This edition is dedicated to the special people who have helped our community grow and thrive over the last 60 years. We thank the founders of this magazinefor planting the seedsand our beloved chaplain
Father Noah Moreyfor tending our blossoms.
--
May you always spread seeds of joy and love wherever you
go.
Dear Readers,
CambridgeRoadLiteraryMagazineis one of Bishop Ireton’s longest-lasting institutions; it has represented generations of Ireton teachers and students alike, each different shoots of the rich root system here. Cambridge Roadis an anthology of the talent that has been sown and watered in our community for the past 60 years.
This year’s edition “Back to Our Roots” represents the diverse and creative environment that we are so lucky to enjoy at Bishop Ireton. We honor the stories, voices, and visions that first gave this publication life. The poetry, prose, and art revisit the creative origins that have made our community colorful for so long.
As we mark six decades of storytelling, we pay tribute to the artists, writers and readers who have shaped this magazine. Thank you for everyone who has tended the soil, watered the seeds, and pruned the leaves of this magazine. You have made this edition and all past editions possible, and for that we are eternally grateful.
This issue is not just a look back, but a step forward into the bright future in store for us. Bishop Ireton will continue to grow and bloom, and we are excited for the new additions to our “root system.”
Here’s to the sprout from which we came—and the tree into which we will continue to grow.
Warmly,
Annaliese Ludvigson 2024-2025 Editor-in-Chief
Every time I set pen to paper, I say to myself: I am no writer no poet no artist but I had this idea, and it would be a shame if my cowardice killed it before it even got a chance to live.
Caitlin Stedt
Mirabelle Brantley
Look up, look down, Look all around.
The trees have fallen
The leaves have too.
Nothing is new.
The water is blue
Just like the sky, The reflection of which I only just espy.
I look up, I look down, I’m now stuck like glue.
Staring at the water, Staring at myself, Something new.
Lucero Carcamo
Cherri Hansford
I am a living, breathing being–a person with depth and substance, capable of more than meets the eye. I am my own individual. But at the beginning of my sophomore year, I doubted it. Suddenly the parts of me that made me ‘human’ were artificial, falling in line with what the world wanted of me with no choice but to play along.The feeling was so foreign–I didn’t know I could feel this way, standing naturally with the rest, yet oh so disconnected from myself. It was strangely riveting, this question of what makes me, me, and what makes you, you. I couldn’t help but wonder:What does it mean to be human?
It's difficult to pinpoint why I started to feel this way–it’s a question that’s plagued my mind for months. All I remember is waking up one day, and I wasn’t myself. I laughed at jokes I didn’t find funny. I did things I didn’t enjoy, all for the world’s approval. I lost touch with myself–or maybe I never truly knew who I was. What does it mean to be Cherri?
Is it my hobbies? Maybe my interest in cosplay could lend an answer, or maybe it's my love for forensic science–I was always told I’d make a good mortician. It could also be my creative mind and interest in the arts, considering my love and enjoyment for tech theater and handmade props. These things define so much of my life, but do they make me, me? Is this an acceptable way to be?
I questioned everything and everyone: friends and family, online forums, even philosophy books, anything that could, by proxy, tell me what it means to be Cherri. Yet with each answer, I grew more unsettled, like a puzzle missing a piece of itself. Answers like standing on two legs, looking towards a higher being and even the ability to love didn’t resonate with me. There had to be more to it, right?
Wrong–or at least not in the ways I expected. The answer was much more unsatisfactory, and when it clicked, I felt silly.
Cherri Hansford
I was asking everyone except the voice that mattered most–my own. No one could tell me how to be human, not in a way I’d accept. I had to figure it out for myself, and I felt most human doing things that felt natural to me: when I design sets and run shows, when my cosplays come out just how I imagined it would, and when I get to rant and rave about the stages of decomposition, I felt the most alive–like I’m my own person.
So, what does it mean to be human? Who knows, but that’s the beauty in it, isn’t it? My answer is one of many–it's personal. It’s what feels true to me, characteristics that make me different from the rest. I’d rather be an individual than lose my identity trying to blend in, and that to me, is what it means to be human.
Helena Coleman
I am extremely fortunate to have lived more than half of my life overseas. My family and I followed my father, a diplomat in service to the United States Department of State, overseas. These experiences have provided me with a greater perspective on life, and it has been truly a blessing in helping me grow as a person. However, these opportunities came with many challenges, setbacks and obstacles.
One significant challenge I faced was moving to three different schools in a five-year period. This obstacle was enhanced by the fact that these schools were in three different countries: the United States, Spain and Portugal. Going from New York to two different countries was a seismic shift in my life. I had to say goodbye to family, friends and teammates. I had to learn new languages and new cultures, meet new people, adjust to new schools and assimilate to new ways of life. Prior to leaving the U.S. and moving to Portugal, I had been a competitive lacrosse player, and my dream was to play in college. I had played lacrosse since I was five years old, and I was very good. In fact, after making the freshman lacrosse team as a middle schooler, my parents were contacted by my coach. He informed them of my talent, and he told them that I had a good chance of earning a college scholarship. My excitement was short-lived because I found out that my family was moving to a country that didn't play lacrosse. At first, this was very difficult, but I quickly learned that my life could change in a minute, and that all my well-thought-out plans could be altered. This also made me advocate for myself. As soon as I arrived in Portugal, I personally met with the Athletic Director at my new school. I asked for some advice, and he provided me with multiple opportunities in other sports both inside and outside of school. I re-defined my goals, proactively reached out to players and coaches and worked extremely hard. My efforts paid off, and I am currently being recruited by multiple division one track and field teams.
These experiences forced me to learn how to adapt quickly, have an open mind, foster new relationships, practice self-advocacy and find success both inside and outside of the classroom. By comparison, my older brother and sister, who are twins, were experiencing these same challenges, but they weren’t alone: they had one another as “a built-in best friend.” I was alone and had to figure things out on my own.The skills I learned have helped me during more recent times in my life. While living in Portugal as a teenager, I was blessed to have developed many lasting relationships. I was very comfortable living in Portugal and enjoyed the friendships that I had built. When it was time to return to the U.S., my feet were taken from underneath me and I had to start over. I knew I had a choice to make. I could actively rekindle these types of relationships or give up and remain stagnant. I chose to search and actively build new relationships. This philosophy has served me well: I am now a member of multiple sports teams and have developed many new friendships both in and out of school.
Having these experiences has caused me to reflect on how many other people have been through similar circumstances and were able to overcome them. This way of thinking has enabled me to overcome many challenges in my life, and it will continue to help me face any unforeseen obstacles that may arise in the future. Whatever the challenge, I have always come out of the situation a little stronger, smarter and more confident in myself.
I’ve been viewed as a synonym my entire life. I’ve always been compared to the person next to me and how we are similar but not the same. Growing up with a twin brother, I experienced a mix of companionship and competition. Navigating the world alongside my brother, sharing not just a birthday but a special relationship, has shaped me into the person that I am today.This connection to a person has brought both blessings and challenges with many morals.
Growing up, the distinction between “ me” and “ us” was sometimes ignored, playing a big role in balancing our individual identity as well as our shared experiences. If one of us was hungry and wasn’t craving our mom ’s food, the other one would eventually feel the same way, and we’d text each other about what we should eat, surprisingly sharing the exact same thought. Wearing the same color shirt as we were lounging in the house every so often was a gesture only we understood, but we only noticed if it was pointed out by someone else.
Being a twin also meant the constant comparison, whether it be academics, sports, or even our social lives.Teachers often asked who was doing better in this subject or who was better at school overall. It was always a question of who’s better, making us feel pressured to compete with each other in school. This dynamic led us to realize that putting us in different classrooms, when offered, was the best way for us, giving us a chance to develop our own personalities, interests, and senses of self.This gave me a chance to start pursuing my own passions, engaging in different sports and hobbies, that allowed me to have my own name apart from my brother.
This journey of self identity without comparison taught me the value and importance of differences. My brother and I are not just two humans coming together to make a unit we are two individuals with our own goals and aspirations. While we are technically “two in one,” our interests have led us to explore different sides of life, exploring our own visual perspectives.
