RCAHive November 2012

N OV E M B E R 2 0 1 2 | V S .

Yin and Yang 4Comic vs. Comic 13Creation Stories 21

CA AZ WA N C MA M I C O M E N D CT

O ba m a l e a d

R o m n e y l e a d

E L ECTO R A L C O L L EG E

S C O R E B OA R D

Our Mission:RCAHive strives to be an innovative student magazine that is

entertaining, intellectually provocative, and visually engaging. We are conscious of the responsibility of writing and publishing, and we seek to create a dynamic magazine that is worthy of its readers. RCAHive seeks to bring RCAH to the world and bring the world into RCAH.

RCAHive Staff

Editors in ChiefCooper Franks, Arielle LaBrecque

NewsToni Lee Ruggiano, Sean Fitzpatrick

Features Jenny Crakes, Danielle Dillon

The Arts Libby Lussenhop

RCAH Life Kelsey Block, Alexa McCarthy, Niki Rudolph

EntertainmentIan Siporin, Melanie Sweet

Columnists Abby Conklin, Gavin McNeil

Copy Editors Nicole DiMichele, Sophia Mathias-Porter

Design EditorsSamantha Novak, Emma Foley, Cooper Franks

Photography EditorMark Sullivan

Communications ManagerKatie Wittenauer

Cartoon ArtistsKristin Phillips, Brandon Hankins

Other ContributionsTaylor Davis, Chelsea Gallagher, Scott Swanson, Mark Sullivan, Faith Perrenoud,

Gretchen Mathos

Cover Art by: Shira Kresch

Submissions:RCAHive wants to hear from you! We encourage any medium of submissions from all members of the RCAH community. We reserve the right to edit submissions for

length and clarity. The opinions expressed in the articles are those of the writers and not necessarily of RCAHive. Submissions should be approximately 450 words

with an image, 750 without. Please send submissions to [email protected].

The theme for the March issue is Magic.

RCAHIVE November 2012

a

4 RCAHIVE | feature

Human beings seem to be naturally inclined to see life in terms of contrast. Good versus evil. Left versus right. Life versus death. Republican versus Democrat. Old versus young. A world of opposites. However, as the dynamic nature of our society increases and globalization transcends these barriers, the idea of versus is dissolving, and we are entering a period more like the idea of yin and yang.

Meaning, "shadow and light," yin and yang originated as a Chinese philosophy used to describe how polar opposities or seemingly contrary forces are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world. Yin and yang are not considered dualities, but complementary forces that interact to form a greater whole.

For example, light cannot be comprehended if darkness didn't exist and shadow cannot exist without light. They coincide, a harmonious kind of feeling. Police and hippies. All that jazz.

The classic mantra rings true, "Yin creates Yang and Yang activates Yin."

From every facet in our reality, we must obtain a yin and yang kind of perception.

Instead of viewing the world in polar opposites, we need to mix them.

Work needs to be infused with play. Understanding must shake hands with debate. The Left Brain must complement the Right. Teaching must hug it out with learning and each aspect of yin and yang needs to see eye to eye. A kind of balance.

Since I began my Michigan State journey, my sister has travelled to teach in Kuwait and my brother continues to work on his degree. But we remain connected by an ongoing email stream. My dad sends inspirational emails every week. Sometimes it's serious life lessons that I should consider, other times it's things I %!� ,�9&��!&,�*�+,!&���'*�my future or personal amusement, and mostly always, it ends with, Luv ya, Papa Bear or The Folically Challenged One.

Among these, all have had somewhat of an impact on me, but one lesson could not be more true.

Have a balance.

If you are very Yin-ish, experience some Yang. Work toward your ambitions, stress, and realize that when you

relax in the future, your stress makes it that much sweeter. The rollercoaster kind of lifestyle exists. You will have your ups and downs, so learn to put your hands up, hang on with white knuckles and smile.

Appreciate the whole. Love your enemy. Embrace your fears. Experience it all. Rain or shine. Dive in and work on analyzing and enjoying everything. Of course opposing ideas exist. Sometimes as clear as a line sketched in dirt. But once you begin to see the big picture, you will begin to see those lines fade.

Yin and Yang, baby.

Cooper Franks

Yin and Yang

feature

Arielle LaBrecque

As November 6 draws closer, the word "versus" has cemented itself in our socio-political culture.

Throughout the past year, we have watched the parties and their candidates struggle to undo the threads of opposing rhetoric and re-stitch that of their own. With Obama’s “Forward” highly contrasting the newly minted jeremiad of ��(-�$!��&�9�-*� �����'%&�1��the relationship between the parties can be described as nothing other than “versus.”

The word versus, especially in regards to this year’s political parties, creates a preeminent binary. You are either Republican or Democrat; when you are condemned as a “godless liberal” or a “Jesus-loving conservative” in our society, there is little motivation to make your political opinions known. It is easier, and perhaps

less frustrating, to hide behind the convenient label of “independent.”

But over the course of this election, I have found that versus, in regards to politics, has taken on a far more ironic meaning. As a politically !&�'*%���!&�!.!�-�$����9&��myself more isolated from those who play no part in our process or show no semblance of interest in politics, perhaps even more so than those I blatantly disagree with. If no one ever had the sense to express an opinion, it’s not hard to imagine we would still be living in caves.

If the entirety of the population agreed, we would be living in a far more mindless state. How can we forget the sticky unanimity in Huxley’s Brave New World? Where would the controversy, passion, or motivation come from if all

of us were to hold no opinion? Change is the byproduct of our disagreements. Our differentiating wants and needs inform our policies; our incongruities color our culture.

How we learn to accept these differences is our own call to versus. Through our disagreements we are �0�*�!+!&��, ��*!� ,�,'��'&:!�,�with one another. We learn / �,�9� ,+�,'�(!�#��&��/ �,�we can afford to lose. These experiences, these discussions, these emotions: they shape us. They mold our beliefs and polish our moral compasses.

And so, in the name of versus, let us disagree.

In The Name of Versus

feature

Her sister Rose was adding salt to the soup when Leah told her about the suffragist march down in London next week. She must’ve known what Rose’s answer would be, but Leah proceeded to sew the banner �&1/�1��(*!�#!&�� �*�9&��*+�during late nights in Rose’s shop after the dressmaking work was done.

The morning of the march she hurried down to the train station before dawn, her face pensive and her skirts too short for her long legs. The unfamiliar city was a whirlwind for Leah with its streetcars and pelting rain and policemen; unsettling though not yet menacing.

At Parliament Square there were throngs of women in lines that knit themselves together, and one of the leaders took her by the elbow and gave her wooden poles to hold the banner. In the midst of the march Leah felt a part of things, and when the uniforms descended she was full of enough nervous resolve to keep clutching the poles while two of them argued over who should take her banner away.

Finally one of them wrenched it from her, twisting her wrist and +,*!#!&�� �*���,� �*�9&��*+��

“Oh,” she said, very quietly despite the voices around them , �,�/�*��+ '-,!&���� ��:�+ �of pain mixed with a blur of activity as they were rounded into wagons and then cells inside the station; the whole thing seemed like a bad dream.

No one from home knew where Leah was. It was cold in the station, but the women were singing and laughing, calling her a brave girl. She fell half asleep in a shivery haze until she woke hours later to the sound of Rose’s voice, and a policeman unlocking the door and saying her sister could take her home.

Rose had brought the wagon and halfway home she was too angry to speak to Leah, sitting +,!�:1�-(*!� ,��+�, �1�/�*��jolted and bounced on the wooden seat.

Finally Rose burst out, “You don’t care anything about the suffragists, Leah, you’re only doing this for a lark.”

5 ���*'#��,/'�'��%1�9&��*+�6�Leah said, and Rose pulled the reins up short.

“What?”

“Taking my banner away. A policeman broke two of my 9&��*+�6

Rose took Leah’s arm and turned her hand over, surveying the damage and sucking in a sharp breath.

“Just keep still until we’re home,” she said. “I’ll splint your hand there.”

They kept on, to where the paved road turned to gravel, ,'/�*�+�, ��$-+ ���*��&�9�$�+�and the still town and the close, quiet room where endless hemlines and the promise of enough tiny stitches to make Leah’s eyes ache awaited.

At their driveway, Rose turned back to her. “We won’t tell anyone what happened today. But you are not going back to London.”

