Penn Card
10/1/2027
UNIVERSITY of PENNSYLVANIA EXPIRES:
Hello! I'm Chip McFuzz, but you can call me Chippy. I have lived on this campus my entire life and know it like the back of my paw. It's a safe place with food, shelter, and many friendly people. I've even become a local celebrity, and people recognize me by my u y tail! However, I want to share a concern weighing heavily on my furry little heart. Living on campus, I am surrounded by beautiful architecture and the constant rush of students. The atmosphere is thrilling, but I can't help noticing the absence of greenery. The towering buildings and paved walkways leave little room for the trees and owers that squirrels like me value.
I love scampering through lush green grass, leaping from branch to branch in mighty trees, and burying acorns in the soft soil. But on the University of Pennsylvania campus, greenspaces can be few and far between.
I wish there were more trees to climb, more owers to admire, and more grassy areas to frolic in. My bird friends would like better-protected places to build their nests, and my rabbit friends need more shady spaces to rest.
While the current lack of greenspace saddens me, I'm optimistic that with some care and consideration, the university can become a place where squirrels like me can thrive alongside all the curious and brilliant students. Until then, I'll continue to treasure each blade of grass I nd and do my part to advocate for the importance of nature so we can come together to create a greener, more vibrant campus.
Here's a picture of what used to be one of my favorite spots on campus. It was a wide-open eld where I scampered and played with my older brother, where acorns were plentiful, and where the big trees provided a nice spot to nap. The eld was so big that it had room for everyone. West Philadelphia residents of all ages used to come and enjoy the space, playing frisbee or having picnics with friends. It was a sanctuary for the community, inviting laughter and joy and helping us escape the dense concrete jungle around us.
My favorite days were when the sky was clear with only a few wispy clouds, and the sun shone on the open eld, keeping me warm as I scurried around. The gentle breeze owed through the trees, and my bird friends chirped and sang together. Those types of days were when friendships were forged and memories were made. But in 2018, that greenspace I once held so dear vanished before my very eyes. The trees I grew up with were cut down, and the familiar landscape became a construction site. The cacophony of bulldozers and hammers overshadowed the peaceful sounds of nature, and the aroma of fresh grass was replaced by the scent of dust and cement.
I felt a deep sadness in my heart when I saw the once-vibrant green eld turn into a cold space with brick and glass. There was no longer any space left for us to play and explore. The eld, which used to bring us so much joy, was now just a memory.
Living in a big city, there aren't always a lot of spaces for enjoying the outdoors, and sometimes humans have to make their own. Grandpa McFuzz told me this story about a summer when a group of boys, led by their adventurous spirit, decided to embark on a remarkable project: "Tired of playing volleyball indoors, in stu y gyms with arti cial lights, they longed for a place where they could play while feeling the warm sun on their faces and digging their toes into the earth. One sunny afternoon, as they sat lamenting that they had to trek all the way to the gym', they had an epiphany: they could build their own court on the empty parking lot in front of their house!
With determination and excitement in their hearts, the boys armed themselves with shovels, rakes, and wheelbarrows and set out to transform the unused lot into a beautiful new sand volleyball court. They worked tirelessly, breaking up the concrete and hauling it away, piece by piece. Sweat poured down their faces and backs, but they didn't give up. They knew their hard work would pay o in the end, and sure enough, it did. By the end of the summer, they had created a place of camaraderie and friendly competition."
This story reminds me to never underestimate what I can achieve with a bit of creativity, hard work, and of course, a group of friends. Just like the parking lot became this volleyball court, many places around campus could be transformed into new spaces for outdoor recreation.
Welcome to High Rise Field, a popular spot where upperclassmen can unwind in hammocks, study on picnic blankets, and play friendly games of spikeball. With high summertime temperatures in Philadelphia, this eld provides refuge from the heat. Cities are often much hotter than surrounding areas due to the "urban heat island e ect." Because of all the buildings, roads, and concrete, heat from the sun is absorbed and trapped, making the city feel like an oven, even after the sun goes down.