Tamra Ntambwe
Being a twin has taught me the significance of partnership. Working together, whether it be in school, projects or community service, allows us to combine our strengths and limit our weaknesses. Our teamwork has shaped my approach to my lifelong friendships and group work. I have realized the value of listening and not taking the importance of collaboration for granted.
As we approach college life and beyond, I am filled with hopefulness.The thought that we will be on completely different paths while maintaining our bond is both exciting and intimidating. Our childhood experiences made us who we are today, and to appreciate the growth of our individual journeys. Being a twin gave me a lifelong partner. As I go into this new phase of adulthood, I will always cherish and use the uniqueness of my individual self, enthusiastic to take on the future with my brother by my side, yet I am also preparing to define myself in my own story.
CW Johnston
CW Johnston
I am the pluck of a guitar string, the bow of a cello, the beat of a pop song, the bridge of a ballad,
I am the buzzing of bees, the chirping of birds, the chiming of wind, the crashing of waves,
I am the shouting of anger, the sobbing of pain, the singing of joy, the silence of prayer,
I am the symphony performing before you, but you choose to look and not listen.
Whatisyourname?
As I respond to the question with my name
My upper teeth press against my lower lip and my tongue flicks the “la” as it exits my mouth
Sounds of terror and the foreign are heard
The once curious expression on your face fades
Into a disconcerting one.
So you ask once more,
Whatisyourname?
ف Laam ل Sin س
Taa. . . - Doyouhaveanickname? - Pal
The smiling face returned with extended comfort
Your eyes that were once bright with curiosity
Grew slowly dull the moment
I closed the curtains to my identity
Since the beams were blinding you.
I was born to fly
To spread my wings
And feel a freedom so blissful and pure
That herons would weep in envy,
But I am bound to Walk climb swim
I am bound to
The rough and hateful and terrible ground.
I touch it and a rotting sickness fills me
A contempt and disgust for the world I occupy
I shout I loathe I hate I curse
Why Why Why must it all be this way?
I am you you are me
We are me we are you
I seek what you seek yet I seek It in a world I only occupy in my mind
I do not hold a hope
For the world, for this bitter miasma
But how could I bring about
A world of my own?
Megan Danaher
Such an angelic light
Others flash around me
But how could they turn my gaze
From such a glorious sight?
‘Tis the voice that speaks to me
With the passion of my heart
And a tongue as fair as the rising sun
And just as blistering
I heed it
I obey the light
I scream, I scream
I endlessly burn from this blight
How do I turn away
From this purpose that fills me?
How could I live with such a fear?
No. I’ll just follow the light.
How could this reverent comfort
Have such a demonic pain?
It brings me life
Yet it will scorch me until there is nothing left
Close yet far
Thin yet wide
Reach and grab you come up short
Remember your sights
Blur your thoughts.
Think your vision And set sight on your dreams. When one is lost, another replaces it. Though they are different a shallow deception. Similar in notion opposites are the same.
Marianne Eleanora Josephine Kline yawned and stretched, only pausing to check the time before she got up from her desk. It was mid-afternoon, and her last class of the day had just finished. She had a good hour or two before she needed to head out for the dinner her friend Elsie was hosting, enough time to relax a bit before she got ready. She shuffled about the shelves next to her desk, pulling out a book of short stories to pass the time with. It was one she had been meaning to read for a while, a collection of spooky doppelgänger stories that Elsie’s friend, Sara, had only recently lent her, but recommended countless times before. Book in hand, she swept past the decorative mirror in the hallway and into the kitchen. She grabbed a snack and a cup of tea and sat down at the table to read.
Just over an hour later, she emerged from the book. It was just as captivating as her friend had claimed, and she judged the time well-spent. But since she had come up for air, she checked the time.Time to get ready. She scrambled for something to use as a bookmark before setting the book down. She left it lying on the table, ready to be picked up again after the dinner. She made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, turning her favorite story from the book over and over in her mind as she did. As she passed the decorative mirror in the hallway, something in her periphery caught her eye. She paused to glance in the mirror, but there was nothing; it was just her reflection. She shivered a bit and kept walking.
Once in her bedroom, she opened up her closet to start pulling out dresses. She had put some thought into what she was going to wear when she had RSVP’d, but she hadn’t actually made a decision then. There was a dark green one, with sparkles spreading across the bodice; a sky blue one, with fluttery short sleeves; a purplish one with a fuller skirt and a ribbon around the waist. Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her door, she held them up one at a time. She twisted this way and that consideringly, making faces at her reflection as she deliberated. She loved the green one, but it seemed a bit much for the occasion.Was the blue one more the mood? Or maybe the purple one? She wasn’t a huge fan of fluttery sleeves; they tended to flop the wrong way too easily. So that settled her on the purple one. She hung it on the edge of her bed; she’d put it on after she freshened up, put up her hair, and did her makeup.
All her stuff for that was already in the bathroom, so she just made sure there was a stool where she could sit in front of the vanity mirror. She popped on some quiet music, undid her braid, and splashed some water on her face. After wiping her face dry, she looked up and took a moment to study her face in the mirror. Her reflection studied her back, as she tilted her head side to side and up and down. She paused, frowning at the mirror. She had thought she saw something in the face frowning back, a glint of mischief in the eyes, a wisp of hair moving, that wasn’t in her own face. But looking at the reflection straight on, she dismissed it as her imagination. She picked up her hairbrush, closing her eyes as she started to run it through her hair. “Come on, Marianne, you’re imagining things,” she mumbled to herself.
Setting down the brush, she looked at the mirror again and made a face at her reflection. Obviously, it made the face right back at her. She squinted at it for a moment before starting to pull her hair into a half-up braid. Something seemed off, but well. She had just read a couple of spooky stories, no one could blame her for feeling slightly spooked. “Marianne Eleanora, pull yourself together,” she sternly admonished herself in an undertone.
She flipped her braid around, grabbing a string to tie it off with, suspiciously watching her reflection cross-eyed as she finished off the braid. That done, she flipped her hair back, grabbed a couple bobby pins, and pinned the braid into a bun. Next, she began pulling the things she wanted for the evening’s makeup from the drawer below the vanity, briefly turning her back to the mirror in the process. A strange creeping feeling ran down her spine. Marianne shivered, not bothering to keep quiet as she spoke to herself. “Marianne Eleanora Josephine, calm down.There’ s nothing there, only the mirror.” But she still whipped her head up to check, slamming the things onto the counter and the drawer shut. It was just the mirror over the sink, the way it had always been, and her reflection mirroring her pale face. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
“See?” She told herself, forcing herself to untense. Her eyes opened and looked directly into her reflection’ s. “Nothing to worry about. You’re all keyed up over nothing. So, get a grip, Marianne Eleanora Josephine Kline.”
And her reflection smirked at her, tilting its head. And tilting its head. And tilting its head.That wasn’t her reflection. She jolted backwards, knocking over the stool, and tumbling over herself until her back was against the wall. She was gasping for air, white as a sheet, eyes blown wide. And she could still see the figure in the vanity image looming over her, no longer pretending to be her reflection. She found herself unable to move, unable to speak. The creature reached a clawed hand out, out, out through the mirror towards her. And then the other. Twisting, stretching, contorting itself unnaturally around the frame of the mirror, grabbing hold of the countertop with the first hand and the frame with the other, almost spiderlike in its movements. It peeled itself slowly, horribly, out of the frame, expanding as it did so. She was unable to look away from the grotesque sight. And suddenly the girl found herself looking into the bathroom, as if behind a glass wall.
Marianne Eleanora Josephine Kline stretched. The girl behind the mirror banged on the glass, panicking, screaming, but she couldn’t care less. Oh, it felt good to be out. She turned off the light as she left the bathroom.
i have issues, that i need to face head on.
i am pushed too hard. Their expectations, My expectations.
i am too serious. i analyze, fear, worry, stress.
i am not good enough. i feel low, bad, distracted, disappointed i do not meet my expectations.
i need to address this. There are obstacles that i need to face.
i need to relax, be happy. i need support, love, advice, trust. i need to respect myself. i need my family, my friends.
i don’t know how to manage my life.
i need change, control.
I cannot lose my true self. I will be ok, happy.
This will take time, persistence, determination. There is no easy fix; it will not be immediate.
I work hard, I have talent. I will succeed.