Leah thought of how more had happened to her on this

one day than ever in her life before, and how next time, no one would take the banner from her. She started to say something, when Rose interrupted. “That’s enough. That’s all there is to it.”

But it wasn’t.

Jenny Crakes

The March

There is something about a college campus in the fall---the timeless buildings amid the towering trees that burst with shades of yellow, orange, and red. The fallen leaves that coat the grass, occasionally lifted by a gust of wind that chills the crisp air. The bitter sweetness of the change that fall entails is coupled with a certain pleasure in reuniting with scarves, jackets, and the incomparable warmth provided from a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks. There is something about this season that makes us feel connected as students and as people.

However, there is also something about the fall that seems to bring out a strong division amongst us all, something that happens every four years. It's election time, baby! MSU is comprised of mostly18- to 21-year-olds, so there is a pretty wide range of feelings toward the upcoming election. There are some who are quite passionate about politics and faithful to their party -- those that would be ready for a debate at any given time. There are some of us who think they know who they support and what they believe in, but would pee their pants if asked to support their argument. There are the “I guess I'll just support whatever person my parents are behind” people, and I'm sure, plenty who have no idea what the hell is even going on (who are these people the comedians on Saturday Night Live keep mocking? Is Tina Fey running for vice president again?).

For a long time, I was one of those who had absolutely no clue about politics. I chose to remain ignorant because I felt the candidates were just plastic people with dirty methods, and I believed that watching the news to see what was going on was just depressing (Breaking news: 12 different countries have just declared war, the ozone has literally deteriorated to naught, and the polar ice caps have melted. Meanwhile, your cat is dead.).

Truthfully, most of my information was coming from Saturday Night Live. There was something more interesting about watching comedians portray the latest debate or interview. Through their jokes, actors on

SNL would expose and exaggerate their voices and mannerisms, and use their statements and actions to make something that was real, funny and entertaining. It was easy to just say, “Screw everything, the government is corrupt and there's nothing I can do about it.” Maybe you've felt like that too, but things have changed: we can vote now. We each have one voice and even though it is amid a sea of roughly 217 million other voters, it does make an impact.

On October 3rd, both presidential ��&�!��,�+��&,�*���, ��*!&���'*�, ��9*+,�debate of the season. There were no jokes about it (fortunately, SNL had it covered the following Saturday). Obama featured his usual poise and ever-calm demeanor---and undoubtedly showed weakness. Romney entered full of passion, ready to battle. Both came on the stage respectful of each other, but ready to take the other on. After an hour and a half of duking it out, the country was buzzing with discussion. Angry +,�,-+�+�'��1'-&��.',�*+�9$$���%1������''#�newsfeed, ripping on Romney's tendencies to interject or Obama's failure to captivate.

Every news channel was covering it -- who actually won? Polls have said Romney, and even Obama admitted defeat. Even though Republicans cheer, Democrats shake their heads, and independents attempt to decide the lesser of two evils, this was only the 9*+,�����,����'%&�1�+�(�*�'*%�&��� �+�swung the polls in his favor, but everything could change. There are more debates, mudslinging, and slip-ups that the nation will be following as we get closer to Election Day.

It's going to be a heated battle: One that is not only between the candidates who will attempt to win the hearts of America, but one that allows for the people to have their opinions heard. There may not be any blood shed by either of the opponents, but both face a war of words and that has equal importance. The future of our country is on the line, as it is every four years. But now we have a voice in the matter. It doesn’t matter how small it seems, because what you do is important. However, if you do decide to take a stand, beware of the outcome. While some may be accepting, you may feel a rift amongst the people surrounding you...even your friends and family. Prepare for the advertisements, the debates, and Nancy Grace's awful haircut. The battle going on between Obama and Romney has divided the country, and it's only going to get worse...but that's okay.

Of course, an entire nation is not going to agree on one way of thinking and it will be a long while before there’s a unanimous decision on who will be president. The fact that we have the chance to disagree and make our opinions known is kind of a great thing. Go ahead this fall and stand for what you believe in, just as long as you actually -&��*+,�&��/ �,��0��,$1�1'-�*��9� ,!&���'*�

Danielle Dillon

VS. VS.

news

news

In contemporary political culture, condemnation of partisanship is nearly universal. “A pox on both houses” may as well be the national motto, with centrist elites pouncing on every opportunity to blame both parties for our nation’s woes and pining for a third party of independent-minded problem solvers to put the nation on the right track. In the process, political pundits have fetishized ('$!,!��$�!&��(�&��&,+����9&!&��public opinion through the lens of these nonpartisan voters. Voters themselves have taken to this trend, with , ��&-%��*�'��+�$��!��&,!9���independents on the rise substantially since the 1970s. On the surface, this may seem like a good thing. If voters are more willing to consider both parties--or even willing to reject them and support an alternative--perhaps democracy will be better served. I reject this notion. I think what the country needs is a healthy dose of partisanship. Voters haven’t really eschewed the partisan process, and they certainly haven’t embraced an alternative to the two party system--which is a good thing, as the two party system offers voters a clear choice and is not nearly as resistant to change as its opponents would make it out to be. What we need is not a centrist third party offering a third way for the American people, but for the American people--especially activists--to reject false equivalencies, pick ��+!�����&��9� ,��'*�!,�

While the word independent has become much more popular in the past few decades, the evidence shows that this surge seems to be in name only. Even as the &-%��*�'��+�$��!��&,!9���independents has risen in the last 40 years, the thoughtful, diligent independent portrayed in the media remains as elusive as ever.

When political scientists ��,�*%!&��(�*,1�!��&,!9��,!'&��they ask voters if they identify with one party or another; on this measure, the number of independents has risen steadily. However, political scientists do not stop there. Among those who say they do identify as a Democrat or a Republican, they ask if they identify strongly or weakly with that party; among those who say they don't, they are pressed if they lean toward one party or the other. This follow up complicates the issue and betrays the true nature of these independents in two ways: It reveals that there are very few “true” independents and that those +�$��!��&,!9���!&��(�&��&,+�who lean toward one party or another are partisans in independents’ clothing. In fact, those “leaners” actually tend to be more likely to support their party’s nominee than the weak partisans. It turns out that while the idea of political independence is appealing, in practice voters do not have �!�9�-$,1���$!�.!&��, �,�'&��of the two parties represents them better.

As such, these independents do not represent a threat to the two party system. Activists hoping to circumvent , ��,/'�(�*,!�+�/!$$�9&��, ��public uninterested. As this cycle has shown with the failure of groups like No Labels and Americans Elect to offer third-party alternatives, there is no grassroots desire to upset the Democrats and Republicans’ control over government. Nor should there be. The American system of government is not designed for third-parties to compete, and that’s a virtue, &',���:�/����,��!.�+�.',�*+�a clear choice of directions while providing institutional memory and stability. The scrambled ideology of coalition governments in places like Britain and the unrepresentativeness of minority governments in places like Canada spell out the dangers of a multi-party fracture. Of course, it is true that the two-party system does, in a sense, limit the choices of the electorate. It is, after all, certain that the next President of the United States will be either a Democrat or a Republican, and so will the next one, and so will the one after that. With very rare exceptions, this has been the case for the better part of the past 150 years. But this does not signify a stagnant political system. While the party labels are static, the substance behind those labels !+��&1, !&���-,����,�!+��+��!�9�-$,�to imagine Teddy Roosevelt in today's Republican Party,

as it is to imagine Richard Russell in today's Democratic Party--the icons of the past �'&8,���+!$1�9,�!&,'�,'��18+�paradigm. Indeed, even as the two parties maintain their duopoly on American political ('/�*��, ����9&!,!'&�'��/ �,�it is to be a Democrat or a Republican is constantly evolving. This is because parties are not monolithic, top down groups controlled by a few unchanging interests. Much like any other social organization, political parties are made of people. The people who attend the local Community Democrats or District Republicans meetings do not do so to receive orders from Washington and carry them out. They are ordinary folks who happen to be unusually interested in politics and government who genuinely believe that their party would do a better job in charge than the other guys would. And as focused as we are on the Presidency, these hodgepodge local organizations are where the real power of the American democratic system rests. This power is derived from the fact that in American politics, no one comes from nowhere. Barack Obama was once just a candidate for State Senate in Chicago; it was the local activists who backed his initial State Senate run even against a sitting State Senator who gave him the opportunity for his meteoric rise.

