There IS Something About Bernie – He’s Losing

Categories: Midd Blogosphere
As I’ve noted repeatedly in several posts during the current election cycle, the media loves them a horserace, and they are not above fabricating one if necessary to attract readership. This is particularly true when the clear front-runner is yesterday’s news – as is the case with Hillary Clinton. In newsrooms across the nation, nothing […]

Issues with the Middlebury-Monterey network connection

Categories: Midd Blogosphere

Hi all,

The VPN connection between Middlebury and Monterey is seeing intermittent issues, dropping in and out. It’s being actively worked both here in Middlebury and in Monterey. This will impact all connections between the two campuses, including email and many Middlebury campus based services.

We will update this post when service has been restored.

Mid-Year Performance Evaluations for Staff Members

Categories: Midd Blogosphere

Annual written performance evaluations are conducted for staff members between January 1 and March 31 of each year as part of the College’s ongoing performance feedback process.  Also part of this process, informal performance evaluation meetings are conducted at six-month intervals between the annual written performance evaluations.  For most staff, informal evaluation meetings occur between July and September.

The annual evaluation process is designed to give employees and supervisors an opportunity to evaluate work accomplishments and performance during the review period and establish goals and objectives for the future.  The informal evaluation provides a valuable opportunity for mid-year feedback, review of the progress in meeting goals, and plans for any necessary adjustments.

Supervisors should be making plans to meet with their staff members to conduct mid-year performance discussions if not already completed.  Staff and supervisors should contact Human Resources with any questions or concerns about the performance evaluation process by calling x5465, option 1.

Cover Essay: Waiting in the Wings

Categories: Midd Blogosphere

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The story of this ornithological teaching collection goes back roughly 130 years to the mid-1880s, when a couple of Addison County teenagers, Chester Parkhill and Albert Mead, became interested in local birds. They were bird fans—that was the term back then, bird fans—not birders or bird-watchers—and the way people observed birds in the late-19th century was you see a bird, you shoot it, you observe it. It was barbaric by our contemporary standards, obviously, but that was the custom.

When Parkhill and Mead were in high school, a College senior named Frank Knowlton came to their biology class to demonstrate skinning and mounting birds. The two were hooked and subsequently enlisted Knowlton to give them private tutorials. Over the next several years—Mead enrolled at Middlebury, while Parkhill stayed home to tend the family farm—they amassed a considerable collection. The skins were well preserved, and their labeling—the precision, the artistry—was done to exacting standards and is an example of museum-quality craft.

Tragically, Parkhill died at a young age. His sister left his entire collection to Mead, and then, at some point before 1939, Mead (by this point a Middlebury trustee) donated both his and Parkhill’s collections to the College. We know this because the spring 1939 News Letter published a story about how this ornithological collection was being used in biology courses.

And after that, things get murky.

During the next decades, Middlebury’s biology department added some outstanding faculty—Hal Hitchcock, George Saul, Duncan McDonald, but I don’t think they were all that interested in the museum skins. And when  the science departments were moving from Warner to the new science center in the late ’60s, my guess is that someone looked at these cabinets of birds and thought, I have no interest in those. So they were moved into storage, essentially left to be forgotten.

I was hired in 1985, and on one of my first days on campus, I went down to the storage room in the science center—which, by this point, was filled to capacity—and started rooting around. It was dark and dusty and filled with all of this junk, and at some point I spotted a couple of museum cabinets pushed against the wall way in the back. (This tells you they were probably the first things to go into storage.) They were great looking cabinets, so I started digging through stuff to get to them—it was like digging through sand. In order to go forward, I had to take something in front of me and move it behind me. Finally I reached the cabinets, cleared some space, and opened one of the doors. The overpowering smell of mothballs hit me, and my jaw dropped, not because of the smell, but because of what I saw. This cabinet was filled with these bird skins—birds from the 1880s, all from Addison County, expertly preserved*.

*Following this, Trombulak also discovered boxes of eggs, as well as mounts. They’re without documentation but he believes they were all part of the Mead collection. (More on the entire collection here.)

Unbelievable, I thought. I knew I had to move these up to my teaching room, and I have been curating the collection ever since.

