Arrival at the Anthill

We (my dad and I) have arrived at the anthill.

I’m too weary for the long explanation, but I’ll give you the brief version, for brevity is the soul of wit. The other night my family and my grandparents went out to dinner one last time before I left. One of my grandfathers compared New York City to an anthill, what with ants being very busy and New York being a very busy city with very busy people with very busy lives who are studying at very busy universities and very raising busy children and running very busy companies, assuming they’re not very busy tourists who have very busy travel itineraries before they have to go back to their very busy lives in, say, Columbus. I’m dubious that he’ll make it up to campus anytime soon.

When I visited before last April, I flew into the LaGuardia, where my uncle picked me up to take me back to his place. Actually, it was his friend’s family’s house. It was a super cool place in Red Hook, Brooklyn. The next morning I took the bus to the subway to the train station so that I could buy a ticket to take the metro line north to Bronxville to get in a taxi for a two minute car ride to campus. (Form=Content.) Going home I walked to the train station, took the train to 125^th, and then cabbed it back to LaGuardia. My point: today was the first time I’ve driven to SLC. Dad drove, actually, while I navigated. We did well, crossing the George Washington Bridge and all, but we were too mesmerized by the Skyline to notice that I-87 N turned off sooner than we though. So we took some other parkway. It was fine.

I thought the ant hillaffect was only relevant near the city, like Harlem and south, but to my surprise, it has its impact on Bronxville. I like the anthill feel of New York. I come from a family of urbanite-wannabes. I love Columbus, since it’s the city I’ve “grown up in”, but I also love Columbus’ highways; they make sense. 315, 70, 71, and 670 make a nice, accessible square around the city. I don’t know NYC’s highways yet. I have a feeling I won’t get acquainted anytime soon, since I don’t have a car or anything. The train line: now that will hopefully be my good friend after four years.

The trip to the anthill was lovely. We drove through Ohio’s amber waves of grain; I’ve always had a vague appreciation for it, especially in August. Pennsylvania was lovely with its big skies and green, tree lined mountains. Through the trip we drilled through dad’s CD collection, rehashing his favorite artists through his upbringing. CDs included ELO, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Louis Armstrong, Elton John, Jimmy Buffet, Lou Bega, Ace of Base, Jackson Brown, and Jim Croce.

About that last one, Jim Croce. At some point on the CD the song “New York’s Not my Home” came on, as we were driving closer and closer to our east-coast destination. Ironic.

When we finally saw the skyline in New Jersey I put Billy Joel’s album in and put on “New York State of Mind”. Counteraction. I gotta work on that, my New York State of Mind. More on that later.   

Dad and I sauntered around Bronxville, where we discovered banks, restaurants, and my roommate and her family of all people. We’d met once before, so she recognized me from a coffee shop called Kafe Haus. I’m glad she did; it was cool running into them.

After Bronxville we drove over to the very anti-anthill campus. We enjoyed the tranquil, green campus while it wasn’t overrun by new families moving in. I gave my best tour that I could, remembering buildings as I came across them, but for the most part we embarked on our own serendipitous exploration. I confirmed which building was my dormitory. I had to resist the urge to climb the trees and exposed boulders. I only sat on half of the benches. Walking around campus, even if I didn’t totally know where I was going, made me feel like I had some credibility, and like the adventure was officially underway. I felt like a little kid who is let loose for recess on a playground; I wanted to go play on campus. We’ll see how long those sentiments last.   

Dad collected acorns on the trails. “They’re for the farm,” he claimed, saying that he’d take them home and plant them in Ohio. I wanted to hug him and say how much I’d miss him, but I was too worried about looking cool at hipster college. In retrospect, that was stupid because I was walking around with a map and guided tour packet wearing a Sarah Lawrence College shirt. I’ll grow out of it with time.

So, Bronxville, West Chester County, New York, USA, North Western Hemisphere: I’ve arrived. Another ant for your intellectual, artsy, hipster anthill. Hopefully you have a need for a little, blond, blue-eyed, writer-wannabe like me.

So much for too weary for a long explanation.

P.S- I had my first black squirrel sighting: SLC’s so artsy that even the squirrels wear black. That corny one liner is printed on a t-shirt that, at least at one point, was available in the college bookstore.