Laura Bergus

The building where I attend law school (note the massive grey dome) is lovingly known as the Death Star among a few of us. I have many critiques of this building. There’re few common areas: couches and not-so-comfy-or-clean chairs are haphazardly shoved into corners and on edges of walkways. None of the classrooms have windows to the outside world (intentional, I’m sure). Worst is the fact that the main stairway and every high traffic area (around the restrooms, locker room and cantina) actually gets narrower right where all of the 600 students and 100 faculty/staff pass each other many times each day. I have had more awkward, “Oh – sorry — excuse me!” moments and near-collisions in this building than in the rest of my life combined. Which of course improves on the already not-so-smooth feelings many of us have when wielding a 40 lb. backpack while balancing laptop, hot coffee and the hummus and pita chips that will be our 10:00 am lunch.

The law school used to be beautiful, but since I probably wouldn’t have been accepted as a law student before 1986 (when the College of Law moved into the Death Star, at which time I was only five years old), I won’t lament that fact too much.

The important thing is that today there is a space where I find refuge in the midst of narrowing hallways and spiraling office corridors (pdf) [ok, that's not really my law school - but apparently there's a trend of law buildings with the name Boyd being built in a circle.]. I’m hesitant to write about it because it’s been nearly a year and there’s never been another person in this sanctuary when I seek it out.

It’s on a hill, outside the building. There are old trees and wildflowers. Early spring brings out an undergrowth of Siberian scilla and creeping charlie. The few scraggly forsythia bushes burst with sprays of golden flowers before their leaves unfurl. A few weeks later the green leaves and white flowers of honeysuckle have emerged and verdant hillside beckons with clusters of violets and foxglove. Later the cultivated prairie plants thrive on the edge of the hill: purple coneflowers, black eyed susans and sunflowers. In the fall, the aged maples and ash grudgingly release eddies of brilliant golden leaves, with the orange-brown foliage of the oaks behind them. Grey squirrels and eastern chipmunks thrive here, as do all the migrating birds. Even bald eagles fly overheard in the winter on their way to the nearby river. I view all of this from an old, worn stone bench perched on the edge of the hill, built on the top of a crumbling limestone wall, giving way to the roots of trees and separating me from the traffic of the highway 60 feet below.

I am so very, very grateful for this sanctuary of wilderness so close to the center of the source of my three years of self-imposed and artificial stress that is law school.

[And there's wireless internet out here, too! I'm writing this while watching fat, fuzzy bumble bees and snuggly, soft baby bunnies frolic in the clover. But crap - I've got a civ pro exam in a couple of hours. Better get back to relaxing before I forget all there is to know about 28 USC 1367. Later!]