I will achieve my goal.
Eva Pierre
My soul is a house with burgundy walls
Movies always reeling
Music always on
And a tiny window cracked for a cameo of the sun.
Flower pots cover creaky boards–chipped paint is concealed by portraits.
My home is discussed between my neighbors, But my house, I could never trade it.
This home is no stranger to a flood or two, Its bones and structure are dated.
And while the neighbors say my soul is cluttered
My loves say my soul is decorated.
Caitlin Stedt
I found my soul again
I remembered I could dance alone
And be all wanderlusty and carefree
And wear yellow ribbons in my hair
Or headbands and barrettes if I so pleased
And I could sit on the floor and taste the rain
And drink in the sounds of the drops
Dancing Swan Lake on the roof
And I could wear two necklaces at once
When I couldn’t choose between the two
And listen to folk music while I clean my room
Or I could watch hockey without knowing what's going on
Because I like the racket the sticks make when they crash together
Or the way the skates slice through the ice making the most delicious sound that I could almost taste
And I remembered I could hug my father, my sister, my brother
And call my grandmas and tell them I miss them
And send an email or two to the people who have been there all along
I could light candles and rebuy the same scent
Because I don’t have to try them all at once
And I can still read poetry even though I won’t read all the ones in existence
But at least I’ve still read my favorites
I could feel God in the world
And eat strawberries with chocolate hazelnut spread
Even though they have sugar but sugar is ok because it makes life sweet
Sugar might be the closest thing to heaven anyway
I could pick up that pretty leaf on the ground
Or have a spoonful of honey just for fun
And wake up at nine instead of seven
And maybe wear pink and orange instead of the usuals
And I could play the same song over and over again if I want to
Because I'd be the only one listening
And I could sing along to the songs I hear even though I confess I’ve never had a day of voice lessons
And I could take the long way home in the cold just to see the stars
And the freezing tips of my fingers would be worth it
For a memory
But more so I can make a castle out of dirt because I don't have sand
And it will still be pretty
And I can let the worms wiggle and squirm in my hands before I put them down
Because it’s life and it’s ok
Sunday morning starts off with the dread of knowing how long the shower will take. The process starts with shampooing. My scalp is not as easily accessible as I thought.The deep conditioner feels like a lifeline as I rake it through my coarse curls.
The water temperature is a careful balance but never seems just right. After the last rinse, I fight with my curls that beg for constant moisture. The air conforms my hair into an afro that requires patience to style. Every wash is a reminder: my hair is as powerful as it is complex.
Megan Danaher
Megan Danaher
Let me linger here.
Here the overgrown path to the sea.
Do you remember?
You stood just there, With your white summer dress blowing in the wind, And a smile too good and too sweet.
Here the pile of boulders near the shore. Do you remember?
We used to lay on their warm shoulders, Pointing up at the clouds, At castles and babies and turtles. I looked at you, And you at me, And for a moment, New love never felt more real.
Here the sand and the sea foam And the salty air. I asked if you loved me. You closed your eyes and furrowed your brow, Whispering something the wind tried to carry away. But I caught it and held it close, Folding it up and tucking it away.
“I can’ t. ”
Let me linger here, Just a moment more.
Let me feel what it is to feel,
To reach deep into my heart,
To pull out those words you whispered all those years ago, Crinkled and tearstained (Mine or yours?)
But still bleeding with regret (Mine and yours).
And watch as the wind carries it away.
Megan Danaher
Means
Warm
like the sun in winter
Warm but not warm enough
Stepping outside from the icy shade
Into her beautiful rays
Brings back echoes of summer; But it fades into chill too quickly,
Like the feeble clouds that fade from the ashy sky
This sun is different.
In the summer
She is brilliant dazzling fiery
Taking what isn't hers
Giving what isn't deserved
Watching her children bathing in her rays
And baring their skin to her motherly touch Or hiding inside for fear of Her burning gaze.
But in the winter
She fades.
Bright, Too bright, But not bright enough And no amount of her light could melt the frost from our bones. She fades.
Warmth of the sun in winter
Warm but only for a moment
Hannah Hawald
The sweater you gave me, I outgrew
The woolen thread is faded blue
I lied and said it wasn’t true
I pulled the thread, the hole just grew
The indigo was bold and bright
It’s dulled since then, an ugly sight
It aches to stand, it hurts to write
You did not know, I thought you might
I’ll throw out this sweater soon one day
The clouds turn it an ugly gray
I hate this color anyway
For now, my closet’s where it’ll stay
The sun sets earlier now
The trees rumble at the thought of a new day
The birds whisper to one another of how Could this season slip away
The insects have fallen and the fish have spread
The sweaters come out of storage
I shiver and my hands turn red
Maybe my mom made some porridge
I wonder if it's too late to say I miss you
I think about the late summer nights
The raging cool waters of blue
When the heat would hit just right
I'm sorry I took you for granted
Your now orange leaves have fallen
And I know my feelings about you have been planted
Maybe I'll find a hole to crawl in
I'll wake up next year
When the sun rises early and it sets late
I hope you won't shed a tear
We can just call it fate
Andrea Coronado
The lay of the land, The cracked code. No loose strands, No secrets stowed. How nice to have Someone to know, Just until The crack shows.
A retcon
Arisen with dawn. A trick
Only to make me sick.
Else how to explain?
A shattered pane Yet all the same.
Something new Yet never changed.
Julien Goulet
A saying goes
"I think I know"
That time heals all wounds"
What a silly saying
As they sit here weighing on my mind,
Now that's the truth
I could never forget
What she and I said
Around those two red doors
And now, at my end
My dear friend
I wish I could call you just once more
Or that doctors office
As I think upon this
Leave me, it never will
All of my memories
Some bitter, others sweet
Collect like an orange pill bottle
And if I could rewind
And cheat God and time
I would change all that I could
I would twist the pain And hurt and strain
Until it all felt good
I would apologize For myself and for my lies
And I would tell them all what happened
I would laugh and sing And do almost everything
Until my life, I would be back in
The present presents
An opportunities for amends And for the truth to finally be told
But those who do I yearn to be like you For you are far too bold
So I sit with my thoughts
As my hearttightly knots
Tears flowing, throat choking
Yes, I would say it all
Swallow my pride and take the
FallIf only I ever spoke
I did not want to let go of her. For the first time I had no joke to make, no snarky comment. I was really going to miss her, more than she realized. It has been over two hundred and fifty days since I have seen her.That hug was the last time I saw her, my best friend. I don’t think I’ll get used to softball or mornings in the cafeteria without her, and I wish I hadn’t taken those times for granted. If I could hug her one last time, I would squeeze even tighter. I miss her.
CW Johnston
Evie Ludvigson
Put on your dress of dark melancholy
And dance until your heart stops bleeding
Flowing from your mouth, a sweet melody
Forever sealed and seething
Your flowering eyes and flickering hair
engraved in my heart’s beats
Your tears, swallowing my air
Forever stained on the sheets
Deserved is your hatred for me
It is my fate to be your devil
I did love you, my banshee, Forever with regret, I will wrestle
Moonlit Maples
And sleepless nights
The hollow thrill that fills her life
Fire Horizon
And a deep, dreary dread
She wants to stay and lay in her bed
Fluorescent Bulbs
Suck her fleeting energy dry
There is a pounding in her head, she wants to cry
Bluelight Screen
Takes her precious waking hours
She tries to rinse the stress off in the shower
Moonlit Maples
Ahead, another sleepless night
A cycle she will repeat all her short life
It was Mother’s Day, my grandfather had gone to meet the God above. Yet I was silent . My mind was somewhere else, numb to the sorrow. Is this the rightfeeling?
Do I decide how to grieve?
Movies never tell how to grieve . Why am I worrying about how I will act - at school tomorrow Instead of for my mother, sister, family.
Sorrow would come at a moment’s notice, Regret, only once, now lies far away. Now, numbwas all I could feel.
Numb is the only way I can describe it, A whirlwindof confusion, sorrow, uncertainty and fear -of the day ahead.