Pick a Side: In Defense of the Two Party SystemSean Fitzpatrick

9

Even Mitt Romney can trace his place on the national stage back to local Republican activists who urged him to run for Governor of Massachusetts in 2002. In local elections, support of these grassroots party networks is nearly essential for candidates, and its importance is by no means diminished as one looks up the political ladder: By far the most common stepping stone for Representatives in Congress is local elected '�9�����

Careers are made and lost by how well a candidate warms himself to the local parties around the �'-&,*1�� ��!&:-�&���'��these local activists extends beyond the candidates to include vital matters of public policy, as well. Take, for example, the question of reproductive rights for women. When Roe v. Wade initially declared restrictions on abortion to be unconstitutional nearly 40 years ago, it was not a partisan issue; one's party !��&,!9��,!'&�/�+���.�*1�poor predictor of one's view on abortion.

However, activists on both sides of the issue took their case to the parties, pro-lifers and pro-choicers organizing grassroots campaigns in Republican and Democratic primary elections, respectively. The result of their labor is evident; while neither side admits to a "litmus test" for Supreme Court nominees, history shows us what the stakes are in terms of Roe v. Wade. There is no doubt that if Governor Romney is elected, his choice for the Court would oppose Roe, and it is equally certain that an Obama appointee would uphold it.

For an individual voter, the question of abortion illustrates the foolishness of pretending the two parties are one in the same. Make no mistake: With the 9�, ��&�����!�!&��.',��,'�uphold a woman's right to choose in the hands of a 79-year-old cancer survivor, the right to an abortion may as well be listed on the ballot this year. Regardless of where an individual falls on this issue, the choice could not be starker. But as a question of political activism, the

$�++'&�'��, ��('$!,!��$�9� ,�over abortion is that the two party system can be leveraged to advance a particular cause, and that the work can exist. Partisanship, I realize, may never be fashionable. Nonpartisan and bipartisan may remain buzzwords until the end of days. But those of us who want to make a difference in public policy cannot be fooled by this popular sentiment. The single most effective vehicle �'*�!&:-�&�!&��, ���-,-*��'��this nation is the two party system, as Republicans and Democrats have been responsible for this nations public policy for the last 150 years. The lesson for political activists: Pick a side and make it yours. Pick a side �&��9� ,��'*�!,������1'-�generally desire an America to the left of today’s or if 1'-�+(��!9��$$1�, !&#� ��$, �care should be socialized, join the Democratic Party. If you feel more at home with the word conservative or you want fewer federal programs, join the Republican Party. And then make it yours.

Work with other people who generally agree with you, even if their interests or exact ideologies are not the same, and push your party in the direction you want it to go. As Jamelle Boiue of The American Prospect argues, it truly is “possible for a dedicated group of people to take control of a local party, 9�$������&�!��,���/!&���&��expand outwards.” This is not the easy way out. Working within the complicated party infrastructure can be frustrating, and it will never be possible to remain pure as one can from the outside. It requires far greater persuasive effort, not just that your belief is well-founded, but that its righteousness can be sold to the American public. Decrying the failures of both parties to adequately address your pet concern and lamenting the lesser of two evils will always be easier. But this is how '&���'�+��*'%�9� ,!&��, ���''��9� ,�,'�/!&&!&��!,�

10 RCAHIVE | news Art by: Emma Foley

�*����!&:�,!'&�!+�+'%�, !&��, �,�all higher learning institutions hope to avoid. Grading systems are used in most schools to measure knowledge gained, participation, and work put into the course by students. If each student performs differently, yet each student receives the same grade at the end, it’s harder for institutions to measure the rigor of their curriculum and recognize what areas of instruction need to be improved. In this instance, grading systems are tools to quantitatively record and evaluate the quality of learning programs. While grades may not be everything, they are helpful tools of analysis for institutions to get big picture views and address systematic problems. Teacher evaluations, if developed and implemented correctly, can be used as a similar tool for improving educational outcomes.

Teacher evaluations and assessments have become a #�1�!++-��!&�9&�!&��+'$-,!'&+�to our failing public schools. We recently saw through the Chicago Teachers Union strike the reaction to proposals of new teacher assessments in school districts with poor performance. Some argue that evaluations fail to recognize teacher individuality, while others claim that they will be used to undermine teacher job security. I believe that properly developed and implemented teacher assessment programs can recognize high performing

individuals, while also allowing for more effective professional development programs that improve poor performing teachers, rather than replace them.

Chicago is not the only area in the Midwest negotiating new ways to measure teacher performance in the classroom. In Michigan last year, every public school was required to measure teacher performance in four rating categories: ineffective, minimally effective, effective, highly effective. This policy was introduced in hopes of expanding teacher assessments to provide teachers with more detailed feedback on their strengths and weaknesses. It was imagined to lead to %'*����9�!�&,��&�������,!.��professional development to strengthen teacher and school performance, removing pressure for more drastic overhauls of poor performing districts. Unfortunately, according to a recent report published from a survey of last year’s assessments, the performance ratings didn’t match performance reality. A survey of large Michigan school districts, conducted by Education Trust-Midwest, found that “more than 99 percent of teachers were rated effective or highly effective on their 2011-2012 performance evaluations." Of all the teachers surveyed, only .2 percent (2 in every 1000 teachers) were rated ineffective. In the Lansing School District, of the 922 teachers evaluated, 100 percent were rated “effective.”

By these ratings alone, Michigan appears to have some of the greatest teachers in the nation, however if this was the case our state should not rank near the bottom on national assessments.

Teachers want to improve. Just as students who work toward high GPAs to improve their professional and academic opportunities, teachers want to have the greatest impact in their students’ success in the classroom and beyond. However, if evaluation systems continue to provide thousands of teaching professionals with the same positive rating, it will ���.�*1��!�9�-$,�,'�� �&���current student achievement levels. Educators understand the difference between an A and D student, and students know the difference between an A and D teacher. However, if one of the tools we’re using to examine and improve our education system as a whole doesn’t make this distinction among teachers, districts cannot clearly see / �*��+(��!9��!%(*'.�%�&,�!+�needed.

Accurate feedback is important for all business professionals, especially those working in service oriented jobs where !,8+��!�9�-$,�,'�(-,���&-%��*�on success. Grading and evaluation systems are one way to measure success and, more importantly, improvement. Asking for a more extensive evaluation system for our public school teachers is not a ploy to diminish or control teachers'

abilities in the classroom. Instead, it is a plea for recognition of excellent and not so excellent teachers. So teachers who are succeeding can rise up to be leaders for their peers, and professional development funds can directly be targeted on areas where less successful teachers need additional support in.

Evaluation systems will never provide the solutions for how to improve teacher performance, student achievement, or educational success. What they can do is guide policy makers, administrators, and educators to the areas that need improvement, and help measure the success of new experimental programs and techniques for raising the level of learning in public school classrooms. Additionally, teachers and administrators must be included in the development of these evaluation systems to ensure that what is being measured directly relates to the hard work that successful teachers put into educating their students. Only then will , �+���.�$-�,!'&+�*�:��,�*��$!,1��and hopefully help us work towards the level of education effectiveness in our public schools that our current ratings claim we have.

Chelsea Gallagher

Teacher Assessment Teacher PerformanceVS.

Art by: Emma Foley

the arts

11

There is a shift in sentimentfrom shower-side shag carpet Chelsea Galagher to wet tile.

A rug: an in-between, some timeline’s fault line,

and not alone in limbo— a topographical map is at a loss before

a welcome mat, a goodbye curb, slick poolside stones.

A step, a few inches, renewed intent;

beginning, end, carpe diem—

orone more rinse

under the showerhead.

Last RinseLibby Lussenhop

Lost /Found

Scott Swanson

12 RCAHIVE | the arts

My FriendDear Hero WorshipperJenny Crakes

Kristin Phillips

The neighbors didn’t understand my friend, who rode a motorbike for the 9*+,�,!%��/ �&�+ ��/�+��!� ,�1��*+�'$��and crashed into bushes after trying to stop by using the gas and brakes at once. She was just enough older ,'��$/�1+��'�, !&�+�9*+,�/ !$����/'-$��watch and then decide whether to follow.

