 123-150 41-52
397-433 93-120 30-40
347-393 63-90 19-29
310-343 33-60 9-18
310 0-30 0-8

We do not have a minimum TOEFL requirement for admission to Grinnell College.  However, because of the high demands placed on our students in terms of reading and writing, we look to admit applicants who can demonstrate a very strong command of the English language.  For the class entering in August 2011, the mid-50% TOEFL (internet-based) score was 99-105.

At Home in a New World

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


I remember pulling up in the car to Lazier Hall on the first day of New Student Orientation. Lazier, the white-stone residence hall where I was going to live for my first year of college, was not an unfamiliar sight, nor was any other part of campus. Because I had been born and raised in Grinnell, the town and campus were like second nature to me. On top of that, both my parents had been professors at Grinnell College for as long as I had been living, and as a result, the College was a fixture in my life. Yet, when we pulled up in the car, the campus felt totally different. I didn’t really feel like I was going to a familiar place at all. I was going to be living with a roommate from Nepal and I was leaving behind the classmates with whom I had spent the last 12 years. I was just like any other first-year college student — anxious and worried about making new friends.

My anxieties weren’t limited to my social life. I was also apprehensive about the academic scene at Grinnell. I was fortunate enough to take a couple of courses at Grinnell College when I was a high school senior. Yet, to me, that experience was not reassuring. I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my academic abilities, and my worries were compounded by the fact that I was well aware of Grinnell’s reputation for academic rigor. I still remember clearly how nervous I felt on the first day of each one of my classes as I scanned the syllabus.

One course, however, was especially intimidating. On the first day of beginning Spanish, my professor informed us that only Spanish would be spoken for the rest of the semester. Although I had taken Latin when I was in high school, I’d never spoken a foreign language conversationally, and the all-Spanish rule made me feel a little panicky. Eventually, though, as my first semester progressed, I became more used to what was expected, and I developed a routine, allowing me to relax a little and enjoy my classes.

Socially, too, things started to even out during the semester, due in large part to a group of guys I had met my first week. Since my roommate was from Nepal, he had arrived on campus long before I had, and he had met a great group of international students and upperclass students who were also on campus early. A couple of his friends invited both of us to join “Friday Night Lights,” a pick-up basketball game on Friday nights. Even though I had not played organized basketball since seventh grade, FNL immediately became the high point in my week — a chance to play and blow off steam. As a result, I became friends with a large, diverse group of people. It was hard to believe that I was having an international experience playing basketball in my hometown.

Music offered yet another way for me to pursue something familiar, yet have many new experiences. Although I had played the euphonium in my high school band, I decided to play trombone in the orchestra in college. I had never played with strings, nor had I played any basic orchestral repertoire. Yet, in my first semester, the orchestra played a piece, “Dona Nobis Pacem,” by Ralph Vaughan Williams, and the Grinnell Community Chorus — a large ensemble of college students and townspeople — sang with the orchestra. With both ensembles crammed on the stage of Herrick Chapel, there were easily 100 people working together to perform the piece, a novel and exciting experience. During my second semester, I even played in a contemporary piece in which the notes and dynamics were not actually written for the players; instead, the players decided what notes to play and at what volume to play them. This innovative style was a big change from the usual John Philip Sousa march.

At the beginning of the year when I was meeting new people and talking about my background, many people believed I must have had an easy transition to college life. Not true. I struggled a lot at first. Although I was in a familiar setting, I was surrounded by new people and challenged to take new approaches to what I thought were familiar activities. I was receiving a worldwide experience only four blocks from my family home. I was at home in a new world.

Will Cummins '10 is undeclared and from Grinnell, Iowa.

The Joys of Jane Austen and 16th-Century Midwifery Manuals

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


Basically, I knew from the time I learned to read I needed to be an English major in college. I love to read and I love to talk about books — what major could suit me better? Unfortunately, Grinnell has this strange idea that you should have a well-rounded education, so they wouldn’t let me take only English classes. I had a lot of fun experimenting — taking classics, art history, or whatever I felt like. I knew I had already picked my major, so there was no pressure on my schedule.

However, somewhere in my second year, I began to have second thoughts. I was sitting in a dark, empty room in the basement of Burling Library, taking up an entire table with stacks of books and papers, researching a 20-page paper for my history class. I had just spent the last three hours taking notes from microfilm copies of 16th-century midwifery manuals. My neck hurt, my eyes ached from looking at the tiny print, and I was grinning like a maniac. It occurred to me that I was actually enjoying writing that paper. Suddenly I thought, “Maybe I chose my major too soon …”

I had been so set on what I already knew, that I had never considered another option. Thinking back over my first year and a half of college, I realized that my history classes had been my favorite classes every semester. I had always done the reading for those classes first and sometimes had even read ahead (which for me is a big thing, because I’m a terrible procrastinator).

