A classmate of mine in high school once wrote that the four years of high school are like the seasons of the year. As first-years, we begin in spring, full of new life and change- a time of blossoming. As sophomores, we settle in and get lazy like summertime. In the fall of our years, we mature as juniors and begin to find out what direction our lives are taking. And then comes winter: as seniors, we enter a sort-of death of life. But it is not a death- it is a part of the cycle of seasons and years, and it brings us to the beginning of the next chapter.

May 27th, 2001. Three months from now, six-hundred-plus men and women will be capped and gowned and deemed BA's. Yeah, it happens every year on Memorial Day weekend, but once you get there yourself, it's a scary thought. Right about now, every senior is trying to figure out what to say when asked, "So, what are you going to be doing after you graduate?" Honestly? Most of us really aren't sure yet. I'm trying not to focus on it- being your average emotional female, I get teary-eyed at the thought of leaving "Dear Old Hill."

But when I think about my four years here at St. Olaf, there are a few things that stick out in my mind. I'm an academic geek at heart, so some of them are incredible plenary lectures in Great Con. One is a stellar performance of a section of Christopher Marlowe's Dr. Faustus by Karen Cherewatuk and John Day in English 221. Another is this past year's Shakespeare Colloquium. But I think most seniors would agree that the best memories are out of the classroom, out of academia.

Some of you seniors who are close to me will remember the very end of freshman year during finals week. There was a huge electrical storm, and most of Ellingson was in awe in rooms on the south side of the building, darkened to better see the effects of Mother Nature. Even earlier than that, we all remember Playfair and the lady with the silly whistle and screaming out 867-5309 when she asked for us to yell out a phone number. Maybe some of you even remember some of the people in your core group. Almost definitely, you remember the mosquito bites you got while laying on your stomach in the grass making up tabloid headlines.

Classes came and went and we settled into our routines of work and play, busy-ness and apathy. As seasoned sophomores, we could pick out the first-years and laughingly remember mistakes we made at "that age." We stepped into higher rankings as upperclassmen last year as juniors. The opening of Buntrock Commons, we tend to think, made us the last class to truly understand what the "old caf" meant, cup game and all. (Remember Cornfields? Whatever happened to the Rocky Road Wrap?)

Now we're seniors. We love the luxuries of "flex" (that's the Cage's flex plan, for those of you unfamiliar with that wonderful seniors-only meal plan option). We enjoy late nights hanging out in pod rooms over in Ytt, cars on campus, weekends off-campus. We've settled on majors and are beginning to think about the (sometimes terrifying) real world. Everything around us reminds us that we're soon-to-be leaving Manitou Heights: get a class ring, think about giving back to St. Olaf, get graduation invitations out, check the registrar's list to make sure your name is spelled correctly, think about coming back (already!?) for your zero-year reunion. What matters most? What needs to get done now? What can wait?

Personally, I'm not getting a class ring. My name is spelled correctly on the registrar's list. I'm coming back for Homecoming Weekend on October 5th. I'm pledging to the annual giving campaign. My family is registered for graduation weekend. What matters most to me is none of those things. What matters to me most are those people who sat in my room with me at the end of freshman year and watched that electrical storm. What needs to get done now is to let those people know how glad I am that they're a part of my life. The greatest gift St. Olaf has given me is its people: my classmates, my professors, my co-workers. There are too many of you to list- but thank you all. Anytime I'm in an electrical storm or I hear "867-5309," I'll be thinking of you.