The Art of Birds

Categories: Midd Blogosphere

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In his natural history courses, Professor Stephen Trombulak has been using a 19th-century ornithological collection ever since he discovered the treasure buried in the far reaches of an overcrowded College storage room.

And that’s just the beginning of this fascinating tale.

“I realize now, after many years of association with colleges and educators and curriculum committees, that we were being unconsciously and pleasantly educated through the bird hobby in ways that we ourselves, let alone our elders, did not dream of.”

Albert D. Mead, Middlebury Class of 1890, expressed this sentiment in a letter to Biology Professor Samuel Longwell. Writing in the early 1930s, when he was a trustee, Mead was discussing an ornithological collection he had gifted the College in the hope that Longwell would use it in his courses. Mead had designed the collection, which consisted of Addison County birds captured and “stuffed” (in the parlance of the day) by Mead and his childhood friend Chester Parkhill.

Mead and Parkhill were self-taught, picking up the hobby while in high school after receiving a tutorial from a Middlebury senior named Frank Knowlton (who would later become a paleobotanist of some renown). They continued through Mead’s student years at Middlebury. (Parkhill was working on his family’s farm.) And as Stephen Trombulak relays later in this photo essay, their work progressed to exacting standards—much of what remains in the teaching collection is of museum quality.

Some mystery still involves parts of the collection (beyond what Trombulak describes in his cover essay on page 1): namely, the provenance of the eggs and mounted birds (such as the Great Horned Owl opposite this page). While all of the museum skins are affixed with labels documenting that Mead and Parkhill collected and prepared them, the mounts and eggs aren’t denoted the same way. (Still Trombulak believes that the mounts and eggs did come from Mead; more on that later.)  What’s not in dispute is their value in the classroom. As Trombulak says, “Not a single one of these is replaceable, because it represents the condition of the species at a point in time that we can never go back to.”

The collection also displays inherent artistic value. Though Mead reportedly didn’t see his work as art, in his letter to Longwell he noted the “graceful lines” and “the texture and the patina” of his specimens. He also likened his and Parkhill’s work to that of a sculptor: “[Our work] conduced to attentive study of form and pose in nature, and the bird skin, when freshly mounted, was a plastic medium, identical in texture, of course, with the thing we tried to represent, by which our conjured-up mental images could be adequately represented.”

Heightening the artistry are these commissioned works by world-renowned photographer Rosamond Purcell, who is best known for her work with natural history collections, with specific attention paid to birds and eggs. (One of her 12 books is the exquisite Egg & Nest.) Purcell spent the better part of two days in Bicentennial Hall exploring these and other teaching collections. Watching her in action, one was reminded of something she told National Geographic a few years ago: “I just like the way certain things work. If I don’t take a picture of these things,” she says, “I just have this feeling that they are going to [disappear] back down that hole. I have to put out a line [with my camera] and get it. It is discovery. I say to myself, ‘People have to see this.’”

While we’re confident that Trombulak won’t allow this collection once again to disappear “back down that hole,” we completely agree with Purcell’s raison d’être: people have to see this.

Welcome, Laurie Patton

Categories: Midd Blogosphere
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Laurie Patton; her husband, Shalom Goldman, the Pardon Tillinghast Professor of History, Philosophy, and Religion; and their two Great Pyrenees, Padma and Suka.

It was a few minutes after 8:30 on the morning of July 1 when Laurie Patton steered her silver Prius into a parking space on Old Chapel Road. Middlebury’s 17th president was about to begin her first day at work.

“I write to send warm greetings on my first day as Middlebury’s new president,” she had written in an email that was sent out to the community later that morning. “The glorious Vermont summer weather has matched the excitement I feel in coming to work with such an extraordinary community.”

Though that day’s weather was not cooperating with Patton’s sentiments—leaden skies prompted rain showers throughout the morning and afternoon—the excitement of which she spoke was evident the moment she walked into Old Chapel.

Greeting her new colleagues with the familiarity one gains from eight months of visits, phone calls, and correspondence, Patton drew smiles and hugs as she made her way to the building’s third floor.

“Hi, dear,” she said to Barbara McBride, embracing her assistant in a big hug. “It is so good to be here, and one of the best things is that after all we’ve done together already, this feels like just another day.”