“Pick someone else,” she said once, but I adored her.

� ��$'.���,'�($�1�/!, �9*���&��+!&���� �*�9&��*+�($�1!&��/!, �%�$,!&����&�$��wax from the lights on the table. We balanced along railway tracks, tracing them in the thick dark under stars. In winter we set up camp one night out in the snow, to watch the moon shine down like a palace of shadows and mirrors. She led me into stories whose doors were just beyond my reach, stories that were not quite safe but glimmered like that moon.

One day we walked down to a bend in the wide river and played with the rapids, giggling as the water snatched at our bodies and we made our escape. I got tired and sat down on the bank, while she swam off once more, where the surface frothed in small white ripples. Past where we usually ducked '-,�'��, ���-**�&,��+ ��:'�,���,'���standstill, struggling against the water that curled and snagged her slowly forward. Her eyes met mine and for one +��'&��, �1�:�+ ���/!, ����*��

I jumped up, but she choked out “Stay put” and so I did, poised knee-deep on the slippery rocks.

She untangled herself and swam to shore, laughing in breathless bursts, steadying herself on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Were you scared?”

“Course not.” My throat constricted and %1�.'!�����%��'-,�+'-&�!&��9�*����

We came up from the river chilled, still damp beneath our clothes. We sat in the house with hot chocolate, but I couldn’t get warm. At home I drew a bath in the claw-foot tub, curled up numb in the spoonful of steam.

� �� ������'1�*!�&��9*+,���&����/�+�, ��one left to sit banging my heels against the school wall, wondering if she would still want to come home to hang out. � �1�/�*��$!&#����'*�9.��1��*+��� �1�moved in together. He ate pizza at my family’s table, drove a snowmobile for us while we bounced, laughing, behind it on a sled.

After their breakup, we giggled in the kitchen baking cookies while she told the family that things just weren’t working out, then skipped right into a description of how the mall cops trailed her and a friend home from the park after they set off a bathroom security alarm. She casually took the wheel when the two of us headed off for the !+$�&���'&$1�,'�9&��, �,���,�*���:''���, ��bridge had been closed. The park lady with a British accent told us to take the causeway. We didn’t understand what that meant so we crawled under the bridge and attempted to wade across 'til we noticed the gravel sandbar, remnants of a road.

We walked the shiny, wooded trails and admired the surging river, its waters high in the assertion that it was still most powerful. We explored the magical little chapel house and swung our legs picnicking on pop, strawberries and whipped cream. The sun soaked into our bodies as we walked, side-by-side on the path, and it was so peaceful when she turned to me in a low voice and said he wouldn’t take his medication, that he hit her, but she’d thought it would stop until the night he grabbed her by the neck. '#��� �*��:-&�� �*���*'++�, ��*''%��told her to get into bed. I froze, so cold, the clean cut of shock.

Her eyes were calm, serious. So you know, it just didn’t work out. Don’t tell anyone. I didn’t know what to say so we kept on walking as though nothing had happened. I was breathless with guilt and I wanted to snatch her up, to save her. People always say they don’t understand how women stay with men like that, why they don’t just get away. I barely brushed her hand and thought of her delicate glamour, her sparkling taking of risks, and I understood, oh, I understood.

After that she went away, someplace she wouldn’t see his old truck around town any longer.

“You’ll leave one day, too,” she said, but it didn’t come out like a warning.

13

Kristin Phillips

Comic Vs. Comic

Kristin Phillips

Brandon Hankins

14 RCAHIVE | the arts

My two newly purchased, nay, adopted dwarf �%+,�*+�9,�,'��, �*�)-!,��comfortably in their pink, plastic recreation ball. I carried the, with pride, to my neighbor and best friend, Sharon. She would be the 9*+,�,'�%��,���'��&��$�'���As we walked downstairs to the basement she blabbered in my ear some story about her brother and a skateboard, but I could hardly focus on her brother’s minor injuries when I held in my hands the two most amazing six-dollar animals ever to grace anyone’s presence.

We turned the corner and I was about to set them down when Sharon suggested that she take her hamster out of its cage so mine could stretch out a little bit.

Minutes passed. I could hear Fluffy running around in her much larger recreation ball. Too enamored with my own adorable pets’ interactions, I didn’t notice when the small screeching and thumps of the plastic stopped and Sharon began to approach the cage, Fluffy in hand. I was startled when she motioned to open the top of the cage and quickly started for the

side door to remove my hamsters. She stopped me , '-� ��+�1!&��!,�/�+�9&���saying that Fluffy wouldn’t -*,���:1���

I retreated, slightly nervously, but answered Leo and Cleo’s gazes with a reassuring nod. Why would Sharon say it if it wasn’t true? She placed her hamster in the top compartment, and Fluffy began her slow descent through the green-tinted tube.

When she arrived at the top level of the main structure, she paused, sensing a disturbance. She crept to the edge of the platform and gazed over the edge. My hamsters gazed back.

Beat.

Fluffy turned around and started down the ladder to the next lowest platform; only four more to go, the smaller hamsters watched.

Beat.

Fluffy scratched her claws on the textured plastic and clambered down the stairs to the next platform; three to go, the smaller hamsters watched on.

Beat.

Fluffy’s eyes became wide with rage as she climbed through the tube to the next platform. Two to go. Leo got his wits together and looked around for an escape. He spotted a staircase leading to another compartment and made his way towards refuge, He glanced back at Cleo.She remained motionless. He looked at her, trying to convince her to escape but she wouldn’t budge. He trudged through the pain and persevered to safety. Right as he entered the compartment Fluffy reached Cleo.

“SHIT!” And Sharon’s mom rammed into my shoulder, obliterating my view of the scene.

Leo looked so small through the pink plastic on the walk home.

Faith Perrenoud

Melanie Sweet

Man vs.

NatureGretchen Mathos

the arts

300 x 3Taylor Davis

Photograph by: Mark Sullivan

right now i am dosing high, into the night of me

i want someone to see the violence in me

my credibility

i need a witness

to this tempo and light

the gardens are growing green

the desert is dry again

i am deep into the mountain

i am lost in its nicotine and debt

i want them to see my smoldering

because the world is dark

let me be a woman

let me be who i am

i am sad i was lost in you

i am sad you are lost in me

drowning in water i can't see

please someone, come

i am trying so hard

to be alive

please someone, come

let me know I am not alone

show me

through touch and hearing

that there is nothing more

that this is all that matters

Inside OutScott Swanson

CymbalIceMark Sullivan

RCAH Life

For one entire week in November, students of the Residential College in the Arts and Humanities will have the unique opportunity to engage in and learn about a type of music that is not usually found in the average college student's playlist: traditional Appalachian balladry, performed by Artist-In-Residence, Elizabeth LaPrelle.

LaPrelle, a singer and banjo player, graduated in 2009 from The College of William and Mary with a major in “Southern Appalachian Traditional Performance.” The Artist-In-Residence program started in the academic year of 2007-2008, the same year RCAH was founded. Professor Anita Skeen, Arts Coordinator and Director of the Center for Poetry, explained that the founders wanted the RCAH's students to have a chance to work in small groups with nationally-renowned artists. Every year, the college tries to bring in three Artists-In-Residence for students and faculty to collaborate with, and although the events require much planning and coordination, they are well worth it in the end for both the students and the faculty. Skeen describes LaPrelle’s music as “reminiscent of old ballads from Scotland, England, and Ireland. One of the things I love is the echo that her music has of an earlier time; it has intonations from a hundred years ago.”

Skeen herself is excited for LaPrelle’s upcoming visit. Having grown up in the town of Big Chimney, West Virginia, the music and cultural aspects of the area that LaPrelle will bring are dear to her heart. “It’s almost like having an old friend come back,” Skeen said. She has been teaching at Michigan State University for 22 years. LaPrelle will be visiting several classes in addition to her performances, including Anita Skeen and Laura DeLind’s 291 class about oral history called “The Art of Storytelling and Placemaking.” The students in the class are working with residents from the Urbandale farm, collecting stories from their past and present as a way of bringing the community even more to life. “Stories are the center of everything,” Skeen said. The class will even turn the stories they collect throughout the semester into a performance piece for the community!”