Over the next few days, I strongly considered switching my major to history, but in the end, I couldn’t give up English. I’m definitely an English major at heart. I have an action figure of Jane Austen standing on my desk, and I have been known to interrupt conversations to point out grammatical errors on signs we’re passing. I was reluctant to declare a double major, because I didn’t want to lose all those electives, but in the end I did. It was the best decision I could have made.

Having two majors keeps me balanced. It keeps me from obsessing over literature and literary theory or from burying myself too deeply in the past. Also, because most English and history classes are writing intensive, my writing has improved immensely in the last two years. And the best part is, I still have time for electives. This semester I’m taking sociology and next semester I’m taking a film class and Intro to Psychology.

I’m not saying everyone should double major, but I would recommend keeping your mind open. Take classes in subjects you know you like, but don’t be afraid to try something new. Something may surprise you.

An Alternative to Flipping Burgers

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


Issue: Summer 2007
Author: Lindsay Dennis '08

After spending last summer working as a cashier for a Safeway grocery store in Portland, Ore., I was very adamant about finding a more intellectually stimulating (and less customer service related) occupation for the summer of 2007. From the beginning of my third year, I had been planning to apply for summer research in psychology at Grinnell. I waited for an e-mail from the psychology department notifying me how and when to apply, but no such e-mail was forthcoming.

I got impatient and started trying to look up said information on the school’s website. To my absolute horror, I found that the deadline to apply for summer research was the previous day. I frantically e-mailed my adviser, asking if it would be possible to get an extension, only to be told that the psychology department wasn’t actually hosting any research assistants this summer because of the Noyce construction. My heart sank, and I began to mull over alternate possibilities for summer employment. Perhaps I could wait tables or make pizzas (I do have an extensive background in food service). None of these options sounded very appealing, but I had promised myself that I wasn’t going to spend another summer watching TV at my parents’ house.

In a stroke of tremendous luck, I received a different e-mail the next day saying that psychology professors were, in fact, hosting researchers, and that the application deadline had been extended to the following Monday. Alone in my room, I squealed with joy at my renewed possibilities for academic employment. I quickly but carefully filled out applications for each available research position.

Then, I waited. And waited. And, just for good measure, I waited a little bit more. By the time spring break rolled around, I had pretty much resigned myself to flipping burgers or sprinkling cheese on dough once again. Just as I was about to hit the maximum freak-out point — stuck in April with absolutely no summer plans — I received an e-mail from Professor David Lopatto offering me a position as a summer researcher. In less than a day, I had managed to go from intense stress and disappointment to ecstatic joy. I was going to get paid to do psychology!

Throughout the course of this summer, I have been working with Professor Lopatto and another student, studying the epistemological and vocational impact of the summer research experience on undergraduate students. Yes, you read that correctly. My summer research project is to study other summer research students. We began by reading a series of articles on previous empirical studies in this field, which was a very strange experience. My first day as a summer researcher, I was reading about how the research experience helps students solidify their graduate school plans, increase their sense of belonging to the scientific (or, more broadly, academic) community, and improve their research and communication skills. I had to wonder, would I be receiving all of these same benefits, even though my project was somewhat more unorthodox? Or, would knowing these were the things that were supposed to happen to me prevent them from actually happening? (I mean, a watched pot never boils, right?)

I became more and more interested in the topic. I’ve even caught myself referencing articles about the various stages of epistemological development in casual conversation with my friends. Fortunately, they are all Grinnellians and are willing to put up with my massive nerdiness (with the implicit agreement that I won’t judge them when they excitedly bring up obscure historical details about the Civil War Reconstruction period).

Summer in Grinnell does have the occasional setback. Hot, humid days without air conditioning, the responsibility of having to pay rent and feed myself, and the lovely task of researching in the science library as the cacophony of construction occurs not 20 feet away spring to mind. However, I am still extremely grateful to have been offered this opportunity, and I’m very appreciative of the fact that Grinnell does such as excellent job of providing research experience to its students.

Lindsay Dennis '08 is a Psychology major from Beaverton, Oregon.



