This
is my current desktop wallpaper. I captured this image on my most recent travels to the Most Beautiful Places in the World.
This
is what that exact same place looked like in April of this year. I think this place certainly warrants a Seasonal Lusciousness of the Year award. Or perhaps the Ugly Duckling that Grew Up into a Beautiful Lake award.
Ok, enough capitalization. It is making me seem pretentious. Also, the lake wasn't really that ugly in April. Just nowhere near as green.
These two pictures, as I mentioned, come from one of the most beautiful places I have ever been: Wellesley College. No, this is not an underwater institution, as might be suggested by these images. That, unfortunately, would be too badass to ever bring into existence. Also, the lead levels in the sediment of the lake make it not-so-safe for underwater undergraduate schools. The actual campus is on the other side of the camera, facing Lake Waban, and is one of the most prestigious colleges in the world, as well as the most well-respected women's college in the nation. I am more fortunate that I can even comprehend to be able to attend this school.
What is so sickeningly wonderful about this place is the actual, physical location of the school. It is in the town of Wellesley, or as I like to call it, upper middle-class suburbia where the nightlife is non-existent and the cheapest stores are CVS, Starbucks, and the Gap. Luckily for us Wellesley women, this means that we are surrounded by trees and pretty houses and scenic routes. We have a lake on the edge of campus. We have our own arboretum. Our buildings are Neo-Gothic and old, so they make those lovely creaking noises when you step on just the right plank of wood on the floor. There is a sense of sophistication everywhere you go - even when you go to the Science Center, which sticks out like a sore thumb and then some. And that is how you fall - hook, line, and sinker - for the school.
I am an Admissions Student Assistant during the school year, and I know for a fact that many, many high schools girls are romanced not by the academics, not by the social life, but by the red bricks of the centenarian buildings and the sweet, wafting scent of the blooming magnolias in the spring. Of course, they have already come to the school with some idea of our excellent academic reputation our unique situation in which students are very, very much in charge of their own social lives. These are the reasons for which I originally applied to Wellesley College, in fact. And these reasons are nothing to be scoffed at. However, when it comes to romancing a student, to setting her imagination ablaze with desirable images of studying on the bench near the Paramecium Pond under the shade on a nice, autumn day, of strolling around the lake just as the sun as started to set over the trees and turn the sky into dazzling shades of pinks and oranges, and of finding oneself in an impromptu snowball fight after class in a winter wonderland... yes, when it comes to all of that, Wellesley's campus cannot be beat. Simply put, my school is gorgeous.
And yet. And yet...
I think there must be some sort of agreement between the weather gods and the big wigs at Swells in that the true face of New England weather may only rear its ugly head once students have actually enrolled in the school. And I think this because the two things they never tell you about the weather are 1) the rain, and 2) the humidity.
Let's start with the rain. I've seen rain before. I've danced in the rain before. I've walked home without an umbrella in the rain before. But I had never, ever seen rain like this:
Buckets (literally, buckets) of rain falling from the sky, drenching people within seconds of stepping outside. Torrential downpours that would put monsoons to shame. Flooding that threatened to not only destroy the 2012 class tree freshly planted by the lake, but that also threatened to turn Wellesley from a beautiful forest dotted with buildings to a swamp that required swamp boats like the one in The Waterboy to get around. I honestly thought rain like that was only used in movies for epic battle sequences (reference: Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers) or make-out scenes (references: The Notebook and Match Point).
Ok, so I exaggerate a little, but when you have to walk across that campus to get to class at 8:30 am, and it's pouring down rain, you'll know exactly how I feel.
You will also come to understand the exact need for rain boots.
When I was a naive, foolish thing, I was under the distinct impression that rain boots were for fashionable, young mothers who wanted their children to be extra prepared and super cute in the event that it ever even drizzled outside. To me, galoshes were just part of the rain wardrobe, along with the bright yellow rain coat/poncho and the bright yellow sailor's hat. Everything matched, and everything was made with extra special care to make that your child never, ever had to get wet. Even though she or he was probably dying to rip the darn things off and go streaking through the rain-soaked streets. Oh-ho-ho, how wrong I was.
Along with more winter clothes that I believed anyone ever needed, galoshes were my first major clothing purchase after moving to the east coast.
Now, let's move on to our second topic: humidity. To someone from Southern California, like myself, humidity is a vague concept that usually means that the marine layer has not burned away yet, or that it might rain at some point later in the day if we're really lucky. It is also something that only comes onstage during the last act of the year when the temperature actually dips below 65 degrees and everyone complains about the cold and the clouds (this is called winter in SoCal).
Meanwhile, in Wellesley, and apparently in the rest of Massachusetts as well, humidity is something that never goes away, and is most noticeable when you most wish it would evaporate (no pun intended), notably in the summer. Here, in Boston and its surrounding suburbs, the humidity is as much likely to get your shirt completely wet as the rain is. 85 degree Fahrenheit weather, sun, and humidity mean more sweat than you ever thought possible for one person to secrete in a 30-minute period.
My boss is from the southern tip of Sweden, so we are both originally from climates that experience dry heat. The idea that you can step outside and feel like you are breathing in water when you haven't jumped into a pool yet is at once bewildering and frightening to the two of us. Try asking us about the weather sometime after we have just walked to work. You shall get more than earful.
Seriously, I would not have changed my mind about coming to study at Wellesley if I had known about the rain and the humidity, but I would have liked to know that I was moving into a giant greenhouse before I showed up here. I especially would have liked to know that, in the summer, the humidity seems to double in evilness. I would have stocked up on t-shirts to sweat through if I had known it would be so humid. I also would have bought a snorkeling mask because it honestly feels like I am swimming some days when the humidity reaches levels known and "unbearable" and "ludicrous."
But maybe I am just prone to complaining. My mother certainly used to think so when I was younger.
In summary, I love Wellesley. I believe it is the only place where I could be half as successful and well-rounded as I have become. There is no other institution in the world where I could meet such wonderful people, receive such an excellent education, and experience such breathtaking views as the picture at the beginning of this post. But I could never live here. I could never take up permanent residence here. I need somewhere that looks like this when you look one way:
and like this when you look the other way:
And this is what it looks like in the middle of January.
Call me spoiled, but San Diego, home of In-N-Out and authentic Mexican food, will always be my one true home.
