2020 in 100 words

We asked Campus writers to tell us about their most 2020 memories — the anecdotes that could have only happened this year — in around 100 words. This is what they had to say. 

 

Charlotte Crutchlow

In mid-July, I was in a slump. I was angry at Covid, the lockdowns and the entire world. One night, I answered my door and saw my best friend standing there with her car keys and a bag of Sour Patch Kids. We were going to see the sunset, she said; it was non-negotiable. After I reluctantly got in the car, we drove to a nearby park, laid a couple beach towels on a patch of grass, and waited. About 20 minutes later came the most incredible sunset I’ve ever seen. Looking up at that sky, I felt alive again.

 

Haley Hutchinson

Whether it be the pounding salty waves of the Pacific Ocean or the sterile clear of a tiled pool steaming with ribbons of chlorine in the wee hours of the morning, the water always brings with it a sense of calm; a reminder of my appreciation for its ebbs and flows and my love for swimming. But when pools remained shut down throughout the Covid pandemic, I had to find another way to connect with the water. A forgotten pond surrounded by grazing horses and orchards became my solace. I came to appreciate its algae greenery and the minnow schools that flitted about. And even when I returned to the natatorium on campus in the fall, I missed that little pond and the comfort it provided during those strange summer months of 2020.

 

Yardena Carmi

A week before being sent home in March, I went to a Middlebury College Organic Farm workshop on brewing ginger beer. Later, when faced with an unexpected wealth of free time, I knew what to do. After a couple weeks of weird odors and regular feedings, I produced a lively ginger bug (a living culture of wild yeast grown in a mix of ginger, sugar and water) that kept me company the whole summer. I brewed gallons of homemade soda at a time, experimenting with different fruit juices and spices. Some batches, left to ferment for too long, tragically turned to alcohol.

 

Michael Segel

A friend from home and I had both been stuck inside for a few weeks and needed something to do, so we decided to meet at a beach near my house. Out of nowhere, we began skipping rocks. This must have gone on for some 15 minutes. There was something therapeutic in repeatedly searching for flat rocks and seeing how far we could skip them. Little things like this helped me reconnect with nature and pass time when I was really looking for things to do.

 

Charlie Deichman-Caswell

Entering quarantine sometime last March, I made a choice. I was going to grow the most lush, sumptuous, magnificent, Ron Burgundy-level mustache ever seen. Naturally, my journey to bewhiskered brilliance took me until mid-April, at which point I at last sported the facial hair of fantasy, a magical mustache with professedly paranormal properties. It was an entity in itself; a living, breathing organism with dreams and emotions. But alas my stunning ‘stache met its demise in July when I accidentally glanced at a mirror and saw my mistake.

 

Julia Pepper

I’ve been going to Prospect Park my whole life. There are photos of me in red rainboots, stomping in puddles beside my grandparents. When I went there with friends in March I had no idea that I’d just finished my last normal day of high school. Sometimes reassuring and other times stressful, crowds in the park show how many New Yorkers have made it their haven. Over the last year I’ve gone on hot sunny walks and windy cold ones. I’ve run the park loop, sat on its benches and picnicked on its grass. The park has been a constant during uncertain times.

 

Roya Touran

One of the things I miss about pre-Covid life is driving to music with friends. One day, my friend Kate and I needed to pick up food during a distanced hangout. We had to be in separate cars but decided to put all our windows down and play Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumors” at the exact same time. We drove side by side, singing every word to each other through the car window and dancing at every red light. We got the strangest stares at stops. I would’ve hated us too, but it was truly the happiest I’d felt since the start of quarantine.

 

Edyth Moldow

There’s something about quarantine that truly makes you believe that caution belongs to the wind. On a folk music kick, I purchased a banjo from eBay and taught myself how to play it, though I focused primarily on “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. Rock music on a bluegrass instrument never sounded so… well, it still needs work. The point is that 2020 inspired me to learn something new, something avant-garde, and take quarantine-blues into my own hands. Literally.