“It does,” McBride replied, “but it’s not just another day for Middlebury.”

After a morning spent in meetings, Patton took advantage of a slight break in the weather to walk the campus with her husband, Shalom Goldman, who has been appointed Pardon Tillinghast Professor of History, Philosophy, and Religion, and their two Great Pyrenees, Padma and Suka.

On their stroll, the couple encountered and chatted with a distinguished faculty member; an alumna; a prospective student and her father visiting from Oregon; and two sophomores, from India and the Philippines, respectively, who have stayed on campus for the summer—one to work in Armstrong Library and the other to help a professor revise a textbook. Patton conversed in Hindi with the young woman from India before finishing the loop back to Old Chapel.

More meetings followed, and then Patton ended her day in Mead Chapel, speaking at the opening Convocation for the second session of the Language Schools. It was the second time Patton had spoken in Mead, the first occurring a little more than eight months ago when she was introduced to the community as Middlebury’s next president.  

Laurie Patton will be inaugurated as Middlebury’s 17th president on the weekend of October 1011. Visit www.middlebury.edu/inauguration for info.

Modern Love

Categories: Midd Blogosphere

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Increasingly discouraged by her failure to engage in a committed relationship in college, a young woman decided to explore the topic at greater depth in her senior thesis.

She found out that she was far from alone.

Confession: I’ve spent the past four years obsessed with the love lives of Middlebury students. It’s not because I’m nosy (though I kind of am); or hypersexual (though all college students kind of are); or out of the loop (I’ve experienced probably too much). My obsession stems from repeatedly recognizing romantic failure as among the most (if not the most) prominent causes of unhappiness, anxiety, and even depression among my female peers—myself included—while at Middlebury.

I should say I’m a white, heterosexual, socioeconomically secure, academically successful woman—and now in a respectful, committed relationship. I’m aware of my privileges. Many of my friends share similar advantages, and one could argue that romantic stress is a privilege in and of itself: we have the mental and emotional energy to engage in and ruminate on romantic experiences, an indulgence many students don’t have time for. Still, despite the angst caused by a heavy academic workload, intimate friendships, divided social scenes, career pressure, ceaseless snowfall—nothing seems to bother my friends more than their relationship troubles.

In college I wasn’t friends with the entire student body, but think of me as an extroverted extrovert. I’m a talker, a people person, a floater. I have close friends who are artists, athletes, activists, hipsters, nerds, and, like many Middlebury students,  I also consider myself all of these things. I ran our campus’s most-read student blog, drank on weekends, buried myself in American literature on weekdays, and occasionally (frequently) stressed out in between. I overextended myself in the mostly good way Midd Kids know so well. But by the fall of my senior year, I realized that all my female friends—even the one-meal-a-month acquaintances we all have—had experienced at least one relationship-induced episode that left them shaken and morose. My obsession with this calcified, which is how I came to focus my nonfiction creative writing thesis on women’s romantic experiences at Middlebury.*

* It’s important to note that I am interested in the romantic and sexual experiences and desires of Middlebury women who are not heterosexual as well, and while I hoped to cover bisexual and lesbian experiences in my thesis work, I had to limit my scope to heterosexual experiences due to a lack of time. Further, I fully intended to write about the experiences and desires of men at Middlebury—I included both genders in my extensive interviewing and surveying—but after feeling overwhelmed by the amount of material I was trying to sift through, my adviser suggested I focus on just one gender for my thesis.

It’s a more complicated topic than one might imagine and requires a bit of background: A couple of years ago, a New York Times writer named Kate Taylor contributed a piece to the Style section titled “Sex on Campus: She Can Play That Game, Too.”

The story opens with a young woman at the University of Pennsylvania who describes her noncommittal-though-sexually-active social status as one predicated on a “cost-benefit” analysis with “low risk and low investment cost.” Wrote Taylor: “It’s by now pretty well understood that traditional dating in college has mostly gone the way of the landline, replaced by ‘hooking up’—an ambiguous term that can signify anything from making out to oral sex to intercourse—without the emotional entanglement of a relationship.”

