Liberal Arts Voices

Read the perspectives of our current students

Madagascar: the island is better than the movie.

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Being back in State College, I’ve hung pictures of my time in Madagascar all over my dorm. I can peak at the thin, paper rectangles into the rainforest, the street-side coffee stands in Kianjavato and the raincloud shrouded mountains, as if peering through the holes of bricks missing from a wall. In some ways, Madagascar doesn’t seem as far away as it really is.  I’m still working on the data I collected over the summer in preparation to publish my honors thesis. All my fieldwork is compressed into data files and spread sheets now, though the three months of research expand endlessly in my memory. Hours spent hiking through the dense lianas and vines of the understory, climbing rock faces, straining to hear the tiny metallic ping of my aye-aye’s GPS collar.  The days dotted with leeches, trudging through the slick coffee plantations and up mudded hills looking for signs that my lemur had gnawed on the dead trees in my vegetation plots. The warm bowls of rice and toasted peanuts, eaten morning in and morning out as I packed my equipment to go into the field and start the day’s work a new.
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This was, to me, the fun part. For as difficult as it was sometimes to live in a tent, to negotiate the stomach cramps and various instances gastrointestinal distress, to stay awake through a day measuring trees after hiking all night (literally) the night before, it was beautiful. My time in Madagascar was coffee and sweet bread scented, livened by the presence of close friends and team members who share each moment of work, each broken piece of equipment, each bowl of hot steamed cassava with me.  The work I do now (the researching through countless journals, the hours I’ll spend learning coding systems and analyzing data) is propelled forward by the tangy-cold mornings I spent among friends and colleagues around a thermos of coffee and a plate of fried bananas. And my hours at the desk now are motivated by the hope that in a few years I’ll be once again writing from my tent in the jungle, rather than my photograph-speckled dorm room. 

Monkeying Around at the Biological Anthropology Conference

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Last week, I traveled to Knoxville, Tennessee for my first American Association of Physical Anthropology conference. Correction, first Kristen and I went to the Knoxville Zoo, then I went to the conference.
I have never seen such a marvelous aggregation of like-minded primates in my life! And I’m not talking about the lemurs or chimpanzees. Perhaps I am still green-hearted and rose-lensed but I was thrilled to simply be surrounded by so many other anthropologists: here one couple is discussing aye-aye masticatory muscles, around the corner a man holds his palm flat under an imaginary skull and describes the CT scanning process to his student, and beyond them a pair of girls walk up to read posters on ancient Latin American trephination. These are the conversations I don’t get to have in my daily life. These are the interests that make me feel like an odd bird in a college of pre-med students and chemical engineers. This was the first time I felt that I too was an anthropologist. I belonged.
Thursday, I presented my summer plan to study aye-ayes in Madagascar. Standing beside my poster I bit the inside of my cheek and anxiously waited for some gray-beard scholar to come over and stump me with hellish questions on evolutionary genetics. But he never came. Rather a crowd of curious grad students, post docs and professors slowly formed. I shook hands with my nervous, sweaty palms, and slowly began to relax to friendly smiles and good natured questions. I even got some great suggestions and encouragement from renowned scientists in my field. Ahhh, the transitive property of endorsement: if these people are important and they like my research plans, my research must also have a chance of becoming important.
Apart from this, the best parts of the conference were the little things. Morning runs along the swirling Tennessee river. Discussions on the state of lemur conservation over fried onion rings. Cranberry vanilla wheat scones to dip in coffee during breaks between presentations. Whiskey bread pudding ordered by room service after our last day of talks. (I swear I wasn’t just there for the food!)
The most profound and lingering taste was that of inclusiveness. To my surprise, I didn’t feel like a little baby-undergraduate student last week. I thought I would be like the little kids sister of science:  tagging along, nervous and pitied in my inexperience. Rather, I felt included, respected and excited. Excited for my next conference, encouraged for my summer research and motivated to one day be the professor on stage presenting the new discoveries on subfossil lemurs, instead of just a bright eyed girl clapping in the audience.

Are you new to Paterno Fellows and PSU?

