Graduation

On the campus of the University of Connecticut in Storrs, on the corner of Stadium and Hillside, between the Co-op and Gampel auditorium stands a graceful ornamental tree. I don't know what kind it is, but it reminds me of a Japanese kimono with its flowing lines and delicate lavendar flowers. It is planted in a concrete raised planter about 4 foot square, and its downward bending boughs seem to be embracing you as they dance in the quiet breezes that pass on down the hill.

There's rarely a workday goes by that I don't pass that corner and draw strength from its classic beauty regardless of the weather. In the rain it seems bright and cheerful. In blue skies, warm and friendly. In winter, full of promise and hope for a soon coming spring. Its very existence caresses my soul, encouraging me to sing for joy.

Today was graduation at UConn, and I had the dubious honor of being the sole access services staff to come to the library and receive the thousands of books pouring back into the collection after all the papers, thesis, exams, and assignments have come to an end. The sigh of relief can be heard from the north to the south end of campus, not to be confused with the weeping and wailing of exams week.

As I drove on campus, there were herds of people everywhere. You would have thought it a parade. Balloons floated behind nervous mothers, gowned grads hugged flowers, proud fathers snapped pictures of everything, mortar boards sailed in the wind. No one paid any attention to where sidewalks ended and roads began, despite the plethora of police directing the sluggishly crawling cars full of gawking visitors.

I was pleasantly surprised to find parking not a problem, perhaps due to all the buses porting folks from far parking lots. As I threaded my way through the crowd, I heard snatches of conversations, mostly punctuated with pride and happiness. Grammas and aunts, nieces and nephews, whole families in support of some young closing-one-chapter-starting-another person, hugging and laughing and having a marvelous time.

Passing my corner took more time than usual what with the tent where they were selling floral bouquets (the roses were phenomenal) and gaudy orange barricades across Stadium Drive. It wasn't until I had crossed the street and glanced back that I realized I could barely see my tree. It was stood quietly, patiently in its concrete confine, unswayed by the human drama unfolding beneath it branches. I thought it odd and a bit puzzling that the tree seemed neither out of place nor totally in sync with the day. Not removed, nor a part. Just there.

I wondered if anyone in the crowd noticed its beauty, or remembered it from their own days on the campus. But it was not a day for soul searching or filling empty places with the delights of creation. It was a day for connecting with those who are most important to us on this journey - family and friends who, when the major events of life occur, show up to irritate us, celebrate us, invigorate us, and in the end love us and care for us.

Tomorrow, the corner of Stadium and Hillside will be quiet once again, the crowds dispersed to the four corners of the world to begin new adventures. I will miss the bustle and activity. I will wish them well. I will walk past my tree and drink in its beauty, and smile.