When asked what she thinks of LaPrelle’s music, Skeen stated, “The kind of story that she brings in those ballads has both a historical element and a contemporary element. Skeen has said that LaPrelle “creates a bridge between time past and time present. She’s a living representative of someone who has put story to song, and who presents that story in another way.”

By inviting LaPrelle into her classroom, Skeen hopes that the students will be able to ask questions about her personal experience and get advice not

only about storytelling, but about music and careers as well. “A lot of RCAH students haven’t been exposed to traditional Appalachian music, so I want to expose them to a new musical style and give them a chance to talk to someone in person; a one-on-one conversation with an artist.”

Skeen clearly enjoys teaching as an RCAH professor. “I love the RCAH students – they’re creative, interesting, and spunky. You never know what they’re going to do. I like that.” She also values her work in the Center for Poetry. “I’ve taught for 44 years, and the Center for Poetry is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said.

However, Skeen is not the only faculty member coordinating LaPrelle’s visit. Professors Chris Scales, Patti Rogers, and Carolyn Loeb are a few of the others working to make LaPrelle’s visit a success and they will feature her in their classes as well.

“I really hope students take advantage of the Artist-In-Residence program. We hope +,-��&,+�/!$$�9&��+'%�, !&��in an experience that they wouldn’t have gotten anywhere else,” Skeen said.

LaPrelle will be attending various events throughout the week, putting on performances and workshops. Listed here are the events that students are encouraged to attend.

To listen to some of LaPrelle’s music, please visitwww.old97wrecords.com/elizabeth-laprelle

Visit Schedule

2�)(��1���)/ '� +������������$)��#)0��-�����*'

2�. ,��1���)/ '� +�����RCAH Folk Music Session !+)'����������*'

2� �( ,��1���)/ '� +�������&&��) -+1�� +$ ,�� +!)+'�(� �$(�-# ��� ���# �- +��-�����*'

2��-.+��1���)/ '� +����Concert at the Hanna �)''.($-1�� (- +��-�����*'

2�.(��1���)/ '� +�����)+%,#)*�!+)'�����������*'

Elizabeth LaPrelle to Visit rcah life

Kelsey Block

Alexa McCarthy

Art: A Communal Effort

The Tigers were in the World Series. Michigan State fell to Michigan after a nice run of wins, and I am still without Red Wings hockey (thank you, NHL lockout). Such is the roller coaster for a sports fan. The emotional investment. The exhilaration. The heartbreak. The waiting. Oh, the waiting.

Whether it is pouring yourself into your art, studying for days for a test, or investing hours into the community, you have worked hard , !+�+�%�+,�*���'-� �.�� !� �9.���yourself when you conquered that particular troublesome algebraic equation. You have been touched by a piece of music, and you have waited for the grades on papers. You have also waited to see if the time you spent with those children in RCAH 292B will have an impact. You have waited to see if you will hear

back about that internship or job.Enjoy the waiting. Take that time to truly think about what you have gleaned from the experience, not what someone else will validate. There is a reason that your best ideas come while you are in the shower: you have time to think, and contrary to the overthinkers reading this, it's not always a bad thing.

I am regularly reminded of Gretchen Rubin's notion of "the days are long but the years are short." Enjoy the time to consider what that paper, current event, or relationship mean to you. And feel free to come to share the epiphanies with me.

Niki's Nook

Some of you, maybe not all, may remember , ��9*+,�,!%��1'-�,''#���,'-*�'���� ����distinctly remember walking through the halls that would one day be my home, on MSU’s Green and White Day, and thinking how cool it would be have an auditorium, an art gallery, an art studio, and a media center, all at your disposal, seconds from your room.

I will never have to leave my dorm! I thought (and I’m sure this is true for some of you, too). Ideas raced through my mind when thinking about all the things I could do with an art studio just down the stairs from my dorm room. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to use it as much as I have wanted to, �-,�/ �&���+�/���:1�*��'*�, ����&+!&���*,�Works Screenprinting Workshop in the RCAH Art Studio, I made a point to be there.

The workshop was sponsored by the Lansing Art Works organization, a group created by MSU alumni, Augusta Morrison, an RCAH and Art Education major. LAW is a Lansing area Arts co-operative that promotes art and then showcases those

different perspectives on socially relevant topics in our local and global community. Ethan Tate, an RCAH senior who became interested in screenprinting after taking an RCAH screenprinting class last spring explained with great passion the meaning and the process of the art form.

“The process of screenprinting can be very communal because it is easy to involve a lot of people even if they have no experience,” said Tate. This was good for me, because I had none.

Screenprinting is a common activity within activist groups to create art that has been known to ask and solve questions of social and political ideal. While printing, Tate urged us to think about the issues presented in the screens.

He was right when he said “it was easy to get the hang of,” because within a matter of minutes, scraps of fabric and paper were being marked with the LAW logo and “Free �-++1��!',6�(*!&,+��� ��*''%�/�+�9$$���/!, �the sounds of good music and excitement as we all crowded around each other's

stations to peek under the screen to see whether or not the persons’ print came out.

As said earlier, it truly was a communal effort. We helped one another achieve the right amount of paint and right amount of pressure to create the perfect print. I ended up walking away with 5 different prints (even one of my favorite band, The Back Keys). As someone interested in how art and the community are intertwined, I found the workshop to be one of the reasons I 9&���*,�,'����+'�!%('*,�&,�!&�'-*�+'�!�,1��

Art has the ability to bring all different types of people together over a common interest and goal to create a more cultured and creative community.

column

As little Red Riding Hood walked through the dark, thick forest an evil force moved through the trees, licking its grimy teeth as she passed by.

Perseus prayed to the gods that he would make it out alive as he slowly stepped backwards into the horrifying lair of the gorgons.

� ��#&!� ,�� �*�����,�, ��9�*1����+,�� !+�sword glimmering in the morning light, �+�, ���*��'&�+/''(����'/&�,'�9&!+ �the duel.

Luke calmly faced The Emperor as he was presented to him; it was hard to believe that such a horrifying creature could call itself a man.

�!%���$''#���!&,'�, ��9�*1��1�+�'�� !+�crazed uncle as he learned the truth of !+���, �*8+����, ���&��/!, ���9&!�$�(-+ �leapt up to avenge him.

Harry looked onto the cold, pitted eyes of Lord Voldemort for what he believed was the last time as the curse hit him square in the chest.

As The Avengers fought the storms of invaders, they looked into the enemies’ eyes and fought through the black night staring back at them.

Hook looked out towards the horizon, the bloody stump of his arm leaking his lifeblood, as he vowed vengeance on the !� �:1!&��� !$��

"I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden.”

And it was thus that Lucifer was caste out of Heaven by St. Michele and The Lord our God and began to recreate himself into The Devil, Satan.

What is it about an epic tale of The Battle between Good and Evil that we as people love so very much? Is it the .!��*!'-+�, *!$$�'����9� ,�, �,�/��(*�,�&��to wage in our heroes’ place? Could it be the inspiration we feel rained down upon us as we ‘see’ heroes win and triumph, bringing their glory down to earth? Perhaps it’s the dank, vile &�,-*��'��, ���&,��'&!+,�, �,�/��9&��+'�appealing to our imaginations that brings us back for more horror. Whatever the cause, a story about the endless battle of the universe is just what the human heart desires. It is these stories, on a very deep level, that decide our cultures and shape our world today.

�����+���+'�!�,1���*�.���'&:!�,���',�because we want to feel the stress of the struggle, but because we want ,'�+���, ���$'*!'-+�9� ,�-(��$'+���&��personal. Happiness is far overrated when compared side by side to greatness! Why be content ordinary citizens when we can be heroes!? Heroes that vanquish evil in all its twisted and horrendous forms. We all have ego issues. So ingrained in us is this need for Good and Evil to go head-to-head that we start to project it into what should be civil and healthy competition. Sports fans declare war on ‘trivial’ teams, declaring them as mortal foe that they will see �����,���'&�, ����,,$��9�$���/ �&�!&�fact the competition is far more than a rival team; it is a whole set of teams that /��%-+,�9� ,����&�'%+�'��('(��-$,-*��

develop ‘ships’—romantic couples—and 9� ,�,'�, ��&��*�,��&�������, �'.�*�7*!.�$8�+ !(+3%-� �%'*��9�*���, �&��&1�angels and demons.