Danny Canty
I see lives well at peace
given sorrow words, the grief that does not speak for thy soul's flight, Is but a walking shadow, a tale full of sound and fury
Crafted to pluck from Memory a rooted sorrow; the death of Renown and Grace
For disgrace that enveloped the tyrant's feast
Drank from cups, drops of sorrow
All care is gone,
For after ruin's wasteful entrance
Has gone and hid
Lindsey Evans
Go back to your roots he said
Go back to the house and your bed
Go back to the char and the ash he said
Go lay in the dirt and be sad
Oh look at my roots, how they burn I said
I cry and I stand over them
I wish they would grow so I water them
Water them with my tears, they don’t grow I said
Then take me away to a place, he said And it could make us feel safe
A place yet it wasn’t our home I said,
But home wasn’t home, not to me I said
I yearn for a place to call home he said
For all of my roots to grow back
But if I go back to that house, he said
My roots will burn all along with them
My brother’s roots are burning too I said
How do I handle those flames
I water and water and water them
The flames they hurt all that I love I said
Oh why would someone from above I said
He sat and he listened to me then said
Oh he has a plan with the ash he said
But why oh why did I have to be the ash I said
When others were allowed to be trees I said
Oh I was born with my roots burnt I said Maybe, oh, Maybe
That’s beautiful he said
But really it all just makes me mad I said
Mad that I can’t be a tree I said
Mad I can’t be evergreen I said
Well fine go ahead and be mad he said
But the world needs people like you who are ash
To help the trees grow, and be glad
An old tree stands alone on a hill
Its leaves curl
Its branches so sturdy
They barely sway with the wind
But a hard snow hits
And the tree falls to the ground
Its ugly roots face up to the sky
Weak
Ugly
Scary Roots
We know why the tree has fallen.
Time passes
Snow melts away
And then the tree becomes a home
Little squirrels curl up in the tree
Hollowing its trunk for a warm place
And though the tree is long dead
The animals live on inside of it
Life is a raindrop, Flowing down from a mountain. Racing down a stream, Blending in with the river, Drifting in the deep, blue sea.
Bakos
I love pink tulips in fresh bloom. Their beauty is like a beautiful ballroom. It isn’t just their dainty shape. It’s the color pink that blooms throughout the landscape. If you look inside and see the work, You may just see a busy bee smirk. When spring is near, and the warmth is here, The tulips bloom, and I am, once again, filled with cheer.
Mico De Angel
Caitlin Stedt
Kat Skowronek
It was winter, when my goddaughter was born. I met her at the christening, a sweet little baby girl cradled in my niece’s arms. I cooed over the sleeping child, as relatives are wont to do, and congratulated my niece and her husband. Shetakesafteryou,dear;she’llgrowupto bebeautiful , I told my niece. She’llbebrightasastar .
My niece had laughed. Good!We’renamingherEstelle . And she had kissed the babe’s forehead and leaned into her husband’s arm.
I couldn’t stay long after the christening, and I live too far away to be around as much as I would have liked. But I still made an effort to visit as often as I could. Each time I came, my niece wrapped the child up to her chest, and the pair of us would bake bread together. Then, only three months after the christening, my niece fell ill. I still came and baked, but she was no longer able to help.
Auntie,I’mworried , she said. Idon’tthinkIamgoingtorecover fromthisone.
and
Auntie,I’mworried.He’sgettingdistant,Ithinkhe’safraidtolose meandistryingtolessenthepain.ButIspeaktoyoumorethanI speaktohimthesedays;heactsmoremarriedtohisworkthanhe istome.
and
Auntie,I’mworried.Willmydaughterhaveamother?Willher fatherbepresentenoughtoraiseher?Watchoverherforme.
And after five months, she was gone. Her husband did not remarry right away, but he shut me out of the house. He had never approved of my side of his wife’s family, and magic had always frightened him.
I still watched the child grow from a distance, and I saw when he remarried to a widow with two daughters already. I saw when he grew distant to his new wife, neglectful of his family. I saw when his ship crashed and my goddaughter’s stepmother, who held no love for the girl, began to treat her as a servant. I longed to reach out, to help my goddaughter, to take her away from the unkind household. But I didn’t have anywhere to bring her. My home has never been safe for humans, I can never stay long in the mortal realm, and I didn’t know anyone who might be willing to take her in and treat her well.
Estelle only knew of me distantly, so I was surprised when she began composing letters to me, in the dead of night. And my desire to help tripled–- at the very least, I longed to visit, to let her know that I heard her, that I cared. But the ban had never directly been lifted, and I was afraid that my visiting would only make things harder for her. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to visit while her stepmother and stepsisters were there, and at least one of them was always in the house.
DearFairyGodmother,Idon’trememberyouverywell.Canyouhearme? You’remagic,afterall.Ifyoucanhearme,pleasetakemeawayfromhere.I don’tthinkStepmotherlovesme.
DearFairyGodmother,mystepsistersseemtohaverealizedthattheycan treatmethesamewaythatStepmotherdoes.Theyarerevelingintheir newfoundpoweroverme.
DearFairyGodmother,todaywastiring.Sometimes,IthinkStepmother goesoutofherwaytomakemoreworkforme.
DearFairyGodmother,areyouevenreal?Ifeelsoalone,sometimes.
DearFairyGodmother,I’vealwaysthoughttherewassomethingwrong aboutthewaymyfamilytreatsme.Butmaybethisisjusthowfamilyis.I can’trememberanyotherwaytobe.
Kat Skowronek
DearFairyGodmother,Iliedyesterday.Butmybettermemoriesareso foggytheymayaswellnotexist.
DearFairyGodmother,itseemssillytostartmythoughtslikethis,but I’ vebeendoingitsolongthatImayaswellcontinuetodoso.
DearFairyGodmother,sometimesIwonderiftheseamstresswould takemeonasanapprentice.ButIthinkI’mtoooldforan apprenticeship.
DearFairyGodmother,everysooftenI’ mtemptedtostartajournal forthesethoughts.ButI’ mafraidStepmotherormystepsistersmight finditandreadmyprivatethoughts.
DearFairyGodmother,I’ mworkingontamingthemicethatlivein thegarden.IthinkIcanteachthemhowtodoafewtricksby midsummer.
DearFairyGodmother,anotherlongday.Notmuchelsetosay.I’ m exhausted.
DearFairyGodmother,theysaytheprincekeepsturningdownthe youngwomenthathisparentsinvitetothepalace.Theysayhisfather isgettingdesperate.
DearFairyGodmother, “they”wereright.Theprincewillbehostinga three-nightmasqueradeballattheendofthesummer,forevery eligibleyoungladyinthecityandthenearesttowns.
DearFairyGodmother,ourinvitationarrivedtoday.Stepmothertold meIcanattendtheball,ifIcanfindtheappropriateattireformyself! I’mnotsurehowI’ lldoit,butI’ dlovetogo.
DearFairyGodmother,I’ mmakingmyselfagowninsecret,sothat mystepsisterscannotsabotagemywork.Anightofdancingandfine foodwillbealovelychangeofpace.
Kat Skorownek
DearFairyGodmother,I’ vefinishedthecostume-andjustintime, too!I’ llshowStepmothertomorrow,there’ snowayshe’ llstopmefrom comingalong.
DearFairyGodmother,mystepsistersshreddedthedressandshattered themask.There’ snowayIcanrepairitintime.I’ mnotgoingtothe masquerade.
DearFairyGodmother,Isupposetheonenicethingaboutbeingleft behindisthatIhavethehousetomyselfforthenight.
And that was my chance. I could finally come help, do something for my goddaughter. So I went, as quickly as I could. I introduced myself, and we talked and cried and talked some more. I showed her how to fix the mask, painting over the seams with gold. I fixed the dress as we spoke, and conjured some shoes, and told her to come home before midnight; to stay safe and have a good time. And I promised to return the next night, once her stepmother and stepsisters had left for the ball.
And I did. She waited for me nervously and showed me her mask the moment I arrived. She had sewn paper flowers to the mask, as though they were sprouting from the golden seams, changing the design just enough to stay fashionable with very little effort. I approved, and she looked relieved. Iwouldhaveapprovedofanychangesyoumade,you know,I told her. Itisyourcostume,Iwantyoutobehappywithit. And I sat down and embroidered flowers across the dress, to match the mask, as she told me about the first night.
