Earlier this past week at around 4am I was woken up by a flurry of text messages on my phone. And half asleep I just ignored it. When I woke up I saw a bunch of text messages and email notifications. They were both from campus security alerting me of an incident on 11th and Alder of a drunk individual (not a member of our campus community) making noise and exiting his car, to then shoot at the approaching campus security. Nobody was hurt and the Tacoma Police arrived to arrest the individual and take him into custody.  Despite the fact I slept through the whole altercation, I am grateful that security contacted all students (who’s contact information is in their myPugetSound profile) via text AND email at the beginning and conclusion of the altercation so if we were in the vicinity we would know what is happening, and for me who had no clue to at least know what was happening. It struck close to home that this incident could have been one of the many recently campus violence across the nation. I think its horrifying that this trend is even occurring or can occur anywhere.

I am thankful for the safety measures our campus security and administration has put in place to keep us students safe. As someone who lives off-campus and quite a few blocks away, as the nights get longer and darker soon-er I’ve been utlizing our security escorts to get home more frequently. Yes, I think Tacoma is a pretty safe community especially the residential area our campus is located in but when its dark and late at night you never know what could happen, such as the shooting incident. And upon getting to know our campus security better, they don’t do a lot of security escorts and that service is available for our students for our safety. These officers, some of which are students, others adults are willing to walk with members to their destination on or off campus (within a wide triangle around campus, see link below for exact streets) and via vehicle if like myself you live or are going somewhere more than 10 blocks away. This incident also spurred a discussion on campus safety hosted by Dean of Students Mike Segawa a few days after the event along with emails from our Head of Security and Assistant Dean of Students Marta Palmquist-Cady on the resources available to prevent campus violence or any nature, safety, and security for our campus. It makes me feel safe knowing our campus were prepared for such an incident, and kept students alerted of what was going on, held follow-up discussions and reminders of resources all in all keeping our campus community safe.

http://www.pugetsound.edu/about/offices-services/security-services/security-escorts/

Despite its location so close to campus, I’ve only been to Point Defiance four times.

Time One: The Rose Garden

It was the Saturday of Fall Break, my freshman year, and it was the only time I’ve ever used the ever-handy Saturday Shuttle service campus has to offer. There were five of us, sitting comfortably in the van, and the two students driving gave us cookies as they drove us. We stayed in the front section of the park — wandering through the rose garden and taking pictures of the flowers, pictures of us together, blurry pictures, and pictures in crisp color.

We stayed in the section for over an hour, pacing back and forth between everything, trying to imprint it all in our brains. Eventually, though, we had our fill. We walked around the pond, took more photos (the ducks in the pond, the changing of the leaves from deep green to burnt orange), and avoided being in the wedding pictures that were being taken.

We ended the day with the ever-popular game of frisbee. A seemingly stereotypical choice, that probably wasn’t the best idea because none of us had played in years. I think we spent more time running in a desperate attempt to catch the disc then we actually spent playing the game. Nonetheless, we had a good time.

Kathryn and Talena, definitely posing, but letting out genuine laughs.

Time Two: With the (Friend’s) Parents (and Grandmother)

Spring, 2015. Parent’s weekend.

Claire’s parents had come up from L.A., bringing her grandmother in tow.

We all ended up going to breakfast together, four of us crammed into the back seat of their rent-a-car as we made our way to Proctor District. Claire and her mother talked to each other while splitting pancakes and eggs. Claire’s father bonded with Gaea over their shared love of jazz music. Claire’s grandmother told me I had nice hair and asked me what my major was and told me I had nice hair again. (Actual quote: “Has anyone ever asked you about buying your hair?”) Then, after discovering where in Northern California I was from, she asked me if I knew “that one restaurant. The famous one.” She seemed thrilled when I finally managed to guess where she was talking about. (The Samoa Cookhouse, okay eggs, overpriced dinner, good for large family functions.)

It was the type of day where the sun couldn’t decide whether or not it was going to peak through the clouds. The type of day where the rain flew sideways in the wind and you felt like you could fly. We piled back into the car. The heater was cranked on and the windows steamed while rain pattered the windows.

“Where are we going?” Claire’s dad asked, turning this way and that randomly down the winding streets. There was no immediate answer, no immediate desire to go back to campus, but no real solution as to where. I don’t know who came up with the suggestion of Point Defiance — maybe Claire? — but one way or another that became our destination.

“Where is this place?” Claire’s dad asked. “And what’s it called again? Point Conception?” Claire looked the type of annoyed where you are trying to hide your amusement while Gaea and I hid our smiles in pressed together lips.

