When Endings Are Beginnings
at Swarthmore
Swarthmore is a fine liberal arts college located just on the outskirts of Philadelphia. There is much to say about the Swarthmore experience, not the least of which is the way a visitor can be moved simply by the school’s idyllic campus: an arboretum dotted with old stone buildings, antique rose gardens and long, long lazy lawns perfect for philosophic conversations and college courting. (I’m quite sure these lawns have seen a bit of both.)
I visited there recently to celebrate the graduation of my eldest stepson, Carson Monetti (highest honors in Philosophy, thank you very much). He walked us oh-so-casually around the campus while I snapped photo after photo. And then we came upon The Tree.
“What’s the story there?” asked my husband.
Turns out the tree is a 30-foot oak that began a descent into death some time ago. Rather than remove it, Swarthmore and the arboretum agreed to paint it red, demonstrating the tree’s ability to transcend the natural limitations of regular existence (a dead tree) and be transformed into something new (a work of art).
I find this story of transformation profoundly important. But I have to say I love my own story, too. I was mesmerized by that red tree from the moment I saw it, imagining a band of idealistic college co-eds descending upon it under the cover of darkness, paintbrushes in hand, transforming it into their own powerful statement. Day dawned, in my story, and the red tree lived on in spite of Administration, simply because it was so. . . Swarthmore.
I love that campus. I love that red tree.
