I graduate in eight months, and what I’ll miss most about Cornell won’t be
its professors, notable events, campus life, or incredible range of
classes. What will leave the biggest mark is its natural beauty.
Whenever the cruel Ithaca weather permits, I pull out my decrepit running
shoes from their hiding spot under my bed, change into a T-shirt I’ve had
since high school, and queue my iPod to my “Working Out” playlist in
preparation for my late-afternoon jog past the construction zone on East
Avenue en route to Beebe Lake on North Campus. There, I turn onto a path
that first runs next to the lake and then up a hill that overlooks a gorge. A
waterfall awaits those who have conquered the difficult terrain—a sweet
reward because of its breathtaking scenery. You can swim in the gorge,
which is perfect, because by the time I actually make it there my clothes
are saturated with sweat, my head is throbbing, and I want nothing more
than to dive into the water, which stays surprisingly warm through
September.
Getting in and out of the water from the path isn’t easy (in fact, it’s
sometimes more convenient to just leap in from the cliffs, which stand 30
feet above the water).
But once you find a way to lower yourself down the steep descent, you
quickly discover that the trek was worth it. What a peaceful feeling it is
to float on your back looking up at the sky and at the stone walls that
tower over you on both sides—nature’s own cradle. However, this feeling of
tranquility is soon replaced by one of embarrassment because on the jog
back home I have to keep my water-soaked shorts from falling down. But
this inconvenience is a small price to pay. My friends at other schools
would be lucky to find an open patch of grass, let alone an entire gorge.
As blessed as we are I’m surprised that this location is not more popular,
especially because it’s only a five-minute walk from North Campus. I am
often the only person there. How could anyone let this slip through his or
her college experience? I think it’s because few people actually know
about it. When I see groups of prospective students on a tour of Cornell,
I never see the guide bring them close to (or even mention!) Cornell’s
natural landmarks. Instead, they focus on Cornell’s $5.5 billion
endowment, or its current place in the U.S. News & World Report
rankings, or, as they’re passing that construction zone on Central Campus,
the state-of-the-art physical science building that will soon open.
It’s difficult to view Cornell as a whole when you find yourself using
Altoids as a replacement for brushing your teeth in order to save time
(not that I’ve ever done that before). Often, students don’t care about
these facts and figures that may not even affect them in the long run. I
know I don’t. Sometimes I just want to see what’s directly in front of me:
a campus that matches an ideal New England university straight from the
movies.
For an admissions essay, I wrote that Cornell’s scenery would inspire me
as a writer. Although I had said this partly to gratify those who had
control of my future, I now realize I wasn’t that far off. When I see the
mist rising from the gorge, I feel what Mary Shelley must have felt when she
wrote parts of Frankenstein. My only regret is that this feeling is
transient; after May of next year, this spot will no longer be part of my
late-afternoon routine. Instead, it will become a memory.
— Chris Nelson ’09