This sounded like Middlebury to me, and a survey I conducted seemed to confirm my observations: While some people date, I found that roughly 81 percent of the students I surveyed participated in hookups, or noncommittal sexual engagements. What troubles me, though, is not the high percentage, but the very definition of hooking up. I’m convinced that hooking up at Middlebury is different than the concept Taylor addresses.

The term is ambiguous, but most people understand it as a one-night stand—a physical encounter between consenting adults without any expectation of emotional investment. And though one-night stands happen at Middlebury, they’re not as frequent as you might expect. In fact my survey showed that fewer than 10 percent of sexually active students said they exclusively engaged in one-night stands. The hookup culture most prevalent on campus is something different: two students sexually engaging over the course of many weeks, months, even a year, without officially committing to one another. Or, as many students say, there’d be no “defining it”—that is, they’d not enter a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship with labels, openly express their emotions, or spend time together outside the bedroom. If this seems absurd, disrespectful, and unnatural, that’s because, in many ways, it is.

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During the spring of my junior year, I met up with a boy every weekend night. I’d convinced myself that our conversations about Nietzsche meant we were developing something, only to learn months later he “didn’t think of me as a human being when we were hooking up.” My friend Jen (all names have been changed to preserve anonymity) was excited about a boy she’d been seeing for several months until she learned he was also seeing three other girls. Another friend spoke of a guy she’d hooked up with for a semester: he told her he could be “90 percent committed to her . . . just in case something happens, and I want to see someone else.”

While these pseudo-breakups hurt, they weren’t breakups, and that’s what made them so troublesome. Really we only lost the physical nature of the relationship, which we’d attempted to convince ourselves—as our culture regulated—we liked. Worse, we were hiding this guy-related stress, ashamed that such “meaningless” experiences could shake our emotional stability.

But we were distracted from our schoolwork, had withdrawn from socializing, and we were complaining, which evidenced a different reality: my friends and I didn’t just want to hook up. In fact, we hated hooking up. We wanted commitment, labels, love. We wanted real, live, official relationships. And this reality made us feel like idiots.

So why were we engaging in such hookups? Because everyone around us appeared happy doing so and no one we knew dated, so we assumed that ultimately we’d be happy too. We also enjoyed the initial attraction, attention, and excitement, even if that seems vapid. Yet we were raised to believe in female independence, power, and equality. Unlike our parents or grandparents, we didn’t necessarily choose to be feminists—those who wholeheartedly advocate for the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes—we just were.

As we were socialized to believe real feminists thrived off noncommittal sex, we thought being fulfilled by monogamous heterosexual relationships seemed paradoxical. Our identities seemingly required we share in romantic ambivalence. But our inability to be ambivalent created dissonance in us.

There’s an interesting divide between how scholastic journals and popular publications like the Atlantic or the Times examine the hookup culture.

Most sociological studies evince concern for the hookup culture’s detrimental effects on women—as most female interviewees hoped hookups would evolve into a relationship, while most men preferred no-strings-attached. Yet these studies offer few suggestions beyond abstention, which doesn’t seem realistic. Moreover, these scholastic publications—being expensive outside academia and little known—don’t have large cultural influence.

But what about the publications we do read?

Almost every widely shared article about hooking up endorses the idea that the hookup culture is compatible with the lifestyles of busy, career-driven women. This much-cited claim by Hanna Rosin, which was published in the Atlantic, perhaps best summarizes this perspective:

“To put it crudely, feminist progress right now largely depends on the existence of a hookup culture. And to a surprising degree, it is women—not men—who are perpetuating the culture, especially in school, cannily manipulating it to make space for their success, always keeping their own ends in mind. For college girls these days, an overly serious suitor fills the same role as an accidental pregnancy did in the 19th century: a danger to be avoided at all costs, lest it get in the way of a promising future.”

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I knew I should trust the studies on the (albeit dusty) Davis Library shelves more than the popular media. And yet I couldn’t shake my frustration over my inability to embrace these anti-monogamous ideals. If the Ivy League women cited in the Times could embrace “low risk, low investment hookups,” couldn’t I do the same? I soon found out that it wasn’t just me and my friends who were unhappy “playing that game.”

