The Wanderer

My Brit Lit professor assigned us The Wanderer for Monday. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. It's a short Old English poem by an unknown author, and it's beautiful. I won't deceive you. It's full of sorrow and loneliness, but in that melancholy, there's a beauty that reminded me of my river, the Mississippi. I had the sudden need to be near water and somewhere solitary where I could read the poem again aloud. I set out for the White House Nature Center and the Kalamazoo River.

Since I've arrived at Albion, I haven't left the campus. For one, I haven't had a need to. For two, I've been too busy to pursue it on my own time. Today, though, I finished all the reading I had for Monday with more than enough time to spare, so I just started walking, trying my best to picture the map of the area that's pinned to my bulletin board. Looking at it now, I was completely off, but I realized that the point of my wandering wasn't the destination, but the walking itself. Even though I didn't find the river, I did get to see a bit of Albion.

Here on campus, we're sheltered. The buildings are beautiful and well-cared for, and even the Greek houses nearby look like they belong in a wealthy suburb. Once you pass out of this world, the houses change. They become smaller, shabbier, faded . . . alive.

When first I came to Albion back in February, I was disgusted by the town. The houses are all needing paint, with junk and garbage lying in the front yards. Walking today allowed me a closer look at those same houses. This time, I didn't see junk or garbage, I saw newly planted flowers in lovingly tended gardens. Instead of chipped paint, I saw curtains hung in windows, cats guarding porches, and people buried under the hoods of their cars. I saw life! And for all I treasure and love the town of Marshall, MI with all it's pretty houses and historic pride, I realized something important today: Marshall is like an antique store; Albion is a home.