We made it there (eventually) and ended up driving around the five mile loop. We stopped at Owen’s Beach, deciding that it would be a good idea to stretch our legs. We were out of the car for less than five minutes, still walking towards the Sound, when it started pouring. Understandably, we rushed back into the car, and continued on our way.

For someone battling the cold and the rain and the general confusion of being in a new place, it was understandable that Claire’s dad got confused. The exit signs come up quick and it is easy to pass them. We ended up driving around the loop at least three times, each time somehow missing the exit.

Claire’s dad: “We might actually be stuck here.”

Claire’s grandma: “At least we have each other.”

Dubbed by Gaea, “Awkward woods pic!”
From left to right: Claire, Talena, Gaea.

Time Three: With my Mother

One of the side-effects of living your whole life in a small, rural town, is that you aren’t used to driving in densely populated areas. The first time coming up here, my mom was nervous, to say the least. We didn’t do much wandering beyond campus, I think we only even went to Proctor District once. It was all very scheduled, she was on a time-crunch to get back home and I was only thinking about the fact that in a number of days I would be in college.

When she came back in May there was less of a rush. I was keen to show her parts of Tacoma and she was more than willing to see it all. We each got sandwiches from the Met, ginger ale, and one of The Cookie to share.

We went to Point Defiance, sat on a park bench, and had our first meal together in months.

My mom and I post-picnic dinner.

Time Four: To the Sound

It was something we had semi-seriously joked about doing for months. Let’s jump in the Sound! Do the Puget Plunge! I am honestly still surprised that it actually happened. Maggie sat on the shoreline of Owen’s Beach, I waded in to my knees, bouncing up on my toes as the swell from boats came near.

Claire, Maddy, and Gaea had more of an all-or-nothing attitude about the situation. Freezing in their bathing suits before getting in, I know for a fact that the water was less than enjoyable. It was more of a, “this is so stupid, but fun and these are the memories they were telling us about making” type of moment for them.

With the three of them shivering, Maggie and I mildly concerned and mildly amused, we went back to the car. Cranked up the heater. Drank hot chocolate. Laughed.

Maddy, freezing and looking absolutely adorable.

I always identified as a poet. I love the imagery and artistry of crafting careful strings of words to paint a picture. I still do. But now, I do a different kind of writing most of the time–I’ve accidentally become a news writer. Thanks to a friend’s suggestion that I apply for the Trail, I have fallen in love with journalism again.

I carry a bright red notebook with me almost everywhere. In it, I scribble down what’s happenign around me and the words of the people that I interview. When I get home, I pore over the notes I’ve taken, and then I turn those notes into stories, typing like mad. But they are different stories than I am used to writing, because these stories are true. And they’re so very important.

Since I started at the trail, I have covered issues of diversity and inclusion on our campus, financial aid (and when it’s not enough), Take Back the Night, and more. These are things people in this community need to know about, need to take action regarding. These are things I need to know about. By writnig about them, I learn about them.  M interviews are an informal classroom, and I am an eager pupil. I have access to our administration in a way I never would have imagined possible. I have spoken to so many incredibily smart and interesting people just because I told them “I’m a trail reporter, ” and for that, I am grateful.

I wrote for my high school newspaper, but I never called myself a journalist. It was something i did, not something I was. But now, I feel differently. Journalism has given me the chance to be the conduit for stories that need to be heard. I didn’t create them, but I shared them, and shared them with the dignity and the care that they deserve. And that means the world to me. It is a special job, and I am lucky to have it.

I’m still a poet, but today, I’m a journalist too.

Look for my byline in the Trail sometime.

There was a time when I was younger, before October of my sophomore year, when I didn’t know I was a fraidy cat. Then I went to the Phi Delt haunted house and I discovered that it scared me out of my wits. There were times when my friend had to hold my arm and drag me through. I am not the person you can use as a human shield when it looks like the skeleton is about to jump out at you. I am the person who uses you as a human shield. If necessary, I am willing to pick you up and move you so that I can do this. This year I decided to try the haunted house again to see if it was less scary with more people. I went with two of my suitemates and I had planned to walk in the middle with one of them in front of me and one of them behind me. The only problem was that one of them also wanted to be in the middle. So I grabbed her and put her behind me. In my defense, my legs started shaking before we even went in whereas she was cool and collected the entire time.

Afterwards, she said that we probably made a bigger spectacle than the actual haunted house. Part of this was because, as I said, I was willing to physically make her change positions with me. The other part was because when I get scared I like to punch things. As I was moving through the haunted house, I was throwing punches and kicks at the frat brothers jumping at out at us. Or at least I was throwing them in their general direction. I hope I didn’t actually hit anyone. I probably looked like someone in a very surreal kickboxing video. This made me feel calmer and more comfortable. I’m not sure how the frat guys felt about it.