Nowhere is this projected Good vs. Evil paradigm more evident than when it comes to politics. Are we, as a nation, declaring the pure evil England, Germany, Japan—or Communism? Or is it us, 9� ,!&���%'&�+,�'-*+�$.�+����%�&�!&��Divine Justice or Reasonable Punishment to the donkeys from hell? Or the lumbering war elephants? We want a 9� ,4�&��/��/�&,����$''�1�'&��

Our one largest fear is the gulping advance of the mundane life. We want ��.�&,-*��!&,'�, ��9�*1�(!,+�'���'*�'*��not a ride through a carwash. We want to sail in a galleon on the high +��+���,,$!&��+�-*.1�(!*�,�+��&',�, ��9+ �special at Long John Silver’s. We want to blast our way through a hoard of zombies with an AK-47, not another brain-numbing economics lecture.

Whether it is through our projection onto real life, or on the much more vivid screen or our imaginations, The Fight between the forces of Good and Evil is our template. War, my friends, is what we scream for. War against the swarming masses of Hell. War between us. And them. I salute you all as we �'&,!&-��, ��&'�$��9� ,�

Good vs. Evil: The Timeless Paradigm��/$(���� $&

20 RCAHIVE | column

21

RCAH 291: Creative WorkshopHearing Voices: The Art and Application of Story and Storytelling

RCAH 291, Hearing Voices: The Art and Application of Story and Storytelling, is a creative workshop designed to explore the nature and the value of story as 1) a form of human expression, 2) an artistic tradition, and 3) a tool for neighborhood development.

As part of the class, students as well as Professors Anita Skeen and Laura B. DeLind created a set of creation myths. The following is their collection. Enjoy.

A long time ago, there was no earth. There were no trees, no rivers, no mountains or canyons. But there were stars. And in the each star lived a dragon.

And in one particular star lived a particularly mischievous dragon. It would spend all day bouncing from side to side of the star, wondering what was outside. One day, the dragon bounced so hard against the wall of the star that it broke. The +,�*�:�/�!&,'�(!���+���*'++�, ��+#1��

Now the dragon had no place to live. So it collected all the pieces of the star and tried to put it back together. But the pieces had cooled. The ball was hard and cold and was called earth.

The dragon slept in areas of the land, and eventually they became large basins. When the dragon wondered, he dragged his tail, leaving winding trails. One day, the dragon was very $'&�$1���&�� ��+,�*,����*1!&��� !+�,��*+�9$$���-(�, ����+!&+�where he slept, and the winding trails of his tail, creating the seas and rivers.

Eventually the dragon stopped crying and started to wonder what was inside the earth. He looked and he stomped and he tapped on the ground. He didn’t get any answers, so he started to dig. Once he reached the inside, he peered down, wondering if another dragon would be living in the earth. Instead he found a whole array of animals, and he invited them to come live on the outside with him. “But it’s cold” the animals responded. “We need warmth for our food to grow”

“I can keep you warm with my breath.” The dragon *�+('&�����5��"-+,� �.��,'������*��-$�&',�,'��*��, ��9*����&��I’ll need to rest sometimes.”

5� �,8+�9&�6�+�!��, ���&!%�$+��5�+�$'&���+�!,8+�/�*%��,�$��+,�half of the time.” So the animals came to live on the surface, and during summer the dragon kept them warm, and in the winter, he rested.

Star Dragon���# &��)* ���(��� �#��$("'�(

“It all started with a pine cone,” she said, + ����!&����*�, �*�+%�$$�+)-!**�$�/!, ���:���bitten tail, one who had been pushed out of the nest just a few hours earlier by an older brother.

“Don’t believe it,” said her brother, his left hind foot in a newly applied cast.

“How would you know how it all started?” croaked the crow. “You’ve spent your life in a pile of twigs and leaves. You’ve seen nothing but branches from your tree.”

“Well…I saw it happen…or I almost did. The sun got in my eyes at the very last moment,” said the small she squirrel.

“Almost doesn’t count,” said the skunk. She poked her nose out from under the hydrangea bush. “Like…can you get almost sprayed by a skunk?” Skunk grinned. And lifted her tail.

“Don’t be a bully,” call the rabbit, who knew about bullies. “Almost is frequently good enough. But then again, almost getting away in time can be troublesome.” Rabbit turned his head slightly to look at his cottontail which was missing most of its cotton.

“So…what did you almost see?” asked Crow. He stood on tiptoe and spread his wings wide as a storm cloud.

“Well,” said the she squirrel who was delighted to have everyone’s attention, “when I got up this morning I was hungry. I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I’d buried my cache of hazel nuts, so I looked around for something else to eat. And that’s when I spied the pine cone. It was beautiful – plump, golden brown, and full of pine nuts. Now, I’m not one for pesto, but I do love pine nuts. So, I tiptoed over to the pine cone and just when I reached out my paws to grab it, it changed color and said in the loveliest blue-green voice, ‘Good morning pretty little squirrel.’”

“Of course, I was startled right out of my

furry self,” added Squirrel, “but I had the presence of mind to sputter, ‘Good golly, Miss Molly, where’s that voice coming from?’”

“I’m not Miss Molly!” huffed the voice indignantly. “Don’t you know magic when 1'-� ��*�!,�����/�+�,'$��,'�9&��+'%�'&��smart here in the forest to share my wisdom with, not some pea-brained nut case.” The voice from the pine cone stomped purple.

“’Oh my,” thought Squirrel, “there goes my breakfast, but what a colorful adventure I seem to have stumbled into. Life’s like that – one moment you’re hungry and the next moment you’re doing your best to placate a pine cone.”

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Squirrel said to the pine cone, which was now giving off a soft pink light. “I didn’t mean to offend. Perhaps we can start again. I do love magic and I am very smart – especially for a squirrel. Do you have time to talk?”

“I do indeed,” said the pine cone. “In fact, that’s why I’m here today, and I’d like to tell you a story before I let go of this branch.”

“And as if my magic – well I guess it was magic,” Squirrel continued, “the pine cone grew larger, turned bright blue and morphed into a turtle.”

Raccoon and Badger had meandered into the gathering by now to see what all the ruckus was about. They looked at each other and rolled their eyes when Squirrel proposed that the pine cone turned into a turtle. “That Squirrel, “whispered Raccoon to Badger, “she’s at it again. The last time I came over here to see my cousin Bandit she was going on and on about some falling star that had landed just inches from her nose. She said the star had dusted her with magic before it disappeared and pretty soon something special was going to happen. Well, that was weeks ago, and, as

they say, ‘I ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.’”Badger looked very curious now. “Well,” she said, “maybe this has something to do with that.” They moved a little closer to where Squirrel was chattering.

“…said that once there were no animals in the woods, not one single paw, or whisker or ear. Not one single claw or beak. Not a single tail. None. Nada.”

All the animals looked around at each other. “That’s preposterous,” cawed Crow.

“We’ve been here forever. My ancestors were here when the moon came up.”

"So,” said the crotchety and cantankerous brother squirrel with the cast on his paw,” just where did we come from then, Smarty Pants?” He looked straight at Squirrel whose fur seemed strangely golden. He wondered what she’d been eating. Squirrel was feeling a little pressed but also a little brave. She knew what she had seen and she knew what she had heard and she knew she hadn’t eaten anything. “Well,” said Squirrel, “I can tell you where we come from. We come from color and from shape and we are always changing. And that means that we’ve always been here and know this place like the back of our paws. But,” she added before anyone could interrupt her, “it also means that none of us has ever been here before so we need to pay close attention to how we behave lest we lose our way.”

“Isn’t that right?” asked Squirrel as she turned toward the once-upon-a-time pine cone that had been a blue turtle and was &'/���%��&!9��&,��'-)-�,�'��'*�&���*'+�+��She was politely waiting for an answer when the sun got in her eyes and all she saw and heard was a bright light with musical yellow edges. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the tree branch was bare. The pine cone was gone. She now remembered where she had hidden her cache of hazel nuts.

