A sense of place: Special spots and memories on campus

My favorite thing about coming back to campus in the fall is seeing all of "my places." I'm sure you know what I'm talking about: There are those places on campus that you walked by all the time in past years, places where you always hung out, places that really remind you of certain times in your Princeton career.

I realized how important these places were during this past summer away from Princeton. I was working for the Appalachian Mountain Club in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. When I first arrived in the Whites, I was obviously struck by the beauty of the mountains. Seeing snow on the top of Mt. Washington in May stole my breath away; the vistas of the whole Presidential range dizzied me; and the surrounding views of distant mountains provided a wonderful backdrop for the beginning of my summer.

As the summer progressed, however, I started to become more familiar with different landmarks. I could point which dip in the horizon was Carrigan Notch and I could differentiate between Mts. Tom, Willey and Field. These names and places probably mean nothing to you, just like the names of the different campus buildings haven't yet sunk in with the new frosh. (I'm sure you remember those first few days with the map, trying to distinguish between McCosh Hall and McCosh Health Center). What I realized, though, was how slowly and subliminally the mountains had become home to me. I woke up one day and the mountains weren't just beautiful but they had taken on a heightened significance for me. This significance had only come from seeing them everyday, from associating them with those great dinners I'd had with my friends as we looked out over them. They weren't just Mt. Tom, Mt. Willey and Mt. Field anymore, but they were all the memories that had occurred while I was near these mountains. And because of these associations, their beauty had been transformed into something much more meaningful than mere aesthetics. It seemed that the mountains themselves had imperceptibly changed because I was there, that, though they looked the same, they were partly "my" mountains.

I look around at the freshmen, map and orientation calendar in hand, and I become excited thinking about how Princeton's campus will provide them all with their own special places. For me, coming back to campus is, by now, more an exercise in finding "my Princeton," these spots around campus in which the memories of my past three years are embroiled. There is the tap room at Cloister where I spent my whole freshman fall. There are the Wilcox dining hall tables where I spent long dinner wasting time with my friends my freshman spring. There are the tables in Frist where I spent hours talking about prospective eating clubs my sophomore year. The fourth floor of Brown Hall seems to encapsulate my remembrances of my junior year. And as I've strolled around this architecture of my memory, I'm wondering what nondescript place on campus will house my senior year.

I think back to the mountains, the views that I saw everyday and the trails that I hiked repeatedly. I look at the pictures that I have hanging on my wall and it's clear to me how important it is to have a sense of place, to infuse wherever you are with your own presence and claim little spots as "yours." I'm realizing how much I miss those places in New Hampshire. What's more, though, is the realization of how much, after this year, I'm going to miss Princeton. John Lurz is an English major from Lutherville, Md. He can be reached at johnlurz@princeton.edu.