In the end, it turned out to be a great stress reliever (once you got out) and I highly recommend it. I even learned a few new things about haunted houses. 1) The people doing it pick on the person in the middle because they know they are the most scared (so maybe my strategy wasn’t so good after all). 2) My friend who I remorselessly moved to the back was right; it’s best to just keep moving. And 3) If you’re going in a haunted house with me, you may want to stand out of punching distance, just in case.

You know what, I love nice people, and there are A LOT of nice people here. All of you first-year students (of which I am one) know what I mean. If I had a dollar for every time I heard, before even choosing the University, that the campus community was amazing, I would have a lot of dollars, or just fewer loans.

On the trail

Anyway, what may have seemed slightly overdone or romanticized to me before arrival, has only proven to be true time and time again. Whether it’s study buddies, or lunch buddies, or soccer buddies, or high-five-you-before-class buddies, I’m pretty sure I have more buddies here than I’ve ever had anywhere in my whole life. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when a residence buddy of mine walked up to me in the SUB and spoke some of the sweetest words to ever grace my ears: “Hey man, want to go on a hike today with some friends? I’ll drive.”

Uh, duh?

A little fall in the evergreens

In ten minutes I had ran home, thrown a bunch of hiking-related stuff into a backpack, filled up a water bottle, donned a hiking hat, and I was ready to go. We stopped off at Safeway in town to snag some lunch (Pop Tarts) and after having an interesting altercation with a self-service checkout that must’ve been lonely—it didn’t want us to leave—we were on the highway.

After being on the road for around a half an hour or so, I realized I had forgotten to ask, “Guys, where are we going?”

“Mt. Rainier, man!”

I fist-bumped myself.

It turned out Mt. Rainier just meant the National Park, and it was very cloudy, so we couldn’t see the mountain in the first place. But I didn’t care, I was going on a hike and I was happy. Very happy.

We eventually drove through Wilkeson, then Coronado, then crossed the breathtaking Fairfax Bridge where I had my first-ever conversation with an Alabaman, then passed the closed-for-the-season Carbon River Ranger Station, and finally pulled into our destination—a very small, mossy parking lot on the edge of the park.

The Fairfax Bridge

We jumped out, stretched out, and headed out with no real clue as to where. There was a small sign marking a trailhead not far off from the lot that advertised a “0.3 mile forest loop”.

“How nice?” I thought. “0.3 miles? Sounds like a dream.”

We decided it seemed promising enough and we set off. The trail was nice, flat, and complete with informational signs about the flora and fauna of the area, essentially a walk in the park. At around the 0.25 mile mark, however, things changed. To our left, we noticed a small paper sign in a plastic folder that read:

West Boundary Trail

Waterfalls: 1.5 miles

Ridge: 3 miles

Waterfalls? Heck yes. We exchanged glances and up we went. And up and up and up… I don’t think we ever stopped going up. I actually don’t think I’ve ever experienced that many switchbacks before in my life. It was nuts.

Waterfall from the bottom

Waterfall from the top

After an hour or so, we came across the ‘waterfalls’ denoted by the sign. They were beautiful, to say the least, and the scenery provided an excellent locale for a Pop Tart break. We pushed on and eventually were greeted by a magnificent blanket of fog. It blocked the trees above us, inhibiting our ability to gauge our current altitude as well as guess how much more climbing we were going to need to do before we reached the fabled ridge that we were starting to doubt actually existed. Nevertheless, there was nothing quite like being surrounded by fog in the deep green woods, the chilled air stinging your nose and settling silently on your skin; it was wonderful.

Fog lit up by the intermittent sun above the trees

Regardless of the beauty however, it was getting late, and we needed to head home, so we decided to turn around. What took us multiple hours to climb took around 30 minutes to descend. The fog disappeared, everything started to seem familiar, we passed the waterfall, and before we knew it we were back to the lot and our short-lived adventure was complete.

A look into the low-altitude forest

Later that night, I was unloading my backpack and noticed a brochure/map type document that I had taken off of a message board at the lot that talked about all of the trails in that area of the National Park. The document listed all of the trails in order from easiest to most demanding, and sure enough, at the top, was the West Boundary Trail. I wasn’t surprised.

Nevertheless, the trail was beautiful, fun, and perfect for a day hike. More importantly however, it was the perfect trail to enjoy with some buddies.

The forest loop trail

Happy trails,

Colton Born

Mics. Mic stands. 3 quarters. Speakons. XLRs. Speakers. Speaker stands. Monitors. Switchboard. AUX thingy. That’s everything, right? No wait, power cables. Dammit me.

Okay sound check time. Turn knobs and move the sliders. Pretend to know what I’m doing. Make eye contact with the performer and nod. Continue to pretend to know what I’m doing.