Why We Should Not Blink When the Sun Shines in Our Eyes

Anita Skeen and Laura B. DeLind

22 RCAHIVE | creation stories

23

In the beginning there was only a fox, who curled up and slept cozily in the darkness that enveloped him like a cloak, marking time by the twitching of his tail. But when he awoke he was cold and lonely, as he was all by himself in this universe. So, the fox began to wander. His whole being longed to play, but he could only bat at the darkness like gauze. He wanted to spy, but there seemed to be no one else around to spy on. There wasn't even anything to laugh at or sing about. So he wandered, stretching and working the stiffness out of his joints. After he’d explored through countless dark caverns, he became so frustrated that he shouted, "I'm so bored! If only there was something to do!" He squeezed his eyes shut, and thought and thought, amd wished so strongly for something to play with. And when he 9&�$$1�'(�&��� !+��1�+�� ��+�/����'*��him a large gray box.

Now, the fox did not know what was inside the box, but being a mischievious creature he was ��,�*%!&���,'�9&��'-,��� ���'0�/�+�too big for him to see inside, so he decided to climb on top of it to see / �,� ���'-$��9&��� '/�.�*��, ���'0�discovered that the box was sealed shut. Try as he might to pry it open, it /�+�"-+,�,''��!�9�-$,���'��-+!&���$$�, ��strength that he could muster, the fox pulled and pulled at the lid until at last , ��, ���'0�:�/�'(�&��&�� ��$'+,� !+�balance and fell. As he got back up he discovered that inside the box were scores of tiny bottles, in all colors, 9$$���/!, �$!� ,�� ��,*!���,'�'(�&�, ����(�'��, ��9*+,��',,$����-,�!,�/�+�,''�tightly sealed. He tried to twist off the lid, but to no avail. In his frustration ��:-&��, ���',,$��!&,'�, ����(, +�of space. The bottle, which happened ,'����+!$.�*��:�/�, *'-� �, *'-� �the vortex until it collided with the

barriers that had marked the ends of this universe, and as it smashed a bolt of lighting thundered across the blank canvas of the sky.

�,�9*+,�, ���'0�/�+��*!� ,�&�����-,�he grew curious as well, and full of possibilities he shouted, "Let's have some fun!" So he threw the next �',,$�������*#��$-��'&��, �,�9$$���, ��canvas with rain, and a green bottle from which plants began to grow as , ��*!� �%'!+,-*��:'/����'/&���&��a golden one that shot out rays of warmth and light. In his excitement the fox's tail whisked back and forth, piercing the dark abyss behind him with speckles of white light that became stars, with the moon shining �*'%�/ �*�� �� ���, *'/&�, ��9*+,�bottle. And when at last he had thrown every bottle, he looked at what he had made, but was still not +�,!+9����� !+�/'*$�� �� ����*��,���still seemed empty to him. "There needs to be something more," he said. Placing his paws upon the canvas, and drawing from all the different colors, he created majestic beasts and inconsequential insects, birds that +'�*���, *'-� �, ��+#1��&��9+ �+�that swam through the sea. He got so frenzied in his work, he accidentally inhaled some of the colorful light and sneezed. And with that sneeze the whole world he had made came alive. "Ah, now that's much better," the fox observed, but he was so exhausted he fell asleep.

Even as he slept, his mind was restless, and he dreamed of a being that entered this new creation and walked through the living painting, creating marks in what previously had been perfect. When he awoke, he returned to his painting, and found a set of footprints that had been traced through the earth. Looking up, he saw the creature from his dream, a human.

"What are you?" asked the fox incredulously.

� ��9�-*��'&$1�+%!$������#��,� !%��and made her way over to the gray box and procured from it a paint brush, something that the fox had not noticed when he had smashed the bottles.

"I'm ready to create," she said.

��,�+��$*���1�9&!+ �����*�($!���, ���'0�

But instead of drying on the canvas, , ��(�!&,��'&,!&-���,'�:'/��&��change, on and on and on.

The Fox and the BoxJoe Pecora and Jenny Crakes

Long ago (Not in the beginning, but a long time ago nonetheless), We, Nature, lived in blissful harmony. Mountain’s peaks froze and thawed. Ocean was wreaked by heaving hurricanes, and graced by calm ripples. Almighty Sky blushed pink in the morning and bruised deep blue in the evening. Forest stretched slowly away from the ground and let loose her leaves into the autumn wind. We did not bother with our origins, our purposes, and our destinies. In those days We simply were.

We were younger and less troubled then, not having been exposed to the burden, or the joy, of parenthood.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

����!.�*�� ���:'/����'*�%�&1��'&+�through the world, seeing much of it as I made my endless travels. It dawned slowly on me how little I knew. What were those endless points of light that visited in the night? Why did the sun and moon rise and set without end? � �,��'*��+���,�*%!&���%1�:'/�through the world? I could not recall having ever pondered these things before, nor had I heard such questions from any other member of Nature. I could not remember my own birth, and knew nothing of where I had come from.

��+'-� ,��&+/�*+���&����:'/���'&/�*��in search of them.

I came upon Mountain. Mountain was big and old and strong, always present against the backdrop of the world. Surely Mountain knew something of how we had come to be.

“Mountain?” I asked “Where did we all come from?”

Slowly, deliberately, Mountain answered.“It looks as though you came here from the Ocean.”

"No, I mean, how did we all come into existence?”

This answer took longer.

“I don’t remember.” Mountain said at length.

So I thanked Mountain for his time and continued on.

I thought then that Sky might be able to help me. Sky was bigger even than Mountain, and saw everything in the world all at once! Surely, if anyone, Sky would know these things.

���!�&8,� �.��,'�:'/��&1/ �*��+(��!�$�this time. I looked up and shouted.

“Sky! Where did we all come from? What’s going to happen to us? What are we here for?”

Sky, in a voice like thunder, replied.

“You ask me those questions thinking that I am the biggest, the oldest, and the strongest of all of Us. You are not wrong, but you are not right enough. Little River, it is time you knew what I know. I watch over the edge of our world. I see all that goes on below… and yet so little of what goes on above.”

“Above?”

“I don’t know about the above much better than you do. All I know is that what must look to you like points of light dotting my surface, the stars, are very, very far away. There is far more to what is than that which We partake in. I have looked upon the heavens, and I see things there that I cannot '(��,'��*�+(���,�+'%�,!%�+�9$$+�%��with sadness, but then the relentless :'/�'��,!%����**!�+�%���'*/�*������/�millennia, and slowly, unwillingly, I forget what it was I was saddened about. You too, River, must have noticed this.

We cannot grasp existence, because we cannot exert will. Forces beyond our control move us, and time erases all our goals, as the tide washes away patterns in the sand.”

It began soon to rain, not heavily, but in a sort of melancholy drizzle. I left Sky then, pondering what he had said.

As time went on, an idea gradually awaked in my consciousness. If we, immortal partakers in Nature, could not comprehend our being, perhaps creatures that only existing for a short while could. Mortal creatures. I thought what a blessing it would be for an entity to be able to know that it would end, to know that it had to prioritize and enjoy everything it could while it �'-$���,'�&',� �.��, ���-*+��'��!&9&!,��tomorrows in which to banish its’ hopes and dreams.

This much I said to my fellow-beings at a great council of Nature. It was a long council, for my Siblings needed much convincing that learning about Ourself of a worthwhile goal. Finally, We agreed.

We created not one creature, but many. But none of them seemed to desire knowledge. Some were curious, to be sure, many others were intelligent, and all were beautiful. We poured ourselves into these creatures, but they lacked something necessary towards the great quest for knowledge, these animals.

"We are a way for the Cosmos can know itself." - Carl Sagan

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24 RCAHIVE | creation stories

We decided to go over the next creature .�*1���*��-$$1������'*�%1�(�*,��:'/���!&,'�!,��granting it curiosity, and love of tranquility. Mountain bestowed on this creature steadfastness and strength. Sky gave them knowledge and wisdom. Forest gave them a longing toward nature and authenticity. Earth granted them compassion and warmth.

But Fire held back. He gave them passion and drive, to be sure, but for a time would not give humans that Divine Spark which he so carefully guarded. Fire held within himself the power to transcend Nature, to go against the very forces which brought a being into being. I suspected that this is what these new creatures, humans, /'-$��&����!��, �1�/�*���.�*�,'�9&��the knowledge We desired. Fire refused, however, for he knew that if he gave the humans the Divine Spark, they would lose their desire for Us. They would leave us, maybe even travel to other worlds (if those existed), and leave us alone again. Fire loved the humans, and could not have this.

In those days, these new creatures walked with Us, and talked with Us.