This can be really uncomfortable, and sometimes even dangerous, for both animals and people living in the city. During heatwaves, it's especially important to nd shade and stay cool. That's where trees and greenspaces come to the rescue!
Trees are like green superheroes ghting against the urban heat island e ect. Their big, leafy branches block sunlight and provide shade. They also release tiny droplets of water through a process called "evapotranspiration," which cools the air around them because the water droplets take some of the heat away when they evaporate. I hope the university creates more greenspaces in the future to keep us all safe during hot weather.
ZBT
As any real estate agent worth their acorns would tell you, location is everything when it comes to nding the perfect home. The fraternity houses o Locust Walk are some of the most highly sought-after for their convenience and visibility. The red brick and Collegiate Gothic features readily capture the eyes, and envy, of students passing by.
From my cozy perch in the trees, I often observe students dragging worn leather couches and wobbly wooden tables onto their lawns when the weather warms. Fraternities are known for their raucous energy, loud music, and parties. While my sensitive squirrel ears might not love their music, I am far more saddened by the aftermath of their festivities. Empty cups and crushed cans often litter the grass, and some even nd their way into the bushes that shelter my furry friends. It breaks my heart to see greenspaces tarnished by these remnants of revelry.
But let me share a glimmer of hope. Occasionally, I notice students taking it upon themselves to clean up after their gatherings. I appreciate their respect for our shared greenspace and the e ort it takes to maintain harmony between our animal world and their human world. While fraternities may not be the perfect neighbors in terms of tidiness, over time, I hope more and more members will realize how their actions a ect the environment. Small steps, such as properly disposing of cups and cans, can make a positive di erence and inspire others in their community to treat nature more respectfully.
Recently, there has been a lot of talk in my animal community about these fenced-o areas with "danger" signs. Humans usually put up big metal fences around places where they plan to dig up the ground and build new structures. Lately, construction projects are happening more often and causing a lot of disturbance. It's frustrating because just when we become comfortable with a particular tree or spot to hide, another project begins. I always wonder why humans can't appreciate what they already have around them. They're constantly changing the landscape!
Towering cranes and bustling workers have become part of our daily routine. The constant rumbling of heavy machinery and hammers banging can be rather unsettling. My sensitive ears pick up every sound, and the vibrations in the ground make it impossible for me and the other animals to sleep at night.
My bird friend, Erin, told me her old nest was disturbed, so now she is in search of a new home amidst the chaos. Seeing my friend displaced and struggling to nd a new place to call her own is saddening. When our beloved trees are sacri ced as construction progresses, it's as if a piece of our identity is being uprooted and taken away. Trees are more than just shelter for us. They are our homes, our playgrounds, our sources of food. Losing them creates a void in our lives and disrupts the delicate balance of nature. Our animal community will, eventually, nd new places to explore and settle down because we have many times before. Still, I worry that humans don't realize the importance of preserving our natural habitats.
Dozens of lamp posts line every street and completely illuminate Penn's campus. They are meant to make students feel safe but tend to make squirrels like me feel unwelcome. We aren't used to this much light at night. Just like humans, we prefer darkness to sleep and rest.
Grandma McFuzz didn't grow up on a college campus like I have. She's tried several times to explain how the night sky looked where she grew up. She said it was a stunningly dark canvas with ten times more stars than we can see here. Sometimes, I nd it hard to believe her because, to me, the sky has always been covered with a dull haze.
Many of my fellow animals are nocturnal and rely on the darkness for hunting and mating. The constant arti cial illumination that oods our world confuses their senses and disrupts their natural rhythms. It's disorienting and makes it di cult for them to carry out their nightly activities.
I would love to see a true night, a dark sky lled with a tapestry of stars. I dream of gazing up and seeing the constellations that inspired countless myths and guided lost souls on their adventures. I know humans have their reasons for keeping the lights on. They want to ensure safety and visibility, especially on a college campus like this. But I wonder if there's a way to balance our needs and theirs.
We should explore solutions that minimize light pollution without compromising students' safety. There may be ways to direct the light downward or use dimmer, more energy-e cient, less disturbing options.
