This past February, during the tense winter of second semester, I found myself at the airport on a blizzard evening, boarding a plane to Las Vegas. There, I would join my parents, and we would briefly sleep in a smoke-chocked resort before setting off, by car, to the ultimate destination: Deep Springs College. Deep Springs College, for those who might not know (likely most of you), is a two-year liberal arts college tucked in the Deep Springs Valley of California, by the Nevada border. Founded by L.L. Nunn in 1917, the college serves to “prepare young people for a life of service to humanity,” and functions on three fundamental pillars: academics, labour, and self-governance. It is perhaps, the cult-classic of academia: DS has historically received a gaze of fascination from media and dedicated students, because of the tiny student body (around 26 students total, between two years), the deeply isolating conditions of its location, the academic rigour and submergence, the extent of the self-governance, and of course, the cowboy dreamscape. As well (and this is hard to overstate), DS only started accepting girls to its program in 2017.
I myself was going to Deep Springs for an interview. I did not know what to make of it. I wrote the first-round essays in a last-day frenzy, ultimately more drawn to the grandiose ideals of DS than any specific matters. As such, my sentiments were rooted in excitement and deep unpreparedness — yet, I thought that if I could simply demonstrate my charismatic self, I could win the students of DS over. (Yes, this is seriously what I thought). My parents, meanwhile, showed interest and support, but also a continued reluctance regarding the two years Deep Springs would elongate my undergraduate degree by, should I go. I did not know what to make of that, either.
To reach Deep Springs, we decided to travel through Death Valley. I remember the sights of our journey as monumental and emotional. Leaving Las Vegas, snow covered the ground and the skies shone gray. As we drove West, the snow receded and the sun illuminated the earthy colours of the desert. Ever since I read Holes by Louis Sachar many, many years ago, part of me has always been fascinated by the elusive Americana desert. This was the foreign land of my dreams, the one Steinbeck weaved his grand narratives across, the sepia-toned memories of open spaces in a flooding of noon-sun, moon’s orb, lonely farms and secretive towns. On the day of our travels, the weather was first brisk than comfortably mild. The mountains carved itself with colours, the air impossibly fresh. We glided through Death Valley and admired the sky’s horizon and the glaciers in the distance. Mountains were passed slowly and carefully; abyss lay right beside the railing. By the time we reached Big Pine and turned onto California’s 168 towards Deep Springs Valley, evening had fallen. As we climbed up a new mountain, snow started falling again, the roads lined with red volcanic ash. At one point, our car got stuck as it pressed uphill, and panicking, I told my parents we should just turn around, continue the journey the morning after. But we continued, tiny fear gnawing in my stomach, a complete darkness; signs indicated that we would arrive at Deep Springs any moment, now. And after a stretch of forever, arrive we did, to the sight of brilliance, a big tent of light, an oasis. I was ecstatic: Deep Springs was real, Deep Springs was real.
I would stay at Deep Springs for four nights and three full days. My parents left very shortly after dropping me off, and I brought my belongings — a backpack, a pink luggage, and a dry-cleaned jacket my mom had brought for me, on a hanger (I quickly realized how bougie I looked) — into the room I was assigned to. As the evening continued, I met the five other applicants (DS invites around 45 applicants in total, for second-round interviews) and we talked over leftovers and home-made granola. Everything felt intimidating and reassuring at once: the crazy amount of visible stars in the sky, the students interacting with each other so intimately, the quirky details (paintings, notes, photo IDs, etc.) on the walls.
For three days, I was within and without the Deep Springs community. I felt extremely naïve yet capable, ready to accept any experience. I thought as applicants we would be tokenized in some way (some us, would after all, be forming the next incoming class), but we were not given any sort of special attention; it was just what it was, daily life in the Valley.
Our first full day was a Friday, so we were able to attend classes in the morning. Most students showed up in their pyjamas, oversized and ragged clothing, slippers, carrying their books. I felt distinctly overdressed, despite my attempts of a “casual” outfit; luckily (or neutrally), no one was paying attention, of course. I did not understand the seminars very well, but interested myself in the flow of the conversation. Sometimes it would drop flat, and every time a student would actively recognize that drop.
Meal times were surprisingly efficient. They would last half an hour, at most. I suppose I expected long, philosophical discourses to be a regular occurring as people ate, but Deep Springs turned out to be a lot more pragmatic than I envisioned it to be (the long discourses seemed to happen more so between meal times, and late at night). Us applicants did a lot of dishes, table cleaning, floor-sweeping. Music would be picked (during our time, a lot of Sound of Music), and procedure enacted. One time, while cleaning cups with a student, I smelled something funky. Then I realized: she hadn’t worn deodorant. That was a strange delight to me, for it was an empowering realization: the women here were beautiful on their own terms.
Afternoons were mostly dedicated to labour. During my three days, apart from dish duties, I hacked at tumbleweed, raked the fields, picked sweet potatoes, cut hay off from a truck to feed the cattle, helped make chilli and quiches, and milked cows (this labour was at 4:30 AM and PM). It was incredibly nice to be outside after a morning of classes — your mind had time to renew itself.
Evenings were mostly reserved for homework, public speaking, and student body meetings. We had the chance to attend an SB, and though I will not detail anything said during the meeting, I will reflect that most students seemed extremely passionate about their community. It was a night of well spoken-ness, humour, and candor. There was cheesecake and vegan ice cream left in the middle of the room, and as the meeting progressed, people would gingerly or swiftly make their way to the treat, add a helping of sliced strawberries to their bowl, and then balance up from their knees to feet, to head back to their sitting spot.
I witnessed and participated in many interesting conversations at Deep Springs. I listened to students explain their dissatisfaction with different aspects of Deep Springs. I overheard students sharing deep comments of empathy and admiration between each other. I took in details of what the second-years were planning for after graduation (most of them more school, some of them uncertainty). I understood more about the students themselves, and perhaps that process was what drew me into Deep Springs the most strongly.
I left my interview feeling good, and then progressively worse. I knew that my dedication to the idea of Deep Springs was not complete — my parents’ concern was in the back of my head — and at this point I could only mull over whether or not the Application Committee would recognize that. But I knew I would deeply miss Deep Springs. And I knew this even more strongly when I landed back in Toronto, when I felt how skeletal the city was against my heart. I was extremely removed the first week back; as obnoxious as it sounds, I truly was bitter, feeling that the city and the pace of university were mechanical and meaningless. I eventually eased my way back into the reality of the semester — assignments and essays were demanding my attention and there was no way around that.
It became common (though unconfirmed) knowledge to us applicants that we would receive news from Deep Springs on April 1st. For me, the e-mail came a few days early, a surprise in the night just as I was printing an essay in my room: I was not offered a place in the Class of 2019. I texted my best friend and called my parents. I felt okay and then felt worse a few days later, after finding out one of my applicant friends had been offered admission. Then with exam season, my sadness effectively vanished. What remained (and I hope I have expressed this in my writing) was the primary beauty of the experience. I am excited for the Class of 2019, and especially for my friend!
There are several things I learned from my short time at Deep Springs. I learned that you shouldn’t say that the labour position you desire the most is that of the cowboy, if you don’t even know what a cowboy does — this makes you an aesthetic prick. I learned that work is repetitive but necessary; if you didn’t clean the floor for a day, the effect would be noticeable. I learned that sometimes, the best way to go about success is believing that you have already succeeded. Finally, I learned to be a little more awake than I was before.
Thank you, to everyone at Deep Springs for welcoming me into your community! You have moved me in many ways.
Originally published at http://thehumblewatermelon.wordpress.com on May 7, 2019.
