Coming Home Again

      In a speech I gave to admitted students during a visit days in late April, I tried to convey what is unique about being a part of St. Lawrence University. I mentioned but failed to fully explain the feeling of place St. Lawrence students experience when pulling off route 11 into Canton. At the time I chose the sentiment of “once more coming home again” to try to articulate what ties students to this place. I thought I understood this feeling fully, but what I have discovered over the past few months is how dynamic this experience can be both between different individuals and within those who find themselves at different points in life.

      The drive to Canton from my home in Baltimore is, on the whole, rather uninspiring. Seven eighths of the entire trip is spent on only two roads, as 83 eventually turns into 81 before Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. And although this long stretch of road holds memorable moments, it is mostly dependant upon the company alongside or the music which accompanies the passing miles. The trip only seems to truly develop character during the homestretch, after the slide into Watertown and turn onto route 11. The 59 mile ride from the birthplace of those tree shaped air freshener things to Canton, New York consists mainly of farm fields and antique shops. The drive is also marked by speeding up and considerable slowing down as it passes through the 30 mph speed limits of sleepy towns built around industry which has long since left.

      The first trip I took to Canton as a first year St. Lawrence student was one of apprehension and excitement. I would be arriving several days early to experience a pre-orientation trip in which we would explore the Upper Saranac region of the Adirondacks. I remember my first drive up Main Street and it felt comfortable, nothing more and nothing less, but it was exactly what it needed to be for me at the time. I needed somewhere which would allow me to find my footing, and the same sense of genuine welcome I received on my first visit followed me onto campus as I began my time here.

      Once I felt established, each subsequent trip back to St. Lawrence was of growing determination. I wanted to move back into my room, see those I had not seen for some time, even start a new set of classes. In the second half of my first year, I began to travel back with other students who routinely made their way up from the Baltimore area. We shared stories of our time at St. Lawrence, and my connection to this place grew as I heard from those who had more time behind them than ahead. These drivers grew to be close friends of mine and exposed me to several groups on campus that I would not have otherwise met. The trips excited a strange sort of urgency in me, as I was encouraged to make the most of my time in college, taking advantage of more opportunities than I previously had.

      With each subsequent trip back, route 11 seems increasingly more welcoming. As I enter the halfway point in my education I am forced to face the reality that these drives do indeed have a limit and instead of adding them up I find myself slowly counting them down, trying my best to savor each one. The students who once offered rides have since graduated and my role will now be to return the kindness they showed in welcoming me as a younger student to those who are now finding themselves on campus.

      Before returning to St. Lawrence for my summer employment in the office of admissions, I spent two weeks in Baltimore. During these two weeks I turned 21 and with this growth in years came events which truly held the significance of becoming an adult. So often people ask upon the occasion of a birthday if the celebrated feels any older than he or she had before. My most recent birthday was the only time in memory when I would have answered “yes” to this often annoying question.

      For my twenty-first birthday I got my first car, a 2003 Subaru Forrester, and with it a new type of freedom. The feeling of not being on someone’s watch, of being able to leave on a whim, was inspiring. Leading up to the summer I had spent time at home helping to move my mom out of the house I had grown up in. With the move came the loss of a sense of place and I felt much less of a connection to the area in which I had grown up.

       The summer between sophomore and junior year marks a time when home becomes but a familiarity and not something with which a college student is directly involved. One of my great friends growing up left for Australia in late June and another for Spain. The contented world I had grown up in was changing, and still I felt a connection because of Halsted, my dog of twelve years. However, during my time away she had grown increasingly old, with episodes of extreme exhaustion and shortness of breath until she could barely leave her bed. Pets, dogs especially, tie us down to a place in the most wonderful of ways, and with the death of my first dog came a heart-wrenching release from a physical home.

      It was a time of consolidation for me. I packed up everything I owned into three yellow duffle bags of varying size and a Rubbermaid tub, folded down the back seats, moved all my belongings into my car and headed for Canton. It was my first drive to Canton alone, but it was certainly fitting for the occasion. It served to mark a new point in my life, as I no longer felt the connection to Baltimore I once had and over the next year I would likely spend more time in other countries then I would in my hometown.

       This sense of community we try so earnestly to convey to families on tours and in speeches to accepted students is at its core a love of this place not for just one reason but because it means something different to each of us. Although my bedroom may change on a yearly basis, I have grown to find myself at home among the grounds. My relationship with St. Lawrence has changed tremendously, even over these two short years. Yet, each time I return, even when I feel most out of place, it continues to surprise me with a uniquely warm welcome even in the depth of a North Country winter.