A southern girl's 'Howdy, y'all' to the incoming herds

The herds have arrived. They move in unison, from Wilson to Richardson. Butler to the U-Store. Forbes to Frist. Rocky to the 'Street.' As they move, the sounds of the herd echo repeatedly over the mass: "Where are you from?" "What college are you in?" "Did you do OA?" The Class of 2007 is here.

Welcome. I don't envy you. By now, the majority of you have spent well over a week crouched in the lightening position waiting out the anger of a week-long "stationary front." You've ingested hundreds of pitas, a couple apple cores, tuna juice and iodine flavored tang water. You can't remember what you did before gorp. In orientation they told you it was a good time to bond with your classmates. They lied. In reality Outdoor Action, great as it may be, is really just a way to separate you from the comforts of your home without your realizing that dorm life is two slats short a full bed. How many of you returned from a week of waking up in puddles to the warmth and coziness of your dorm thinking, "this dorm room/bed/food/common bathroom is great!" If you're in Rocky, you're excited that the bathroom is only down four flights of stairs. Awesome!

Freshman summer, I donned my hiking boots, packed five t-shirts and five pairs of socks, and arrived at Dillon confident in my athletic ability. I played three sports in high school and exercised daily, which I wrote on my "activity level" OA form. After meeting my group, I surveyed what I felt would be a level of skill. I figured they didn't look too hardcore. But apparently Eagle Scouts and tri-athletes are built differently than the athletes I've known. Later that week I found myself cursing the one t-shirt that made the packing cut and the blisters that resulted from breaking in my boots on flat ground as I scaled the Catskills with a total of five Eagle Scouts and three tri-athletes.

Perhaps I should have selected my difficulty level by something other than the desire to be with the guys that checked "accelerated." Over the next five days, I learned that "hiking" is apparently synonymous with "sheer rock face climbing" and that if the storm is going to break on the mountain you're climbing, you've got to go back down the same way you came up. I learned that bear bagging is only helpful if you remember where the bag is and that trowels are used for other purposes than gardening. I learned why, when my parents took me camping as a child, we traveled in an RV and stayed in hotels.

But then I saw the dorms. One huge shower for eight girls! An entire side of a closet to hang all my clothes! Home cooked food in the dining halls! Princeton was incredible.

Suddenly, I was meeting in groups and memorizing my mantra: "Awesome Ashley Johnson, Florence Alabama." I had an entryway of 32 friends and two Upper Classmen advisors. Princeton was amazing.

Now I can look back and see the value of OA, even if I never intend to do it again. You spend one summer preparing for one week of hiking. You return to campus knowing all and somehow grabbing a spot at the top of the pecking order. After all, you've just spent a week pumping your leaders for information on clubs, majors, dating, and classes. What more could you possibly need to know?

After a few days back on campus, this pseudo-knowledge of campus caves in as the details of campus life emerge. Hence, the Residential Advisors. I know I could have used my own personal RAA, a Residential Ashley Advisor, to show me the things of Princeton that truly eluded me: How to get money out of an ATM or how to use the self checkout at Wal-Mart without prompting the monitoring guy to appear and say, "No, please, let me. It's easier this way." RA's are Godsends. They help differentiate Jadwin from Jadwin, McCosh from McCosh and even bring in fresh fruit on occasion. Some explain condoms, some warn against keg parties, and some encourage good sleep habits through advice to reserve your bed for "bed-worthy activity." Basically, they gather the wayward freshmen who have strayed from their herd and guide them back towards the pack.

So, welcome '07s, and know that while your days of hard labor are behind you, you will soon discover there is more to learn here than could ever be found in text books, lecture slides, or even a week of campfire chats. I can only reassure you that, as far as I know, the trowel is reserved for Prospect Gardens.