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leopard.JPGI remember when I first learned about the Paterno Fellows program. A single page of information tucked into the rest of my Penn State Accepted Student packet that arrived in my P.O. box in May three years ago. In small font on the glossy page was a short description of the requirements of the program, and a student’s endorsement. It was a good introduction, but it wasn’t enough.

So if that letter didn’t paint a picture of the full scope of the Paterno Fellows experience, what would? Well, allow me to paint a few pictures for you.

Paterno Fellows is where you go. Being a Paterno Fellow gave me the financial assistance I needed to study abroad in Kenya and Tanzania. Imagine a soft, watercolor sunset spreading above the windswept grasses of the Serengeti. In the dark silhouette of an acacia tree, a leopard leaps along the trunk and settles to rest on a branch. You can just make out the twitches of her tail as she watches you, watching her. As your camera clicks away, you think, “Well, she’s not the Nittany Lion, but she’s pretty darn amazing too!”

Paterno Fellows is what you see. As a Paterno Fellow, I’ve been able to watch theater performances, visit exhibits and hear lectures I otherwise wouldn’t be able to attend. Now, imagine you’re back from Africa and sitting in a plush seat in the Schwab Auditorium. On stage, four actors from a British theatre company act out The Merchant of Venice. Though you’ve read Othello, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet, you’ve never had time to explore this gem of Shakespeare’s creativity. The play is a new and exciting adventure as the plot unfolds and the twentieth century performance hall rings with renaissance English.

Paterno Fellows is how you feel. As a Paterno Fellow, you hold yourself to high standards in regards to your moral choices, your academic efforts, and your participation in school events. Each of your actions and choices reflects your commitment to better your school as an intellectual institution and yourself as an intellectual individual. You will take challenging honors courses, attend classes on ethics, and strive towards excellence in leadership and communication. Picture yourself at graduation, your head bowed as you receive your golden Schreyer Honor’s College medal. In that moment, the words of the alma mater settle on your heart as realize your experiences with Paterno Fellows have shaped and molded you in these four years. You see now how much your love and loyalty to Penn State has challenged you to be the best student you can be, and now how all that effort has set a bright and hopeful future before you.

Being a Paterno Fellow is more than a checklist of requirements, a set of goals, or an itinerary of events. Truth be told, a single page is never enough to contain the full spectrum of experience you will have as a Paterno Fellow and Schreyer Honors Scholar. But the good news is four years can be just enough!

A Taste of Tradition

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Old Main Evening
Originally uploaded by LAUSatPSU

The misty air smelled like carnival food: pulled pork, popcorn and soft pretzels. Lion ambassadors were everywhere- walking backwards as usual. A tour guide would call out “WE ARE!” each time they passed through the crowd. You could predict the response.

I spun in a three-sixty as a trumpet rendition of the Fight Song wafted on the damp breeze. The Nittany Lion posed with giggling prospective students. To my left there was a stand for class rings and to my right towered over one-hundred years of Penn State tradition.

No- I’m not talking about Blue and White Weekend (that’s not until tomorrow). I’m talking the Bell Tower- this Wednesday was the Old Main Open House.

My friend and I waited an hour holding our florescent yellow tickets for the tour. This PSU tradition has been on my friend Katie’s bucket list for years, and as a senior her clock was ticking. Being a freshman, I figured I’d get a head start and check this off my list early.

I had never really explored Old Main before. Inside were grand, open staircases and a lofty ceiling: an elegant cross between a hotel lobby and a ball room. A girl dressed as Abraham Lincoln met us in front of the imposing Fresco painting that spanned the walls. She explained the Morrill Land Grant and Lincoln’s role in providing the government funding to start “The Farmer’s High School.” She pointed out Lincoln on the mural, along with Evan Pugh, Penn State’s first president.

After Honest Abe came Henry Varnum Poor, the artist who painted the frescos in the 1930’s and 1940’s. In a faux-French accent (?) he guided us around the upper balcony and past scenes of early agriculture and student life. Fun Fact: all the young faces in the murals were actual Penn State students.

