Ithacan Odyssey

Just as I have had so much time lately to contemplate my college experience as it is represented by my possessions, I have had tine to give a great deal of consideration to the actual place, as well. When I was a senior in High School, applying to colleges both near home and far away, Ithaca represented for me the ultimate escape. It was a chance to get away from all of the difficulties of high school; it was a way to escape a life that I was growing increasingly dissatisfied with, and a state I'd always felt somehow marginalized in. Even though Texas was objectively good to me–I'd never been in a fight, or been mean-spiritedly mocked for my sexuality–I couldn't ever escape the sensation that if I stayed there for college, I might go insane. Everything seems bigger and more dramatic at the time, of course. I know now that even if I'd stayed back home, I would almost certainly have been fine, and graduated on time without problem.

But I never would have fallen in love with Ithaca. Though perhaps not so well-known or mythological as Odysseus' beloved Ithaka, this town serves as a welcome port to many incredible people, and even harbors quite a bit of surprising history thanks to a few unlikely claims to fame. In the past, Ithaca has been famous both for its Ithaca Gun Company, which used to produce nationally-coveted firearms in the late 1800s, and its presence in early American silent film. But didn't fall in love with Ithaca because it is the home to Namgyal Monastery (the North American seat of the Dalai Lama) or because residents here set the world record for the largest human peace sign, or even because it bi-annually produces the nation's third-largest used-book sale; no, I fell in love with Ithaca because, like Odysseus, the moment I left it, I knew I would battle tooth and nail to get back.

Fortunately, I didn't have to deal with selfish Gods, six-headed beasts, or one-eyed monstrosities in order to return to Ithaca after my first summer away. After having returned, however, I have yet to leave this place for more than a few weeks at a time. This trip to Seattle, though I know it will be an incredible experience, nevertheless will be tinged by a subtle longing for a place I have come to know so well. When I roll out of Ithaca towards Providence, it will mark the beginning of a departure of indeterminate length; I will watch Ithaca disappear behind me, and I will not know for certain when–and if–I will ever return.

So I have to come to terms with this departure. I have to accept that I may never actually live in Ithaca again. If I have to go, if I have to watch the town vanish in my rear view mirror, I can at least always look back on some of my favorite images I've taken while here. I don't claim to be any great photographer, but in my time here I have taken a good number of pictures, in an effort to capture just what grants Ithaca such a special place in my heart.

Ithaca in the fall has always been a sight to behold. At a certain point past September, the trees explode with color, into hues you didn't even know nature could produce, before a rough wind comes by to shake the foliage free into the air like autumnal confetti.

Before winter gets into full swing, there is a kind of barren pause, where the skeletal trees rattle their branches in protest, and the damp air chills you to the bone. But the gorges are still rushing water, and a carpeting of fallen leaves changes the timbre of a walk through the woods. On a clear day in late fall, the frozen sky can be more invigorating than a cup of strong coffee.

Fall also brings with it the Apple Harvest Festival, one of Ithaca's most popular events. Unlike the Ithaca Festival, which takes place in the summer and therefore excludes a great number of students, the Apple Harvest Festival entertains students from both universities. It's almost impossible to resist buying a Shoofly Pie from the quintessential Amish family tent, or to keep from utilizing a near-obsolete mathematical measurement, the peck, when buying apples for a homemade apple crisp.

Though Ithacan winters can be harsh and unforgiving, they can also be breathtakingly beautiful. Coming from the south, I'd had very little experience dealing with snow–but after my first year of snowfall in Ithaca, I knew for certain that I was going to like having a proper winter. The serenity and calm that fresh snow offers is unlike anything else in the world, and life seems to slow down a bit in the winter, as if it were simply relaxing under the calming blankets of white.

Spring is slow to come to Ithaca–the snow melts reluctantly, leaving the largest piles of shoveled, boot-blackened snow lingering until late April. All of this moisture, however, seeps into the roots of Ithaca's multitudinous array of plant species, and rewards the area with fast-blooming flowers and verdure. At this point, life returns to Ithaca, and a once-dormant landscape springs into bustling action.

The spring is also the Ithaca Crew racing season, an eight-week sprint from late winter to early summer full of sweat, exertion, victory and defeat. The Cayuga inlet is the recipient of much of this effort, as full of blood, sweat, and tears as it is water. These innocuous buoys mark the finish line; they maintain the goal towards which we rowed every Saturday for weeks; they symbolized the accomplishment we were always looking to achieve. For most of the time, they float inert in the water, unaware of the power they wield–but for a few hours each weekend, they command the attention of every onlooker for miles.

With summer comes the weather that every Ithacan dreams of. The Farmer's Market opens up for locals to vend their varied wares, and tow-headed children run up and down the banks of Lake Cayuga, wondering how it is that in this age where technology so often destroys innocence, they can still dance unabashedly in the lapping surf.

So I am called away from my Home to battle the injustices of the world. I have to take to my trusty steed and ride across the country in hopes of making this world a better place for those without privilege. I have to trust my future to the fates, and have faith that they will see me through to the end of my journey. I can only hope, when it comes time for me to return to Ithaca, I, too, will have the blessing of Aeolus and the determination of that eponymous Odyssian hero.