After interviewing 75 students and analyzing 314 online surveys, I was astounded by female students’ unanimous preferences not for the
hookup culture—but against it. Despite having diverse initial perceptions about hookup culture, 100 percent of female interviewees stated a clear preference for committed relationships. And 74 percent of female survey respondents reported that, ideally, they would be in a “committed relationship with one person” at Middlebury.

Further, 91 percent of female respondents presently in a committed relationship with a Middlebury student (or alum) reported to be “very happy” or “happy” with their situation, while a whopping zero percent of those consistently sexually engaged with one person—but who haven’t discussed their exclusivity—said that they are “very happy.” (Eight percent are “happy.”) And fewer than 20 percent of single and sexually disengaged female respondents said they were “happy” with their situation. Only about 35 percent of female respondents (and 44 percent of male respondents) find noncommittal sexual engagements fulfilling in the moment and feel fine about them later. The rest are generally dissatisfied.

Also illuminating are the interviewees’ reflections.

Kelsey, now graduated, spoke to many interviewees’ experiences. After engaging in a Middlebury hookup for more than two months, she found that her stability crashed after an unexpected “cut-the-cord” talk:

“I barely slept that night. I was just crushed, and that went on from January to July, at least… [the next semester] he wouldn’t talk to me. It was really hard because he went from being someone I could tell anything to, who knew everything about me, to someone who wouldn’t acknowledge me at all, and I think that was the hardest part—that it shifted so fast. I’d see him everywhere and it hurt every single time, because I simultaneously hated him and wanted his acceptance.”

Almost every female interviewee echoed Kelsey’s sentiments, if not experience. They reported feeling frustrated over sexual partners’ conflation of “exclusivity” and “seriousness”; disappointment over their inabilities to divorce physical intimacy from emotional investment; and confusion over how to hone even friendships without having their sexual partners perceive them as “clingy,” “crazy,” or “aggressive.” (All terms in quotes were theirs, not mine.)

Kelsey went on to say that post-pseudo-breakup, she initially embraced the “traditional hookup culture” (as described by Kate Taylor in her  Times article), but after a brief period of feeling empowered, she was left with “this emptiness in my stomach, this loneliness, again and again.”

She added: “I tried to convice myself that this ‘freedom’ is what I wanted, but I knew that what I was really craving was a relationship.”

I’ve got many pet peeves, but sanctimony definitely tops the list. So as one who aggressively preaches female independence, I deemed myself a hypocrite for concluding almost all heterosexual Middlebury women want, maybe even need, committed men.

But now I’m coming to the conclusion that I might not be hypocritical at all. I’d believed that liberal feminists should enjoy, even pursue, casual sex—an idea rooted in the notion that women don’t innately crave commitment, and that society manipulates such dependency to promote patriarchal female oppression. But if feminism is about promoting female equality and happiness, then pushing ourselves to engage in noncommittal sexual relations we consistently dislike is moving us as far from feminism as possible.

Hookup culture traditionally influences men to prefer noncommittal sexual engagements. However, in my survey, more than 70 percent of male respondents indicated they want to be in a committed relationship at Middlebury; only six percent of male respondents said they hoped to participate in casual hookups without the desire to ultimately commit.

So I worry that women are inadvertently confirming a culturally manipulated (and likely unrealistic) male perspective is not only normative, but superior. By actively subscribing to unconfirmed male “preferred” sexual behavior as a means of “sexual liberation,” women might be bolstering—rather than reacting against—societally primed male dominance. Ironically, both partners in this dance might be equally unhappy with the outcome.

Having confronted my own romantic desires and learned that hundreds of peers similarly crave stability, I’ve come to feel confident, hopeful, and empowered. Perhaps by recognizing that independence and co-dependence are not mutually exclusive, we (intelligent, self-sufficient Middlebury women and men) can seek romance, express emotions, and share with sexual partners without losing any semblance of ourselves.

Maybe we’ve been playing the wrong game all along.

Leah Fessler ’15 graduated summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa from Middlebury in the spring. Her senior thesis, “Can She Really ‘Play That Game, Too’?: A Narrative Exploration of Young Women’s Relation to Hookup Culture at Middlebury,”—for which she received an A—can be found at http://hookupmiddlebury.weebly.com/

For the past year, Leah has been in a committed relationship and reports to be very happy.