Henry’s section of the tour landed us at the entrance to the Bell Tower. I fidgeted anxiously as we waited for our turn. The bell tower rings loud, and it’s a constant presence in my Atherton Dorm- especially on PSU’s recent birthday- when it rang once for every year. I wondered if the view was as impressive as the sound.

Ascending the stairs and stepping out onto the misty stone balcony I wasn’t disappointed. Even on the overcast day the view was spectacular. I could see all of campus, and into the town beyond. The blue shadow of Mount Nittany hovered beyond the fog.

Maybe the air up there was cleaner and clearer, because I felt refreshed as I took in the amazing scene. It’s nice to get a change of perspective in this hectic pre-finals times. Literal or otherwise. I looked at the students walking to class below and now think about the generations of students who have walked the same steps for nearly two-hundred years. They have left us a beautiful legacy, I think, now looking out my window at the clock’s golden glow. We have high heights to aspire too.

Sweet Success, Sweet Fellowship.

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Success without honor is an unseasoned dish: it will satisfy your hunger but it won’t taste good.” It’s a quote after my own heart. Honest and catchy- and even more profound when spoken by the same man who first said it.

Joe Paterno stepped into the academic area to celebrate along with the deans and staff of the Liberal Arts and Schreyer Honors Colleges the first annual Paterno Fellows Program Recognition Ceremony. This past Monday, 211- yep, I counted- students were raised from the status of “aspirant” to “fellow.”

‘Fellow’ is a funny word. According to my American Heritage Dictionary -let me pull this off my shelf now- it means more than “a member of a learned society” or “a[n] [under]graduate student receiving financial aid for further study.” For us, those definitions are obvious, but perhaps not obvious enough. ‘Fellow’ is synonymous with associate, comrade, partner. This struck me as I stood amongst the applause and the assembly of gray hooded sweatshirts (thank you, by the way). As diverse as we are, in our varied disciplines and dreams- we are still working for a common reason. Whether in a field study in Kenya or in a research lab on campus, we are working in unison to better ourselves, our futures, and that of this university.

The success we celebrated earlier this week may have been as delicious and as varied as the desserts on the side tables. But it’s all the same food group. One that, to me, tastes an awful lot like fellowship.

F15- Say Cheese! Pizza and the Big Picture

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It’s amazing what some new friends, a few home-cooked meals (mmm…pumpkin pie…) and a common cause can do.

Last month I went on my first canning trip (putting in a guiltless plug for Glee Club / Oriana THON here!). And may I reiterate: this is my first canning trip as a student and as a canning chair. I knew my fellow co-chair RJ and I have a lot of responsibilities on our plate, and frankly, the idea terrified me.

I had no idea what to expect, but knew I had to learn fast- I didn’t want to let anyone down and I felt that, by being so inexperienced, I already wasn’t pulling my weight. I didn’t want to be the new girl, the outsider, or the idle officer.

So armed with a “Canning Manual” borrowed from Springfield, the tell-tale THON posters, and a lot of nervous energy, I packed up my sub-zero sleeping bag (can you say overkill?), crest toothpaste and a change of clothes and headed out to Johnstown.

First, my fellow Oriana and Glee Club THON(-ers? is there a word for this?) met up for at a local Italian restaurant to bond over pizza and planning. I learned (and promptly forgot) everyones’ names. I worried over which people were already friends, if they would bother acknowledging me and whether or not anyone would notice me reaching for the last slice of white cheese pizza. 

This being his home, our Glee Club Chair John knew all the restaurant staff (and seemingly the entire population of the town). So, as we finish our meal, John surprised me saying that- no-we’re not paying- we’re singing for our food. Well, we are choir kids after all- so I guess it was the first and only logical option. And I can say now, with the utmost conviction, there is no better ice breaker than a few choral versions of Billy Joel tunes sung around a pizza parlor piano.

The rest of the weekend whipped by in a fast-forward montage of canning, eating, (not) sleeping, and more canning. And you can really get to know people when you spend several hours in the cold with them, begging for change on a sidewalk corner. And the rest of time was spent singing along to “Glee”  tunes while driving around Johnstown arguably/utterly lost. The frigid October weather warmed up, and by the end of the trip, I had stripped off my shyness like a puffy winter coat.