ImusthavepassedStepmotherandmystepsisterstwoorthree timesbetweendances.Andthebestpart,Godmother,wasthat theydidn’ trecognizemeatall!SoIhadalovelytimedancing,and didn’ tneedtoworryatall.
I sent her off with the same instructions as before- stay safe, have a good time, and return before midnight; and with the same promise to return again the next night.
She waited outside for me that final night, to show me her mask. Her stepmother and stepsisters had been too tired to do anything and had left her alone the whole day. So she had been ambitious. She had added tiny beads, spiraling across any previously empty space in shimmering swirls. The effect was stunning. When I had recovered from my awe, I added beads to the gown’s neckline and sleeves to match. Again, she told me about the previous night as I worked.
Ispoketoafewoftheotheryoungladiesbetweenthedances, Godmother.Theyallseemedverytakenwiththeprince.Idon’tknow howtheycouldtellwhichonehewas,therehavebeensomany gentlemenwearingcrownsaspartoftheircostume.Buttheprincehas nothingtodowithme,exceptIsupposeI’dliketothankhimfor hostingtheball.
For the final time, I sent her off with the instructions to stay safe, have a good time, and return before midnight. I told her I wouldn’t be able to return again, not for some time, but that I’d be listening for her letters. And I kissed my goddaughter’s forehead and sent her on her way.
DearFairyGodmother,Idon’tthinkIevertrulythankedyouforthose threenightsofthemasquerade,somanyyearsago.Butit’sbeenlong enoughsincethen-I’dliketoinviteyoutomydaughter’schristening. AndIhopeyou’llbakesomebreadwithmeafterwards,inthepalace kitchen.GoodnessknowsIhavemuchtoshare!
Colin McHugh
James Alwine
“Though in reviewing the incidents of my administration I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors.”
George Washington, Washington’sFarewell Address
Idolizing man’s portrait, we ignore his reflection.
America is struggling. Just look at the increasing number of mass shootings, the ballooning national debt, or the price of eggs. Moreover, many people are worried that America will be surpassed by China in its role as the dominant global superpower. Perhaps most worryingly, an increasing share of Americans believe that political violence is acceptable. While serious, these problems are merely symptoms of larger underlying issues.
In fourth grade, I moved to Naples, Italy. Other people always tell me how lucky I was to have lived in such a beautiful, historic place, and I did enjoy it. However, once you get away from the touristy areas, southern Italy can be a very tragic place. Crippling poverty, double-digit unemployment, and organized crime were rampant. We couldn’t drink the tap water because the local mafia had poisoned the wells by dumping toxic waste. There was a general consensus that Italy had peaked about two millennia ago. Roman ruins were everywhere in empty fields, along bustling streets, and underneath McDonald’s — a reminder that even the greatest empires eventually fall. When I see the buildings and monuments along the National Mall, I am instantly reminded of those Roman ruins. I wonder when these buildings will suffer the same fate.
Ancient Rome was once a republic, but it became a dictatorship after elected leaders accumulated power for themselves, culminating with Julius Caesar being named dictator in perpetuity in 44 BC. Presidents since John Adams have been similarly accumulating power. Presidents have violated the Constitution, such as when F.D.R. sent Japanese Americans to internment camps during World War II. Presidents have also superseded Congress’ authority to declare war by unilaterally involving America in large-scale military conflicts, such as the Vietnam War, and the president, rather than Congress, now sets most of the legislative agenda. The Supreme Court has even further expanded the powers of the presidency by ruling that presidents are broadly immune from prosecution for crimes that they commit while in office. If the founding fathers, who strongly rejected the idea of a monarchy, were alive today, they would be terrified by the size and power of the presidency, as the president of the United States now holds more power than any single individual in human history. Before the
Drew Luff
most recent election, many people worried about what would happen if the candidate that they didn’t want to win became president, but too few people asked whether any one person should have that much power.
Historians also point to the role of “bread and circuses” in the decline of Rome. The Roman poet Juvenal believed that people were willing to sacrifice their political liberty in order to secure “bread and circuses,” or superficial appeasement. As the wealthiest empire to ever exist, America can put ancient Rome’s mere “bread and circuses” to shame with our panoply of fast-food restaurants and streaming services. How much will Americans be willing to sacrifice to hold onto these luxuries? Americans should be warned by ancient Rome’s example that when you trade liberty for stability, you get neither.
Has America has already peaked? It might seem that way, but it's important to remember that America has never fully lived up to its ideals. However, we have continued to make progress towards realizing our ideals because we have never stopped trying to do so. When we stop trying, though, is when we will truly begin to decline. Preventing America’s decline will require getting to the roots of our problems, our constitutional framework. The founding fathers included a mechanism for making constitutional amendments because they knew that we would need to make changes to respond to current conditions, with Thomas Jefferson going so far as to say that all laws should be reviewed every twenty years.The electoral college, powers of the presidency, and the Supreme Court especially need reform. Above all, changing our trajectory will require the humility to admit what isn’t working and the courage to listen to other viewpoints and address our problems head-on.
Evil derives from noses that point downwards
It grants entitlement to rights that are undeserved
Cut these creatures out of your life! Shave this sound feature upwards
I urge all to beware of such beasts
If the nose is not slashed, then its face will sullen and sink
And then will scrunch its nose so aggressively that it reveals their being, a being that has helped all humanity for centuries
Beast name: a-rab; can be recognized through its aggressiveness when engaged
“Do not apply ideals of morals to this species; they are wild and untamed.”
Anna Wisneski
No, we cannot buy that thing for you, it is not meant for girlsnot for girls with pixie cuts, meant for girls with curls
Meant for girls who hold a cross - not with a cross to bear why, you’re not even a girl at all, so why are you standing here?
Your cuts and bruises are well within, though not so broken past repair, this thing is not meant to heal or save, it is meant to love and care
You could not hold it for past a month it is not yours to keep, and surely, if you hold it now it will leave a scar too deep
This thing you study, you know and love but with a love so deep, it will confine your every move until you become the sheep
Gone will be your precious style gone will be your life and if you choose to keep this thing to it, you become The Wife.
Mico De Angel
Mico De Angel
Andrea Coronado
Leckeres essen
Ich esse sauerkraut
Es wird aus kohl hergestellt
Oft esse ich zu viel
Delicious Food
I eat sauerkraut
It is made out of cabbage
Often I overeat
Mico
Mico De Angel
My mom took me to Costco when I was little. I had the day off from school.
My mom told me we could get their pizza for lunch. So I went to wash my hands.
My mom always said to dry your hands afterward. I took four paper towels.
My mom said to never talk to any strangers. But this one guy startled me.
The Lorax came from a stall. He was five feet tall with a mustache and a frown.
The Lorax spoke for the trees. “YOU ONLY NEEDTO TAKE ONE!” he screamed at young me.The Lorax was at Costco…
Ian Hixson
“Long ago, in ancient China, the peacocks ruled over Gongmen City.They brought great joy and prosperity to the city, for they had invented fireworks. But their son, Lord Shen, saw darker power in the fireworks. What had brought color and joy could also bring darkness and destruction. Shen's troubled parents consulted a soothsayer. She foretold that if Shen continued down this dark path, he would be defeated by a warrior of black and white.The young lord set out to change his fate, but what he did next... only sealed it. Shen returned to his parents full of pride, but in their faces, he only saw horror. He was banished from the city forever. But Shen swore revenge: Someday, he would return, and all of China would bow at his feet.”
"Kung Fu Panda 2" (KFP2) is the continuation of "Kung Fu Panda," building on the relationship and backstory of the main character, Po the Panda. Throughout the movie, universally applicable life lessons are taught, and hidden meanings hit you in the face like a firework (to fully grasp this statement, you’ll need to watch the movie). Past that, the villain alone shows more depth in all his actions than any other DreamWorks villain yet! In this essay, I shall now outline why EVERYONE should watch KFP2 because of its relevance to our lives, its villain, and its amusement.