Before the construction of this dormitory, the land was a wide, open eld – a true gem in the heart of the neighborhood I grew up in. Animals and humans alike from all over West Philadelphia had access to the greenspace and could connect with one another. It was a place where families gathered for picnics, children played games, and animals roamed as they pleased. It truly brought our community together. But now, things are di erent. The once welcoming and expansive greenspace has become a con ned lawn, enclosed on three sides and facing Locust Walk. The new design is both a physical and symbolic barrier between the campus and the surrounding city. It feels as though a door has been permanently sealed shut, and those left on the outside are now separated and excluded from the green oasis they once freely enjoyed.
This boundary disrupts the natural ow of movement and interactions characteristic of West Philadelphia. It sends a clear message about who is considered part of the Penn community. When I think back to the eld, I think about how a piece of shared heritage and connection is now lost.
Greenspaces are not just places of leisure and recreation. They are powerful spaces that foster a sense of unity and belonging. They are vital to bringing people together despite the barriers frequently separating them. Removing the eld meant losing opportunities to embrace diversity and celebrate the richness of the neighborhood, instead establishing the campus as an insular place that ends at 40th Street.
This enormous white tent took over a nearby grass eld for over a year. Seemingly overnight, it was set up, and by morning the grass had vanished! We animals had no way of knowing whether it was temporary or permanent. They eventually removed it a few months ago. Still, if it had been permanent, another green space would only be taken from us. Even the temporary loss of greenspaces can massively disrupt our natural habitat and daily routines. We depend on trees and grass for food, and when a structure takes over our spaces, we have a hard time nding enough food to keep ourselves healthy. Also, we lose access to nesting sites and shelter, which protect us from predators and harsh weather conditions.
Because we didn't know how long the tent would be there, many of us experienced a lot of stress and frustration because our natural instincts were interrupted. Greenspaces are our hub of activity. They're where we forage, socialize, and explore.
In the future, humans should be more mindful of how temporary greenspace loss a ects us. Since we don't fully understand why things are changing or how long they might take, it's helpful to have alternative greenspaces or temporary habits to support our survival and well-being.
When rain falls in cities, it isn't absorbed into the ground like in a forest or a meadow. Instead, it runs o surfaces like concrete and asphalt, picking up pollutants and contaminants along the way. This polluted stormwater enters waterways and a ects the quality of streams, rivers, and lakes. Not only does it harm aquatic life, but it also impacts animals like me that drink and bathe in these water sources.
Poor stormwater drainage can cause ooding, posing signi cant risks to animals and humans. In fact, a storm just a few months ago made a deep river right here at the foot of this bridge. Good thing I'm a strong swimmer because otherwise, I'd have been swept away in a current.
Heavy rainfall overwhelms the drainage systems, destroying our habitats and displacing us from our familiar surroundings. One approach to mitigating this risk is incorporating green infrastructure like rain gardens and permeable pavements into urban landscapes. Because these solutions are nature-based, they mimic natural processes that capture and lter stormwater, allowing it to slowly be absorbed into the ground and recharge aquifers. Planting more trees and preserving greenspaces also helps since plants act like natural sponges that absorb and retain rainfall in their roots.
This enormous white tent took over a nearby grass eld for over a year. Seemingly overnight, it was set up, and by morning the grass had vanished! We animals had no way of knowing whether it was temporary or permanent. They eventually removed it a few months ago. Still, if it had been permanent, another green space would only be taken from us. Even the temporary loss of greenspaces can massively disrupt our natural habitat and daily routines. We depend on trees and grass for food, and when a structure takes over our spaces, we have a hard time nding enough food to keep ourselves healthy. Also, we lose access to nesting sites and shelter, which protect us from predators and harsh weather conditions.
Because we didn't know how long the tent would be there, many of us experienced a lot of stress and frustration because our natural instincts were interrupted. Greenspaces are our hub of activity. They're where we forage, socialize, and explore.
In the future, humans should be more mindful of how temporary greenspace loss a ects us. Since we don't fully understand why things are changing or how long they might take, it's helpful to have alternative greenspaces or temporary habits to support our survival and well-being.