Off-Campus Study

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


Off-Campus Study

Grinnell is affiliated with nearly 100 off-campus study programsworldwide, and we offer two of our own:  Grinnell-in-London and Grinnell-in- Washington. By the time they graduate, 55-60% of all Grinnell students have studied in a semester-or year-long program, either domestic or overseas.

As an adviser, it's important to raise the topic of off-campus study (OCS) early with your advisees.  Although they will not be eligible to study off-campus until their fifth semester at Grinnell, planning should start sooner. Students typically learn about programs and apply during their second year, but this process can start sooner if you direct it. Although studying in a new environment is a valuable learning experience in and of itself, the College believes the opportunity will be even more enriching if closely integrated with a student's coursework on campus. During the application process, great emphasis is placed on selecting a program that is compatible with academic goals, thus close planning among the student, his/her/hir adviser, and the OCS Office is advised. Further information is available on the OCS webpage.

Learning through Teaching

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)

I didn’t come to Grinnell intending to become a teacher. I came to Grinnell to major in English, discuss James Joyce and Anna Nicole Smith (R.I.P.) with roommates until 3 a.m., and learn the ins and outs of a variety of liberalisms. I actually didn’t go to Grinnell to become anything; I went to live, learn, and love in the present.

However, Grinnell has this annoying habit of making you care a lot more about the future than the present: there are so many students, staff, and faculty who do things to make the world a better place that you can’t help but start planning how you’re going take part in social change.

So I took some classes in the education department and discussed educational philosophy; I journaled about what it means to educate the oppressed and how the school as an institution can be an oppressor; I learned about how, why, and when to teach a variety of reading skills; I even did a summer research project on the construct of “teacher” and multicultural literature. By the time last fall rolled around, I had taken as many education courses as English courses, and I felt ready to actually be in the classroom. I was ready to become a teacher.

I was placed at Marshalltown High School in Marshalltown, Iowa, a fairly large school situated about 45 minutes northwest of Grinnell (some of you may even go there — some of you may have even had me as a teacher … like whoa!). Marshalltown’s economy is built on the local meat packing plant. As a result, students come from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds, and nearly 30 percent are native Spanish-speaking children of immigrants. As I began my student teaching, I was excited about my placement because of this diversity — it seemed like an excellent chance for me to use education to empower those who tend to have little voice in their communities. (Cue “Gangsta’s Paradise” as I change into Michelle Pfeiffer’s leather coat.)

Of course, it didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked. Even though I worked hard to craft interesting lesson plans around research-based methods, there were days when my students would have learned more from watching The Daily Show than they did in my class. (It’s actually possible that my students would have learned more from Jon Stewart than in any of my classes — hilarious, good-looking, and intelligent? Nobody can compete with that.) Even though I vowed to make my teaching meaningful to all of my students, many still saw learning as a waste of time. Fortunately, among the low points came small victories: my freshmen organized a canned food drive for victims of domestic assault; one of my sophomores wrote an incredibly reflective letter to her sibling; and my seniors wrote college entrance essays about duck hunting, sporks, and family that made me laugh and think about life in new ways.

For the first half of the semester, the roller coaster days killed me — I loved the brilliant moments, but each time a student flunked a quiz or disrupted others, I felt I had somehow failed as a teacher. Luckily, though, I had a whole community of peers and professors to whom I could vent. Every Thursday, the student teachers gathered with two education professors to reflect on our teaching and discuss educational research. Additionally, four of us carpooled to M-town, so between NPR clips about Mark Foley and Ace of Base remixes, we talked about frustrations and began to flesh out what the act of teaching meant to each of us. My non-teaching Grinnell friends sent me supportive e-mails, and Grinnell faculty members shared teaching stories with me over cups of tea and sugar cookies.

In the end, I can honestly say the Grinnell community was an essential part of my teaching experience because it helped me reflect on my teaching. Yes, I still have a passion for using education to create social change; however, I’m beginning to understand social change usually happens quietly and slowly. As a result, I’m learning how to enjoy both the little changes and small victories — to do an awkward little fist-pump dance when all of my students bring their books to class — and hope and plan to make a greater change in their lives.

Maybe all of this sounds obvious to you, but learning to learn from failure and enjoy small triumphs is the only reason I’ll be teaching again next fall—well, that and the fact that I know I have a whole network of friends and profs who will support me, help me enjoy the teacher that I am, and guide me toward the kind of teacher I want to become.

Cori McKenzie '06 is an English major with an Education Certification from Elmhurst, Illinois.

