As steam rose into the chilly September breeze, merging with the beating of drums and whip of fiddle strings, my feet pounded the ground in a dance governed entirely by the infections energy of the music surrounding me. It was impossible to stay still—a feeling surely shared by the dozens of people kicking up dust and grass around me. The music was a haphazard Irish jig led by the quick, raspy fiddle of Julius Bjornson ’14, backed up with a box drum played by Atticus Swartwood ’14.
The Sunday evening began once a proposed Pajama Party and a group of freshman musicians merged in the Butterfields’ courtyard. A small song circle formed and requests were made, beginning with the folk classic “Wagon Wheel.” Ethan Tischler ’14 and Patrick Sarver ’14 strummed acoustic guitars while Bjornson and another violin player, Kayla Reiman ’14, accompanied. Two saxophonists also jumped in with solos as the growing group of mostly freshman onlookers sang the lyrics of the classic song.
From there, the impromptu jam session grew into a massive sing-along, with Nick Buffie ’14 playing the theme song to the classic ’90s sitcom “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.” Other favorites, such as the Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way” and Smash Mouth’s “All Star,” were sung a cappella to general mirth. Even more wonderfully, the group broke out into beautifully harmonious rounds of soulful numbers like “Stand By Me,” “The General,” and “Let It Be.” During one round of “Hallelujah,” we all linked arms to form a huge, swaying ring around the musicians in the center.
As I danced and sang that night, I was struck by the immediate and powerful notion that this was the place for me. I am not a musician, nor even a singer, but in that joyous moment, surrounded by joyous people, it was clear that I had chosen the right school to attend. Perhaps this kind of organic musical formation is not unique to Wesleyan, but the energy, the diversity, and the freedom of it was intoxicating. On the eve of the year’s first semester, it felt like some subtle blend of kismet and spirit, of euphoria and the boundless hope of the year to come. To a first-year like me, it was a reassurance, a promise of community, kinship, and acceptance in the place I had chosen to live and learn for the next four years.
Later, I spoke to several of the musicians and onlookers who were present in the courtyard on Sunday. There seemed to be a subtle pride that the Butterfields, dorms usually noted for being quiet and antisocial, had, however unexpectedly, hosted such a raucous event at the beginning of the school year. I, too, had considered the peculiarity of the location, and thought it a strangely poetic aspect of the night, a testament to the eccentric nature of the Wesleyan student—that the unexpected is both cultivated and savored. And, truly, who would have expected a dance-party/sing-along in the middle of the Butts on the night before the start of classes?
That spontaneity, that freedom, is what made it such a magical night. The very nature of such an impulsive gathering allowed us, as unsure freshmen, to be at our newfound, quirky Wesleyan best. For in the company of so much uninhibited elation, it did not matter if our voices were off-key or if our Irish jig was clumsily out of step. Despite all of our talents and imperfections, we were all together under the same roof of branches and stars, kicking the same dust, singing the same words, and conspicuous only in our inclusion.
I don’t know if the rest of my time at Wesleyan will be in any way defined by the spirit of that night, but I desperately hope so. For if the next four years can capture that oh-so-palpable sense of embracing anomaly, then I cannot imagine them being bad ones.
At the Kerrville Folk Festival in Kerrville, Texas, there is a dilapidated wooden sign that reads, “It can be this way always.” And that is what I leave my fellow freshmen with. Whether you were at that song-circle or not, let the wonderful eccentricity of life at Wesleyan surround you and permeate every corner, every moment of the next four years. They will certainly be shocking, stressful, and sad years, but if we fully live in the moment, if we allow the hum of a fiddle to rouse our feet from the ground below us, they may also be the best of our lives.
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