Sunday afternoon, the remaining cann(-ers?) counted the dollars, nickels, quarters and dimes.

It’s amazing how quickly the money adds up.

 

Each one dollar bill a tired mom pulls from her purse, each handful of change from a pick-up trucks’ dash board. Every last gummy penny from in between someone’s sofa cushions- it made a difference.

One of my biggest challenges in talking with the people I met was simply convincing them their contribution mattered. And at the end of our trip, our numbers didn’t lie.

 

 In two days we had raised $4,618,25.

 

Yup- over four thousand tiny little donations, tiny little moments a person took from their day to stop and give. To not question or to doubt, but to trust that their actions mattered in a way that extended far beyond the tired-looking college kids in sweatshirts and signs standing before them. It’s hard to see the grand total in a hand full of pennies- but it’s there. I stood there, watching these everyday people who understood that hope comes in all sizes and looks a lot like a five dollar bill.  That maybe their Starbucks’ Macchiato could wait. Because they saw that in our cans was something greater than the sum of its parts (or..coins rather) – well, that helped me see. More so than I could have imagined.  

F15: Ka-Yum! Taking a Bite into Jewish Culture

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  Kayam Farms 036.JPGIt’s five am. I’ve slept maybe four hours tops. And I’ve just downed three cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee and a cream cheese bagel. I do not want to get on a three hour bus to Baltimore.

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By the website definition, Kayam Farm embodies and inspires social and ecological responsibility by transforming our community through hands-on Jewish agricultural education. So think Jewish CSA? Well, right, but wrong. It’s much more.

Picture 160 acres of rolling hills, spotted with fruit orchards, cross hatched with grape vines (named for the 3 Patriarchs) and patched with gardens of carrots, okra, cabbage and beets. That’s what I saw as I spun around in groggy circles from my view on the hill by the parking lot. Lots and lots of farmland. Kayam farms vegetables organically according to Jewish Laws. Lots and lots of vegetables.

And for the next nine hours that’s exactly what our little tour group did. We joined the caretakers of Kayam, many who live on or near the grounds, in planting, picking, seed saving and harvesting. We carried our veggies (literally) from the field to the table. And in the process I learned about how the laws and traditions of Hebrew culture from centuries past influence the dinner table today at Kayam. Every veggie must be carefully cleaned over (bugs are not Kosher, if you were wondering). But more than scrutiny goes into the meal, a lot of attention and care does too.

When you take your food literally from the ground to the dinner plate you take a whole lot more responsibility for what you’re about to eat. You become more than a passive presence in your own food chain- a lot more involved than just standing in the dining hall lunch line.

So even if you’re not harvesting your own dinner (which is fantastic, I might add) you can take a more involved roll in your food. Buy local – and by local I mean literally down the street, locust street for that matter. Donate to the Centre County Food bank, to make sure you’re not the only one eating up. And if you’re interested in the savory flavors of Jewish Culture with a side of organic greens, look into Kayam. Just wear work clothes if you visit, okay?

F15- One Football Game with a Side of French Fries

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Kate Thompson 
Originally uploaded
by LAUSatPSU

No, I wasn’t eating the cheese fries (I’m a sucker for sweets and cakes, but draw the line at fried “food”). I was serving them.

I never bought Freshman Football Tickets- so expensive! So, after hearing everyone rave about the football game experience, and a considerable amount of non-buyer’s remorse, I decided to work my way into this Saturday’s PSU v Temple game.

Literally.

I signed up to work in the ACF concession stand on the ground floor next to Gate E. (go there next time *hint hint*)

I spent the day draped in a light blue worker’s uniform, rushing back and forth with large collector’s cups of mountain dew, and orders of fried chicken. I bunned and bagged hotdogs. I passed out stacks of hamburger cartons, and tubs of popcorn. And I met maybe more than 400 (hungry) Penn State fans. Some older than my grandparents. Others snoozing in baby strollers.

Before today I’d never realized how big PSU is, not as a school but as a culture. I saw first hand a multi-generational network of students, alumni, friends and families. Hell, I served them all personal cheese pizzas. I’m not a foot ball fan per say, but it’s heard to not feel infected by the excitement, and more than that, by the sense of community.