Performance time! More knob turning. More slider sliding. Turn mics on and off as needed. Try not to fall asleep while boss sits next to me. Keyword is try. Get distracted by pretty girl in audience. Think about what I had for breakfast that morning. Miss my cue to switch a mic on. Fumble. Be told by boss to pay attention to the stage. Stay laser focused and awake for the rest of the performance. Tell myself to do better next time. Don’t.

I totally know what all those knobs do.

Keep an eye out for me the next time you check out something put on by Student Programs (Which just so happens to be the Halftime Show at the homecoming game against PLU). You might catch me randomly turning knobs.

Like 90% sure these control sound.

I won a tube of Macbeth lip balm today. I was going to spend the afternoon doing homework but then my professor announced that the English department was having a “Literary Trivia Night” and I decided to goof off there instead. It was a blast. We had pizza from the cellar and literature related prizes like an Edgar Allen Poe lunchbox and Shakespearean insult gum. We also had something called “Head Game” where you throw balls at each other’s heads—just because. They really should have gone ahead and called it “gathering of the English nerds” instead.

The questions were quite hard. Most teams only got about thirteen out of twenty-four correct. I never thought I’d get asked what bird Lewis Carroll drew himself into in the illustrations of Alice and Wonderland, but I did. For the record, the answer is a dodo bird. We were also asked what famous work besides The Waste Land was published in 1922. The answer was Ulysses. I knew this because I slogged my way through parts of it in freshman year. It said things like:

“Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy.”

If I was going to have to read a book that said things like that then it was about time I got something practical out of it. Even if that something was a tube of Macbeth lip balm and some Shakespearean insult gum. I never liked Joyce. When I was first reading Ulysses, I used to wish that Bloom (the protagonist) had gotten run over by the tram car in one of the early chapters so the book would be over faster. Obfuscation for the sake obfuscation doesn’t appeal to me. It’s funny; the one criterion we’re not supposed to use in defining literature is how much someone would actually enjoy reading the book.

The best thing about the trivia night though was the vibe. Everyone was very friendly and welcoming. When I said I didn’t know who my team was going to be the group next to me immediately invited me to join theirs. It was fun for me to be around people who also thought that a good time was sitting around eating pizza and trying to figure out what the five canons of rhetoric were. It was definitely worth skipping the homework.

Inside Out is probably one of the best movies I’ve seen in recent memory. If you haven’t seen it, you really need to. Also, you should stop reading because spoilers!

One of my favorite parts from the movie is how the memories are stored and associated with one of the 5 core emotions: Joy, Sadness, Disgust, Fear, and Anger. It got me thinking, what memories do I have that make me feel those emotions?

Anger – One time I punched a hole in a wall in my house.

Fear – My parents always made me park in the garage at night. They said that because it was a somewhat decent car (it was 10 years old and had dents and scratches from my sister and mom), it needed to be parked inside.

Like many teenagers, I snuck out. I left my house probably around 12:30 and didn’t get back until around 3ish. Pretty much the entire time, I was scared that I would be caught and have my keys taken away. As a Californian, having a car is crucial to life. Without one, well, good luck.

Looking back, I realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. My parents were heavy sleepers and their room and the garage were on opposite ends of the house. But in the moment, I was scared that my life would be pretty much over.

Disgust – One time I ate broccoli.

Sadness – One of my dogs, Maxwell, died this past summer. When he didn’t respond when I called his name, I went to look for him in my backyard. Then I found him.

Maxwell was an 11 year old black Chihuahua mutt. I got Maxwell when I was in kindergarten and he left just after I graduated high school. I never really found out what else he was, but it didn’t matter. He was my dog. He was family. And I never got to say goodbye.

Joy – My high school puts on a event every Spring called F.A.N.T.A.S.T.I.C.S. (Fun at Night Through Activities and Skits to Increase Class Spirit). It’s essentially battle of the classes with skits, dances and games. Traditionally, Seniors take first, Juniors takes second and so on. However, my class was…. a bit non traditional. We never got better than 3rd place our first 3 years. It was really upsetting for many of the participants, myself included. We knew it didn’t matter in the end, but it still sucked knowing that our class wasn’t as unified or dedicated as other classes.

We went all out for Senior year. We worked harder. We practiced more. We pulled not one but two all nighters working on props. And it paid off. We finally won first place! You can’t imagine how loud we were when ASB declared us as winners.

But the memory that brings me joy isn’t when we were declared winners. It’s the whole day that happened before it. Driving a pick-up truck for the first time to move our props. All of the rehearsals we had to do. Cheering on my classmates at the games between each class’ performance. Our actual, final performance. That day, that whole day, is one of my favorite memories.