And they told us stories. They told us tales of cosmic eggs, hatching and bringing all things forth. They told us of a great Human in the Sky, who made all things, or ���*��,�%�&1� -%�&+�!&�, ���#1�9� ,!&��amongst themselves for supremacy (Humans sometimes liked to think of Us as something like themselves). There were monsters and heroes, gods and demons, mighty deeds and magic. Their tales were wonderful, and revealed so much of themselves, what sort of creatures they were, and what they desired.

-,�, �1�/�*�&8,�+�,!+9���/!, �, �+��stories. The tales they told revealed much about themselves, they thought, but not enough about the world.

Many begged Fire to aid them. They

wanted him to smite the other creatures in their path, to make them supreme over all the earth, so that they could move on. Fire knew that this alone would never make them happy. But he loved the humans. He conceded to them the Divine Spark, knowing the consequences that would result. He knew that they could not forever live in infancy. He gave them warning, however: “My children, I know that you wish to subdue the earth, and have dominion over it. Know this, though, that you are one with it, and that you came from Us. You will not heed my warning now, but in time, you will come to understand just how intimately you are of this world. Remember Us. Nature now leaves its’ fate in your hands. You will at times fail Us, and at times make Us proud. You were not made to be judged by Us or to be subject to Us. We simply want to know. We have come to desire your happiness and well-being. You are now Our greatest hope. You are now Our greatest threat. You are free. Choose. “Goodbye, my children” The humans grew distant from Us then, as Fire knew they would. And they did much. They produced many a hero and coward, saint and sinner. Many did seek knowledge, as we had hoped. Many were scared by knowledge, as only Fire had foreseen. Humans lived eternally between the maxims “The unexamined life is not worth living” and “Ignorance is bliss”. Many helped the rest to see what it meant to enjoy the gift of mortality, many scorned it and it wasted away while denying that they would die, or that they could die. They continued to tell stories about the world, which got even grander as they matured. They told tales of a universe that was born in an instant in a great cataclysm of being; of stars laying down their lives, giving rise to new forms; of the way life

bloomed into ever-more beautiful and complex forms in the great struggle of life. And of course, there were still monsters and heroes, gods and demons, mighty deeds and magic.

And so I, River, relate this story to you, child. For some reason or another, you have stopped to contemplate. You have slowed down, and decided to listen to the world and to learn from it. Take this story for what it is worth to you, and learn from it.

Go and live.

Long, long ago, long before you were born, no one animal or person was living on this Earth; instead, all of the animals and people were on different planets out and space. There was, however, a problem. Everyone could never stay on one planet for too long before it began to go bad on them- they treated it badly, or it treated them badly, and soon a search party would have to be sent out to scout around for some new digs. And this wasn’t just any old search party, either. Every time the planet in use became not good for the living creatures on it, it was because of the trends set by the representative creatures sent ahead. See, a group would be sent out to locate this new planet, and, when they found it, they would then release the single representative chosen by all the creatures to begin laying the foundations for survival, while the group went back to the home planet at the time to collect everyone. The representative animal, armed with a sack of materials like seeds to sow, water to drink, and mapping tools, was expected to take stock of the new place.

One time, an electric eel was sent to a newly discovered planet; another time, a lion was expected to do all the preparations; still a third time, a human was chosen; but no matter who got sent along, things always went badly, a detrimental tone always set. When the electric eel arrived with its sack of materials, it just tipped over the water supply in order to have somewhere to swim before attending to its other responsibilities, resulting in the damage of most of the dry goods in its stores meant to become agriculture. As well as permanently electrically charging the water supply on the planet. The lion just didn’t want to do anything once it had eaten its rations, because it was

used to being fed, so there was little to survive off when the rest of the animal kingdom arrived. And the human... Well, the human set a trend of sucking the planet’s resources dry and, with no other prepared means of subsistence available, everyone else had to follow suit for fear of entertaining starvation yet again. Things were looking grim by the time the fourteenth planet had started to spoil; there weren’t a ton of locations left within lightyears, and who was available to act as the representative to whatever new place WAS found? Most (presumably) smart creatures had been given a fair shot with less than promising results. Community leaders, members of most species, convened as far away as possible from the planet-wide volcanic chain that had sprung up in recent months, and assessed their options. “Whose turn is it?” “I’m pretty sure we should send a variety of animals this time.” “NO. All the old teachings say that one '��-+� �+�,'��'�9*+,������-+��!��'&����&�eke out a living, then presumably so can everyone else.” “Well, that’s, uh, stupid.” “Who ASKED you?”

This went on for awhile, the back and forth, until someone suggested that one of the leaders present be chosen; weren’t they, after all, members of this committee because their species had elected them? Meaning, therefore, that maybe their best shot at sustainable relocation was in fact in this room at this moment?

Exciting though the notion was, things fell apart again once it was made apparent that to send a leader as the representative to the new planet meant one of THEM would have to volunteer. Or be effectively convinced. No one was keen on this; the responsibility, the risk, the plain fact that things would be wet and uncomfortable or dry and uncomfortable or somewhere squidgey and still unpleasant? No appeal. �*�-%�&,+�!&,�&+!9����'*� '-*+� � �&��9&�$$1����$'-��5���6�+!$�&����the group. None of the other animals were quite keen on the chicken starting the new world. They knew that chickens were, well, let’s just say the chicken wasn’t the most popular animal in the world. But the chicken had so much spunk and determination; he knew he would be the starter of the new world. So the chicken scooped up all of his materials to take on his mission. He packed seeds to plant, water to drink, mapping tools to map, and a multitude of other things. The chicken strapped his knapsack over his back and waddled toward the new, promising world. “Bawk bawwwwwk bawk baaaaawwwwk,” the chicken sang as he strolled away. The rest of the animals hung their heads and cried, for they knew they would not be moving to a paradise any time soon.

Something you must know about the chicken, he is what we call a klutz. He stumbles, trips over his feet, falls, and just bad things happen to him overall. He, however, was unaware of his klutziness. He just brushed it off and kept on going along. But everyone was certain that this was to pose a problem during the making of their new world.

The Chicken and the New WorldAbby Conklin and Crysta Harper

creation stories

So the chicken journeyed through , ��-&!.�*+���&��9&�$$1�$�&����'&� !+�destination. He was tired from the long trip and all the stress he had caused himself for taking on such a huge project. He took one small step off of the space ship and immediately fell over into a deep sleep. He woke up hours later and stretched his wings �&���',�-(��� ��9&�$$1�+�,�'-,�'&,'�the new planet, he was overwhelmed and didn’t know where to start, so he just walked around for a while. Then he fell in a hole. A huge hole. The biggest hole the planet had ever seen. And the chicken felt small. He had no idea how he would get out of this gargantuan chasm that had appeared out of nowhere. But, the chicken came up with an idea, he stuck his beak in the side of the hole and somehow miraculously climbed up the side of the wall. After a climb like that he was exhausted and fell asleep quite abruptly again next to the hole. After he awoke, he was in a stupor and stumbled away from the hole. He walked for hours and hours just thinking about what he might do. He decided to look at his tools thinking he may get some inspiration. He grabbed the knapsack from off his back and let out a huge gasp, “baaaaaaaaaaaawk!” the knapsack was empty, all of his seeds gone, his water gone, his tools gone. He then let out a cry of sadness “bahahahahawwwk.” The poor chicken. He lost all faith in himself at that moment and fell asleep yet again due to the mental stress he had put himself through. But something happened after that peaceful nap, he woke up and to his surprise the terrain had changed. Everything had changed. Around him was a beautiful garden and just down the way that hole he had fell in was

9$$���/!, �/�,�*����!&�$$1� ��*��$!2����$$�of the mistakes he had made led to the birth of the perfect paradise. When he fell asleep as soon as he stepped out of the ship he ripped a hole in the bag of seeds which began to spill all over the soil he was walking on. When he fell into the hole and climbed up to the top with his beak, he poked holes that lead to water :'/!&���&���*��,!&����$�#����� �&� ��walked around the land some more, he spilled water all over the seeds he had mistakenly planted. He created the perfect universe on accident. He signaled the rest of the animals to come check out their new home. The rest of the animals were in awe and ,''� �((1�,'�+(��#���-,�9&�$$1�, �1�asked how the chicken created such a beautiful home. All he could say was “baawwk baawwk baawwk,” with a silly grin on his face.