WE ARE??! How many times did I hear (and answer) that famous cheer today. It’s not just “We Are Penn State,” for me now, it’s more of an “I Am Penn State Too.”  I’m slowly beginning to feel like something greater than myself. Part ACF, part of this school, part of a greater group of people that spans majors, generations, and centuries. Something powerful. Something united. & something that smells like concession stand popcorn.

So by the end of the day, having only actually seen the game for a mere five minutes, my knees ached, by hands were burned in places from the hot metal trays and melted cheez wiz, and my eyelids beginning to sag tiredly. I was exhausted. But, I was happy. And maybe, just maybe, one step closer to finding a place in this universe.

F15- Going it Backwards

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Today I had an early breakfast at Ivring’s with a friend. (If 8:45 is considered early morning still) An energy bagel (mmm flaxseed and raisins) smeared with a melty mix of peanut butter and honey. Plus a half decaf, half regular cup of coffee. Maybe two cups of coffee.

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My name is Kate Thompson. Well, Katharine Elizabeth Trimbur Henry Thompson, but you can call me Kate (more for your benefit than mine). I’m a freshman with intended majors in Anthropology and Communication Arts and Sciences. Most people, I’m told, participate in The Paterno Fellowship as a way to gain entry into Schreyer. I’m a tad unconventional. My deal- I’m already a Schreyer Scholar. So what lured me to The Paterno Fellowship? A single word, on a single bulleted sentence, in a single PF Pamphlet (have you seen the new ones? They’re lovely!). One. Single. Word. Travel.

Like most Penn State students, I grew up in PA. But, unlike most Penn State students, I grew up in a small sheep and goat farm outside a small town. An island of agriculture in the sea of suburbs. So while people down the road chatted with their neighbors, picked up their morning papers and walked their dog, I was side lined. My neighborhood was a field of corn. Picking up the Saturday edition of the New York Times ment a half-mile walk down our winding gravel driveway (it’s very scenic, I assure you). And I’ve done a lot of walking. Walking to school, walking our goats (I used to try walking our rabbits as a little girl, but it never ended well), but mostly walking around the same small town for eighteen years.

When I arrived at Penn State my legs were all cramped up from lack of leg room. They tingled with the pin pricks and needles that come with cramped quarters. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home. But I need to stretch out. Penn State here had me at “hello.” The Paterno Fellowship had me at “Travel.”

For me, This program is more than a chance to gain leadership skills, and earn academic honors; it’s a way for me to loose myself in the wide world extending beyond the one I’ve known. To escape into a new internationality. Not to run away from something. But rather towards it. A chance to unfold a map out on my desk, point my finger to a location that catches my fancy, and then watch it open like a flower into vivid dimensional realities of peoples and cultures and ideas. I’m ready world. Oh, and I promise, I’ll write.

 

The Freshman 15- Introducing a New Blog

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Kate Thompson, Paterno Fellow
Originally uploaded by LAUSatPSU

Ahh, the Freshman Fifteen. There’s nothing more quintessential to the college experience!

We come from high schools. From homes. From places where everything is parceled out in neat and balanced portions- academics, activities, acquaintances. We’re comfortable. We’re creatures of habit- that know who they are and what they like and what they like to eat it with. Then, suddenly, we’re here. It’s like walking down a hallway and opening the door to the wrong room- stumbling in on a completely new and unknown gathering of possibilities, already in full swing. Everything is available in huge quantities: classes on every subject under the sun (how did the dinosaurs go extinct?), clubs for every interest (oh hey Harry Potter!), and friends for every type of person.

 So much muchness.

The temptation to reach out and take heaping handfuls of every opportunity from this smorgasbord of possibilities is nearly overwhelming! So that’s what I’ll be writing about: the newness and muchness of this University as observed through very fresh eyes. A story in the making about the sheer abundance of possibility: the Paterno Fellowship, clubs and events galore, the trials and tribulations of life as a freshman. And of course, the food. Fifteen minutes, here, another fifteen there, spent jotting down some notes as I taste test this new universe of a college I now call home. So come with me- and dig in!

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