When Prospies Enroll

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


It never seems to occur to prospies how much students pay attention to them. Surprise! We are a lot more curious and fascinated by you than we like to let on. My automatic response to being asked to write about my relationship with prospective students was to dig around my various fetid stacks of random information and give you a nice, steaming pile of overly factual/historical anecdotes. Statistics can be boring, but it’s just my natural Grinnellian desire to impress prospies with whatever I have to offer. Oddly enough, though, my job as a tour guide has often been a nice antidote to my affinity for facts and figures.

After hearing myself talk all day in lists and factual accounts (although I admit I still remain impressed with each item), I always relish the opportunity to be casual and personal. There’s usually one “leader” in each tour group, whether it’s a parent or the prospective student, and occasionally there will be a friend or younger sibling who gets excited about Dag, the foam sword fighting group, or the Grinnell Carnivore Society.

Most often the parent takes on the leadership role, leaving their child, the prospective student, mortally embarrassed. These are the sort of parents who get intensely excited about the giant “jungle gym” carpeted playhouse-style study rooms in the library (like my mom did when I prospied), or by the wide range of quality or bizarre extracurricular activities.

I spend an hour and a half with each family (occasionally longer if I get a theatre person and spend too long trying to get him or her into backstage areas). I’ve managed to enjoy each of these outings thus far, though I must admit that the enthusa-moms or enthusa-dads stand out. I tend to be an enthusiastic person, particularly when it comes to my college, and if you’ve had a tour with me you probably know how I can get even more bubbly at parental units who are equally entertained by the various anecdotes that seep out during those 90 minutes.

One of my other favorite things about being a tour guide—besides the captivated parents, the opportunity to learn more about our incoming classes, the cool people I work with, and feeling like hot stuff for getting lots of special keys for opening locked rooms—is the constant reminder of my own prospie days and how it puts my current student status into perspective.

I remember my first visit to Grinnell when my dad and I went to a free dance performance that made me realize that interpretive dance is not for the weak of heart (I had had a negative perception of it until I was completely blown away by this performance).

I remember being let up to the suspension grid in Bucksbaum and bouncing on wire mesh 30 feet above the black box theatre floor and daydreaming about all the clubs, sports, and activities I could participate in if I ended up at this place.

I also remember thinking my tour guide was one of the most amazing individuals I’d ever encountered. After all, my guide was in a place where he could not only join student government, religious groups, or sports teams, but also start a crochet/knitting club or whatever else struck his fancy.

Now I’m here. I teach tango (and have even gotten funding from the school to do so). I weld and took up harp. I’m involved in multicultural groups, student publications, and several (mostly theatrical) productions per semester. I have strong connections and friendships with several faculty and staff members, I hold various campus jobs, I’ve built houses in New Orleans with classmates, and I’ve joined in on the midnight Nerf wars in the science building.

I realize that I may have just made myself sound like the most pretentious liberal arts student out there, but the best part is that here, this sort of campus involvement is not considered impressive, but the norm. That’s the one big thing I try to show to my prospies on each tour: the diversity of opportunity.

Whatever level of participation you desire—from only being on the e-mail list, to filling an initiator or leadership role—Grinnell has it. And no matter your interest, whether it is athletic or academic, culinary or cultural—I’ve found that it’s possible to achieve it here. And at the risk of sounding cheesier (yep, it’s possible—sorry), the best part about the wealth of participation opportunities Grinnell offers is the strong community it creates. But regardless of my cheesiness, if you’ve had a tour with me or if you will later on, I hope I succeed(ed) in showing you our tight-knit community, at least on some level. Best of luck with the college decision!

Cait Scherr '09 is a Sociology major from Portland, Oregon.

Love in the Time of Dengue

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


Before going abroad, Grinnell students must attend an informational session about all the terrible things that can happen to you (but probably won’t) in order to prepare you to deal with the worst-case scenarios you will most likely never face (but then again, you might). So long before setting foot on an airplane, I listened to Richard Bright, the director of off-campus study, lecture on the dangers of rape, AIDS, armed robberies, kidnappings, murders, freak accidents, natural disasters, and potentially fatal tropical diseases. By the end of the presentation, my head overflowed with so many “what-ifs,” I began to wonder if I really wanted to spend a semester in Costa Rica and Nicaragua at all. After all, Iowa has corn. Central America has malaria.

Luckily, I got over my initial anxieties about crossing U.S. borders, because I ended up having one of those clichéd, amazing-life-changing-I-now-see-the-world-in-a-new-light-and-will-never-be-the-same-again experiences. Last spring I spent a month studying Spanish and globalization in San José, Costa Rica, and while there, I mastered the fine art of crossing the street without getting plowed down by towering buses and aggressive taxis (pedestrians do not have the right of way).

