Regretably, I have missed the deadline for this post by not one, not two, but five days. With all the hustle and bustle of going home for break and the preparation that entails this fell through the cracks. It fell way, way, way through the cracks. I am extremely sorry that I am so late.

The moon bench will never feel the same having been to Harrinton House. I find myself questioning everything around me. Where did these trees come from? What part of the world are they native to? The trees I found beautiful for weeks before now seem eerily out of place. I wonder what this land looked like before the white settlers began to alter it. 

Before going to Harrinton house everything about Bryn Mawr all seemed to be in perfect harmony with itself. Bryn Mawr just seemed to belong; it seemed perfect for the land on which it is situated. But now I can't help but question all of it. I still find Bryn Mawr extraordinarily beautiful, but having been to Harrinton House and learning about the evolution of the land I view Bryn Mawr in a different light. I wonder what it looked like before it became Bryn Mawr College. Were there still squirrels? What kind of flowers were here? 

Regardless, Bryn Mawr is here. And it belongs. And we belong here. We may not have started here, but a lot of things on the Bryn Mawr campus didn't start here, and although they may have started as foreigners, the campus wouldn't be the same without them. 

I know some of you have seen this video, but figured it might be a good idea to post it here: http://www.upworthy.com/meet-the-17-year-old-who-blew-the-lid-off-racial-profiling-with-his-ipod

The Labyrinth is such a profound and sophisticated place, yet it is only fourteen years old. The profound sophisticated labyrinth is younger than me? I shake my head, "this recent creation just can not reflect the depth of history!"

Talking about history, several words come up into my mind: past, old, far and gone. However, history is never absence from present. History is accumulative. Interestingly, during the Thursday field trip, I realized that the Harriton House is most certainly a good example of how people make history sustainable. What I mean by "an effort that sustain history"" is an action to "ultilize creations derived from the history." The more than three hundred years of history of the Bryn Mawr town is really a wonderful wonderful story to hear. We need some passionate Welsh, some resistance to flood, some wisdom to survive a business and a lot more to be here at a College grounded on a piece of land that Native Americans gave up the "right to use". This is enough to make the 1704 Harriton House amazing and adorable. One thing I consider to be important in historical sustainability is adaptation. As we preserve historic site, it's crucial to keep in mind that things always change.

I couldn't help but feel the cover of the book Offending Women was most relevant to my paper; the face of the child who has been incarcerated alongside his mother. In my memo, I focused on the way in which the needs and voices of the children and family of those who are incarcerated are impacted and overshadowed by their relation to a person who has been imprisoned. I look at some of the ways in which they too have become incriminated into the same system

                After visiting the Harriton house Thursday, I decided to approach this week’s serendip posting from a more “historical” standpoint. That is, what did my spot next to the pond behind Rhodes look like 100 years ago? In order to do this, I also needed to alter my ecological perspective of my place—and effected this alteration through the removal of students and buildings that are now Bryn Mawr College.  Bryn Mawr College was founded 126 years ago, and although some aspects of the college have remained the same, I imagine that things must have been much different back then. I pictured the pond next to where I sat, more carefully kept, without the fence surrounding the perimeter. I could see women in dresses strolling along the hillside, books in hand—maybe engaging in small talk with a peer as she descended down to the edge of the pond. Of course, there are none of the mowers to assail the quiet, and no computers in lieu of a worn, leafed through book. Instead of other academic institutions, I like to picture a more rural surrounding of my place. I can see fields looking past the pond to the left, and can make out the outline of the Harriton farm if I narrow my eyes and look to my right. The air is clean, and laden with the smell of wassail and dry leaves; I can see bursts of crimson and orange scattered across the ground and on the muddy surface of the pond.

I come back here every year.  It is my place in the summertime.  I can already see the maize climbing the hillside.  It will feed my family for many months.  I will take care of this blessing from Mother Earth, as Mother Earth takes care of me.  I turn back to the present day's work.  My family and I must set up our living arrangements before it is too dark.  We keep this cycle going every year, moving from place to place month to month.  I know it will stay the same forever.  Me, my family, and the wilderness season after season.