KFP2 is relevant to our lives in its lesson of how mistakes and pain don’t define us.To quote the soothsayer, “Your story may not have a happy beginning, but that doesn’t make you who you are…it’s who you choose to be.” During the movie, Po fails multiple times due to the fact he doesn’t know who he is…and who he thought he was may be lost forever. It isn’t until the very end that Po’s love for others makes him unlock his true potential and find his inner peace.The villain of the story grapples with the same issues. Both Shen and Po have a tragic past involving parental love, but Po learns from him, realizing who he loves, while Shen regresses deeper into a desire for revenge, vowing to battle fate…resulting in his death. For reference, Po lost his mother to the massacre of his home and people (led by Lord Shen) when he was only a child. Shen on the other hand deals with his parents' disappointment and fear over his future (feelings which he will repeat as seen in this movie).
Ian Hixson
As mentioned earlier, Lord Shen is the villain of this movie, and what a villain he is. In line for the throne of Gongmen City, this villain is consumed by fear of a prophecy. From the very beginning of the movie, the difference between him and Po is outlined in his choice of what to do with this fear. Lord Shen, with an army of wolves, commits mass genocide on the panda population. Shunned by the family, he vows to destroy Kung Fu. Kung Fu is how people found enjoyment…and after his tragic life he doesn’t want people to have joy, as indicated by his declaration that “happiness must be taken…and I will take mine,” and his aim to take over all of China. Shen’s relevance as Po’s opposite (directly manipulating Po’s position in the story) makes the story even richer. My favorite part about the villain is his presence. His walk struck pure fear into my heart as a kid watching the movie. After his brief looming silhouette is seen in the beginning of the film, we soon see this elegantly crafted villain in action. I still remember watching the movie for the first time and seeing Shen destroy four guards with a swipe of his wing, never stopping his delicate walk...all done within the beats of his clinking metal footsteps. Whenever I watch this scene, I recall how my family and I went quiet with anticipation…his entrance is so good it gives me shivers every time I rewatch the film. Then, he seems so formal and yet so crazy at the same time. Today, Gary Oldman’s voice acting as this character reminds me of the Joker (Joaquin Phoenix), and how he doesn’t seem insanely crazy, but rather mentally disturbed. Finally, during this scene, he handles two Kung Fu masters within seconds, the only one who seems to stand a chance is Master Rhino. He even admits to being too weak to defeat three legendary warriors.
Finally, KFP2 gives its viewers amusement! The entirety of the movie has jokes for all ages, and, in rewatching it every single year since I was 7, (Sometimes more than once a year, but I digress), I have noticed that there is a lot to unpack in the film. The most recent time I watched the movie, I found jokes I didn’t notice before in the scene when Po pretends to be a lady. Yet, I didn’t find myself laughing at the scene in the beginning when Po shoves multiple dumplings into his mouth. Some jokes that come up multiple times can teach you fun facts as well, such as when Mantis keeps mentioning how women bite off their mates' heads. Although the movie does not change, we all change as people. One thing that makes this a must-see film, is the fact that I can enjoy its humor from different angles as I grow old, which is something that not all movies can pull off. Even the music has affected me differently at different times in my life. Hans Zimmer and John Powell came together and made a soundtrack that flows beautifully in each scene.
A lot of things happened in the United States in 1964.There was a Civil Rights act, Cassius Clay changed his name, and the Rolling Stones released their first album. A lot of things moved around the Beatles arrived, and Trolls dolls made a similar migration from Denmark.There were some new beginnings too. In Alexandria, Virginia, Bishop Ireton High School was founded, and in West Palm Beach, Florida, Suzy Jones was born.
It's been about sixty years since all of that and things change. Sort of. Things happen and move around, and there are new beginnings, but I’m not sure how much they change. Sometimes I think nothing changes, that everything just stays the same and keeps going and going the way it always has. I think there is a great, cosmic consistency to things for sure and I wonder where I am in the scheme of things. Maybe I’m just caught up in some orbit, just spinning around and around.
But things don’t stay the same. Stars explode, people change their names, new songs are written, and maybe most importantly, new people keep showing up. So, in 1964 when Suzy Jones showed up, she was one of those new things that happened that would end up changing things.
Some twenty years or so after Suzy showed up, one of those normal cosmic things happened. An asteroid flew close enough to the earth’s atmosphere to mess with the weather.This happens on a pretty regular basis when they get near enough to the exosphere, dust and debris from the asteroid can get sucked into earth’s gravitational pull. All that extra junk can create dark spots and cool the temperature down, and that’s where a lot of storms come from. So it was one of those normal asteroids that made one of those normal storms with rain and the whole works, and it also made a pretty regular amount of lightning strike the planet right around the Fresno area of California, which is one of the United States. The lightning did its thing and zapped the ground. One of the bits of ground that it zapped happened to be a portion of asphalt on California’s Route 198 near the Lemoore Naval Hospital. There happened to be a truck carrying 5,000 pounds of ammonium nitrate between the lightning and the asphalt, which was not very good for the truck. Suzy Jones never knew about any of this she was in Auburn, Alabama at the time.
Ammonium nitrate can be used for fertilizer, which helps plants grow, or to make explosives, which can blow them apart. It doesn’t snow much in Fresno, California, so when the truck was hit, and five thousand pounds of white flakes burst into the sky, it wreaked enough confusion to cause eighteen car accidents. Some of the flakes landed on the road and on the wrecked cars, but the illusion of snow melted away in the rain. Most of the ammonium ended up smothering a nearby Ficus tree.
The tree didn’t take it too well, especially since it had also been hit by lightning. In fact, the poor tree was split clean in half by a stray bolt.The Ficus never stood a chance, but when the lightning hit the tree, three of its little green branches were hurled away and stabbed down into the nearby muddy ground. You might know that Ficus trees can reproduce with cuttings, so there was a chance that those sticks would survive. But if they avoided the lightning, they didn’t avoid all that ammonium nitrate.The asteroid’s storm and all that rain took all those chemicals and dumped them on the sticks.
The sticks grew, just like normal Ficus cuttings do, but never got very tall. You would think that the ammonium nitrate would make them explode or make them grow really big because that’s what ammonium nitrate is used for, but that didn’t happen. Above ground the young trees grew a bit but stayed a bit small and wilted. No one notices trees by the side of the road, so no one bothered them much.
Underground was different. The roots grew and grew and stretched and stretched, trying to get away from all that ammonium nitrate. California is pretty dry, so the sticks sent their roots looking for any water that wasn’t so saturated in ammonium nitrate. It took twenty-some years, but one of the sticks stretched out its roots as far as Alexandria Virginia, not that it helped much. It was still a scrawny little stick all those years later.
At some point in the 1990s, Suzy Jones had eventually made it to Northern Virginia.That’s where Alexandria is. By that time her name was Suzy Hawley because she had gotten married. In fact, she had a little girl by that time. It was a while after that when, one day, she was driving down I-95 and she saw a little patch of ground by the side of the road. It was cracked and bare, and there was a little root sticking out of it. I don’t know why she stopped, but she did. She pulled the car over, turned it off, and fished around for a water bottle. She found one, opened it, and poured the water out onto the dry patch.The root soaked it all up, and 2,280 miles away, the little stick finally died.The bit of root that poked out of the ground in Alexandria is doing fine now.You don’t see a whole lot of Ficus in Northern Virginia, and you probably won’t notice it growing on the side of the road. Maybe things don’t change much, or in a big way in a cosmic sense. Asteroids are still making storms all over the place. But I’m glad that the Ficus found some water. I’m glad that Suzy stopped and shared her water bottle.
Andrea Coronado
Mirabelle Brantley
Clear skies, Birds chirping.
People walk on the boardwalk With cameras and kids.
I walk alongside my mom and my brother, See the other people And smile in passing.
We gaze at the water, Look in and see nothing, We continue walking.
A couple points out a muskrat to us, Its short, thick brown fur
Clear as it eats in the water. We continue walking.
We see birds Fly in a graceful formation, Spreading out their wings, Flying together. We continue walking.
An older lady points out bluebirds to us, Their azure wings
Shine as they flit from tree to tree.
We thank her.
We continue walking.
We near the end of the walk
And talk about all the animals we saw. We saw them because of others, We helped each other.
A community of wanderers.
Late at night, as quietly as I can, I sneak up to the front yard of a dark suburban house. Carefully, I reach into my bag and become someone else: a surprise none other than the Tsunami Fairy. She goes out at night and plants signs, pinwheels, leis, and flamingos across her little swimmers' front yards, as if a tsunami had swooped by.