Then it was on to Chagüitillo, Nicaragua, where I volunteered for two wonderful months with a nonprofit community development organization. I spent my days teaching at the local high school and preschool, working in a museum, and learning lots of risque Nica slang words. My nights were spent with my incredible host family, talking, dancing, and rocking chair-ing. And it was in Nicaragua, amidst all the rice-and-beans-eating and sunset-appreciating, when I unexpectedly came face to face with one of Richard Bright’s “what-ifs.”

I got sick.

I woke up one morning with an upset stomach, and assumed I was being punished for drinking a soda chilled with ice made with unfiltered water. I figured the discomfort would fade as the day passed, and went through with my plans to travel with other students in my program to a beautiful organic farm situated way up in the mountains, several miles from paved roads.

As it turns out, I had more than food poisoning.

After a night in the hospital, a shot in the bum, an IV, two blood tests, having to poop and pee into separate cups, and explaining all of my symptoms to Dr. Rosado in my Gringo-accented Spanish, I was diagnosed with dengue fever—a pesky mosquito-borne illness with malaria- like symptoms that make the seemingly impossible expression “constipated diarrhea” possible — as well as a rockin’ intestinal infection.


But I’m pretty stoked to know that one day I’ll be able to tell my future grandkids about the time Grandma Erin fell violently ill while visiting an isolated organic farm in Nicaragua and then had to hike three miles through the mountains in 90 degree weather with all of her travel gear to get to the nearest bus station, and then spend another two hours using a combination of public transportation and hitchhiking to get to the nearest health clinic.

Even though my travel guidebook claims that contracting dengue fever “will put a stop to your fun in Central America like a baseball bat to the head,” getting sick didn’t detract from my time abroad — it enhanced it. True, I was bedridden for quite some time, I got terrible headaches behind my eyes, and my bowels were doing some pretty freaky things I didn’t know they could do. But my, oh, my. What an experience. So many stories to tell! And isn’t that what it’s all about?

Overall, Grinnell has been good to me. I’m appreciative of my five semesters here, and of the two remaining. But my advice to the young ’uns (and the advice that more than 50 percent of all Grinnell students follow) is this: go abroad. Some experiences just can’t be had in Grinnell. Iowa does have corn. And Nicaragua, along with its gorgeous lakes and volcanoes, has dengue. And I’m grateful that in my stint as an undergrad, I’ve had both.

Erin Sindewald '08 is an English major from Orland Park, Illinois.

The Midnight Flight of the Mattress Riders

Fri, 2013-01-04 02:23 | By Anonymous (not verified)


Beneath Grinnell’s academic veneer, there lies a secret world. In this world, shadowy figures converge by a signal known only to them, unleash weeks of pent-up glee, and vanish in the haze. It is a world we hear of in legend and rumor, a world that keeps its secrets.

Mischief is always best kept secret.

Many tales are told of revels conducted in the dark of night: roller chair races, steam tunnel spelunking, naked kite-flying. Among these, only one brings the giddy thrill of downhill motion to the academic sanctum of the Alumni Recitation Hall: mattress sledding.

The story goes as follows: when the stars align and the wind is right, and when the scent of 10-page papers lies on campus like a slab of rancid butter, a band of rogues assembles. With bravado as their only armor, they leave the dorms with a mattress hefted over their heads. They send out a silent call. In ARH, the fun begins. Moments later, young students chancing to leave the computer lab will be invited to experience delight in its purest form. They will be offered a seat at the top of the stairs, on a mattress going down.

The mattress descends only half a flight, but oh, what a flight it is. Alone or in tightly embracing knots of friends, silent or whooping with joy, the riders dive like falcons down the stairs and glide to a gentle stop in the hall below. The moment a rider dismounts, waiting arms grab the mattress and haul it again to the top, where the next rider will step on.

As with any legend, the revelation opens the door to deeper mystery. Who are these midnight riders? Do they not have homework? Are they the same who run naked in the fields, who roll in chairs down the tile halls of Noyce? Why a mattress, and not a sled or plastic tray? Can more than four safely ride? Perhaps one day the revels will be observed and recorded, and we will know for certain. But certainty brings control, and if the legends are true, the revels thrive on freedom. Perhaps it is best, then, that they remain cloaked in shadow, a mystery to be explored and explored again by each coming generation.

Adam Barrett '08 is an English major from Norman, Oklahoma.