To be “tsunamied,” you must be part of the Riverside Gardens Tsunami Swim Team, a team with kids of different ages and skill levels who are all equally special. I remember when I was a younger swimmer and got tsunamied the night before my first swim meet. I’d gotten ready for bed when I opened my front door and discovered that, “SWOOSH!” the Tsunami Fairy had hit my house! I was so happy that I told all of my coaches. After that, I knew that I wanted to be a part of this tradition one day.
Now, I’m a coach for the Tsunami Team and help keep this tradition alive. Being the Tsunami Fairy is impactful to me because I get to make my swimmers feel special and see their precious faces light up, telling stories at practice like I did when I was little. Little do they know that the Tsunami Fairy is already in their presence, encouraging their little swimming feet and hyping up their little minds to do their best.
Though I mostly coach 3 to 8 -year-olds, I also enjoy working with the older kids. Coaching takes time, patience, practice and persistence, but I love working with kids because I get to see them improve so much. My proudest moment of being a swim coach is when I taught a five-year old girl how to dive. At first, I was nervous because I’d never taught someone how to dive. I’d learned by watching someone and then just doing it after them, so the thought of having to teach someone the process was puzzling. In the end, I told Eloise to jump just as I had done, headfirst into the water. It sounded crazy and a little bit dangerous, but it worked. Eloise popped up out of the water, unharmed and smiling from ear to ear, knowing she’d done it. After more practice diving and swimming to the other side of the pool, she told me to wait right where I was and to not go anywhere. A few minutes later, she had her three older brothers and her mom on the pool deck so that she could show off her new skills. I thought it was the cutest thing in the world and was proud of both Elosie and myself. We had both learned how to do something that was tricky to do.
One night, lights started flashing from the sides of a house, and the Tsunami Fairy saw a little girl cheering from her bedroom window, jumping up and down. The happy swimmer had waited and waited, determined to catch the Tsunami Fairy in action. The Fairy quickly got back into her car and drove away, but she had to go back to finish the job. Grabbing the disguise of a silly Halloween sailor’s hat and a yellow bandana that went around her face, she successfully completed her work without ever being seen again.
In life, I’ll continue to be the Tsunami Fairy, pushing through challenges like my swimmers do, while also trying to spark joy and encourage those around me. You just might see a lei or flamingo sticking out of my backpack.
Nora Hixson
“I’m a little Gator, I live in a hut…” Dozens of kids from five to fifteen are on the Mount Vernon Park pool deck on a Saturday morning in June chanting the Gators’ signature cheer, one that my fellow coaches and I learned ourselves when we were little.
“And if you don’t believe me,Watch me shake my butt!”
I smile; this is one of the countless poolside moments I treasure. I joined my neighborhood’s summer swim team at age six, and by the age of 15 had progressed to coach and lifeguard.
During winter and spring, I teach little Gators, while also swimming competitively for my high school team. Last fall, I started assisting with lessons for children with disabilities at my local rec center. And every summer, of course, it’s back to the Gators.
Over these thousands of hours at practices and meets, I have come to realize that what keeps me coming back year after year is far more than competing. It’s the sense of community that swimming has given me.
When I was starting out, enthusiastic teenagers taught me more than how to swim, they taught me to love being a part of the team. This carried over into my high school years, we all cheered for each other until we were hoarse. Now as a coach, I get to inspire the next generation of Gators.
My mom once told me that if I have kids, I should find something to anchor their childhood to. For me, that place has been my swim team. However, swimming fits into my life at college. I will draw on what a lifetime as a Gator has taught me: being part of a community will bring you joy whether you win or lose.
Brady Mull
What was your first memory? Most people share a holiday moment with Santa, an experience with their sibling, or something emotional. I don't remember anything up until the age of five. I told my mom this recently and she sunk under the weight of the disappointment, having purchased me and my sister special wrapping paper from Santa, and making footprints from the door to the cookies to the tree and back outside again. But I don’t remember that. It’s like I was a zombie until age five, and then, just like that, it all changed. My first memory is the day I hit three home runs in one baseball game.Wearing my orange Shorebirds team jersey, I was suddenly awakened when my bat made contact with the ball.
When the game had started and it was my turn to bat, some sense of excitement came over me, I lugged my bat on my shoulder and slowly walked to the batter's box. I remember how significant that moment was to me. It was a clear evening at a local elementary school field. With a light breeze and the sunset peeking through the trees, the weather was perfect. As both my parents stood watching, I knew it was going to be a good day. In my first at bat, I hit the first ball I saw. As it flew, I ran and ran. As I got to third, I saw my coach telling me to run home, I was ecstatic to score because it would be my first home run ever. After reaching home, my teammates all crowded around me and celebrated. Next at bat, the same thing happened, and then it happened a third time. My parents and my coach were the most excited I had ever seen them. And for me, it was one of the best days of my life, but I have yet to hit another one since. Since then, I've learned to keep working and pushing to achieve that goal.
From that moment on I fell in love with the sport, and I was dedicated to being the best I could be, but I knew it would be an uphill battle.There was a lot of fun from winning and sadness over losing but when I got to high school, it opened up new challenges for me to work through. Not only was there the difficulty of adjusting to a new academic environment but I knew the competition for baseball would be a lot tougher than it was just the year before, because the players were much better. But, when I got to my sophomore year, everything changed. I was now on varsity. The practices and games would be even harder than before. I was nervous about that, but I was also the most excited I had been in a very long time.That season I learned a lot from some fellow teammates, who took me under their wing and taught me things I could never forget. I learned that skill is nothing without proper discipline and effort. My coach encouraged me to do what I do best, which is to keep doing what I was doing. Perseverance would help me achieve my goals.
It's now my final year of high school and my time with baseball so far has made me realize that being a leader of anything is so much more than just helping others. It's showing up and setting an example for all of your teammates and friends. From the first home runs of my life to the early challenges of high school, all of those moments have come together to teach me patience, persistence, and an approach to life, schoolwork, and athletics that I can carry forward. Leadership, to me, is about pushing through adversity to achieve a desired outcome and helping others to do the same.
Andrea Coronado
If you were to ask me where I am from, I would have one answer. That is because even after visiting different places across the globe, I always trace my roots back home. But is “home” where my ancestors are from or where I grew up? If my family moved away to another place and moved into a new house, would I change my answer as to where home is?
Although I think of myself as from Alexandria, my roots are not exclusively here. Both my parents were not born here and most of my family members live in other countries across the ocean.
My Costa Rican roots are obvious when I get together with my grandfather, aunt, and cousins for birthdays. I fill my plate with tortillas and refried beans, and my favorite dish is chifrijo, a popular snack made with white rice, black beans, and crispy fried pork. But it is not just the food. It’s the way that my whole family laughs and banters in my grandfather’s small home. If my father’s family is vibrant, then my mother’ s is loud. There are no tortillas in my Puerto Rican family roots, but plenty of fried plantains. I am the granddaughter of an old family with a last name everybody recognizes in the street. In my grandmother’s apartment in front of San Juan Bay, I love the feeling of elegance and sophistication. There, I forget any struggles I have.
Even though I am blood to this family, I stick out like a sore thumb. I stick out for my imperfect Spanish and American habits. At times, I feel like I don’t belong.
Recently, while I was in my mother’s hometown, someone asked me, “Do you like to visit here?” to which I replied, “Of course, I love it here.” But then I began thinking about why I like it there and why I like going to visit my dad’s family, too. It’s because of the people. I feel at home with those people, just the way I feel back in Alexandria.
When I visit cousins who only speak Spanish, there is a slight language barrier and cultural barrier. My cousins in Costa Rica live in a different hemisphere with different music and trends. Although they are family, sometimes I find it difficult to figure out what to talk about with them. I sometimes think about what would have happened if my parents had decided to move back to their home countries before they had me or when I was younger.Would I be an entirely different person? How much of me and my personality is my genetics and how much is my upbringing? Would I think of my roots differently?
Our roots are not just the place where we are born or brought up, but the people of that place. People are what makes a place a home. Success and fame can happen to anyone, but the person who does not forget their roots holds on to the same and grows further in life.
CW Johnston
Lindsey Evans
Turner sat across from his father at the dinner table as they waited for the rest of the family to arrive for their yearly thanksgiving dinner. It was raining heavily, and the roads were flooded, causing lots of backups in traffic. He and his father had not said a word since Turner had come home from college the day prior; the last thing his father had said to him was when they picked him up from the airport, and his father asked if Turner had passed his exams. Since then, they had stayed in silence.
His father scrolled aimlessly through his phone, trying to find some news about the latest presidential debate in order to have something to talk about during dinner. He looked up at his son, who was staring out the window. Turner's father adjusted himself in his seat before letting out a deep sigh.
“So,” he said suddenly, startling Turner. “What's new in the life of Tiny T? Anything interesting?”
HeknowsIhateitwhenhecallsmethat,Turner thought, but he didn't say anything about it.
“Like what?” Turner asked.
“I don't know, what's interesting that you found out recently?”
Turner stared in confusion and silence before muttering something out.
“Uh… well you know the Mets are on a winning streak,”Turner finally answered. “There we go with the sports again,” his father said under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh nothing,” his father said, going back to scrolling through his phone, shaking his head.Turner sat back in his chair, letting out a long breath. He looked around the room, trying to figure out what he could say in order to get a conversation going. He kept searching until his eyes fell on something he hadn't seen before in the house. A little F1 Race Car was perched on the green shelf Turner had seen every day as a kid.
“F1 huh?”Turner said.
His father looked up from his phone.
“Oh, uh, yeah…” he went back to his phone.
Turner clenched his fist. He takes a quick breath before relaxing himself.
“Who's your favorite racer?”Turner asked
“Grosjean,” his father responded, not looking up.
“Why?”Turner said, letting out a little chuckle.
His father looked at him with just his eyes.
“You have a problem with Grosjean.”
“Well, he doesn’t exactly race anymore.”
“You never said that they had to actively be racing.”
Turner rolled his eyes.
“Glad to see some things haven't changed,”Turner muttered.
“What was that?” his father said aggressively.
“Oh nothing,”Turner mocked.
They sat silently for a second.
“Grosjean was good. He left to be with his kids,”Turner let out.
“Yes, well, kids are the most important thing,” his father said, going back to his phone. “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure part of him thought his career was more important.” “What?! His career was horrendous; the only reason he left was because of the crash.” His father laughed.
“That's not the point dad!”
Silence filled the room.Turner's father looked at him with the same eyebrow raise that Turner was used to seeing. He prepared for the usual somewhat aggressive verbal beatdown, but it never came.
They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity; the silence was filled only by the hum of the heater and the creaking of the floorboard.Turner's father closed his eyes and took a breath. “Grosjean tried the best he could,” he said, breaking the deafening silence. “He was always miles away from his kids. I wonder how those kids felt whenever he left. Probably really lonely. I wonder what his WIFE felt whenever he left.”
“But he always came back to them,” he looked Turner in the eyes, for what Turner thought was the first time. “Even when he was in deep trouble he came back. He does anything for his children, even coming out of fire itself.”
Tears began to well in Turner's eyes. His throat clenched, but he retained his composure; weakness wasn’t allowed in this family. He couldn't start crying, not now.
“I’m sure that Grosjean’s sorry that he wasn't there for his kids, that he was always elsewhere doing work. I’m sure he regretted it, a lot. But they have to give him the benefit of the doubt. He had to do everything he could to get food on the table and make sure that his kids didn't have to go through the same things he went through growing up. And if that meant he had to leave and be distant every once in a while, then….If that's gonna get his kids to be happy, then so be it; he had to leave.”
Turner didn't answer, the tears were getting harder to hold back.
“When I think of his accident and I think of what he said to his son when he got home, this is what I picture him saying: ‘Look son. I hope you can forgive me; I know it may not happen, but I hope you do. All I want to say is that I am proud of you. I'm proud of the person you’ve become. And I hope that you can find it in yourself to see that I was always there for you, even if I wasn't here physically.’ And even though that probably doesn't mean anything because it's probably too late, he still wants to make sure his child knows he loves him and would do anything for him.”
Turner put his head in his arms, drenching the table and the sleeves of his sweater. This was the first time he had cried in front of his father since he was a toddler. His father pushed back his chair and stood up. He began to walk over to Turner, each step he took getting louder and louder in Turner's ear. He stopped next to him, and Turner braced. He wasn't sure what was about to happen.That's when he felt something he never felt his father put his arms around him, and they stayed there. Turner shot up, nearly toppling the chair as it flew out from under him, throwing himself into his father’s arms.They stayed like that until the family got home.
Virginia Voorhees
Sofia Kortanek
The term “Mother” is familiar to all
The meaning to me is so easy to recall. Through thick and thin, she stretches to her rim, For her main job is to keep me within, Within her arms are love and warmth, Through my whole childhood I had a support, Someone there to protect me during the storms, Oh, all those storms when I felt the end near, But she blows them away, and tells me “hey I’m right here” She is my friend when no one is around, She is my forever ‘til the Earth is no longer round. When it is dark and I see no light, I look at her beautiful smile
And there is that bright face and humor that can make me laugh without fright
There's always a smell that keeps the kitchen cozy It's her cooking that makes it feel so homey. With her by my side, I will never feel lonely, Every quality about her is worth getting to know, Because I wouldn’t change my mom for the world, She is my glow.Thank you for everything you’ve done, Given, and helped me with, I would've been lost without your wisdom in my soul. I know I’m not perfect but please keep helping me achieve my goals, I need your guidance and opinions, especially in the clothing stores. Thank you for being my mom to the moon and back, You're my role model and that is a fact!
Your daughter, Sofia Kortanek
Mirabelle Brantley
Along the trail
I see a tree, Its arms spread wide.
Nothing like the others; Against the natural grain
Of winter’s withering trees. It lights up the space, Its green leaves shining. An enduring emerald.
Marie Weidman
On Cambridge Road upon a hill near rustic cross in garden bed
There stands a chapel in the sun white cross on bricks of burnished red.
Unscarred by time and tears and storms and nestled near the high school halls
A golden tabernacle dwells enshrined within its holy walls.
The windows burn with colors bold Blue and crimson, green and gold; the sacred altar, smooth and white
Presides o’er prayers and candlelight.
The students, in gray uniforms burdened by life’s hurried pace
Can go and sit with God a while inside this sun-lit, hallowed place.
Though it be new, untouched by time its copper not yet weathered sage May it stand firm against the years as time moves on and faces change;
May all who enter know God’s love and feel surrounded by His grace; May they lift eyes to the hills, Be still and know in sacred space.
Luke Sparrow
Lucero Carcamo
Tilly Cordle
Caitlin Stedt
Teachers are the ones who light up our lives, The ones who guide us through the highs and low, The ones who teach us to learn and explore. Their impact on our lives forever grows.
Sean Burke
Ellie DeNunzio
I had the first idea for a story in 6th grade. I had been typing away on my Chromebook, glancing back and forth between my work and my wallpaper of outer space, when a few random details came to mind: A color palette of blue, purple, and black. A collection of planets using the same colors. These ideas converged to embody a character of sorts in my mind. I then had no clue of where this inkling of a fictional world would bring me. I wasn’t even sure if I wrote the idea down…still, I continued creating this universe through words and sketches, hoping one day others will be able to read about what became of my vision years ago.
We extend a special thank you to everyone who contributed the time and effort necessary to make this year’s magazine a success.
Thank you to our authors and artists it was a privilege to water and prune your seeds of creativity. Your work has made this magazine blossom with beauty and brilliance.
Thank you also to our wonderfully dedicated editors, who spent hours weeding and tending to this magazine. Your enthusiasm, cooperation, and diligence are much appreciated.
Thank you to McCabe’s Printing Group for your partnership and production of our magazine.
Finally, thank you to the Bishop Ireton Administration for the endless support and encouragement. Your stewardship has made our garden a wonderful place.
Editor-In-Chief: Annaliese Ludvigson
Faculty Advisor: Mrs. Driscoll
James Alwine
Sophia Ary
Emilio Burneo
Virginia Cheatham
Deacon Crenshaw
Megan Danaher
Natalie Drey
Lindsey Evans
Evie Ludvigson
Drew Luff
Nora Tovey