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Franklin College Switzerland


Lausanne, Geneva, and the Alps

Fall 2010 Academic Travel

The following posts are by the students who traveled to French-speaking Switzerland in fall 2010. The posts are not in chronological order, but should give our friends and families an idea of what we have been thinking about and working on during our travels.

Special thanks to Jennifer Byram, Ian Ritchey, and Alithea Tashey for the photos and to James Jasper for all his work putting much of this blog together.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Writing Workshop

Anne Deriaz workshop

· Pollen: dust, yellow, sneeze, pine trees, clouds, dry, flowers, ragweed, goldenrod, crayon, bees, honey, honeycomb, hexagon, tile, tangrams, letter E, physics, electron, yellow, positive

· Crayon: hamfisted child, fist, grab, cheerios balloon man, Crayola 64 assortment, sharpener oven drawer, remnants, scribbles, brown, paper, walls, fingernails, carving, paperclip, melting, straight

· Rival: laugh, superiority, challenge, race, perfection, apples/oranges, competition, arrogance, humility, shame, smug, accomplishment, failure, restart, new game, continual.

Pollen. Ha ha! I like that word and got everyone to use it! Score 20 points! But I’ll never use up 67 words. I guess I’ll just have to wing it.

I remember the shudder of pine trees and the clouds of yellow hanging dry in the air, coating cars and fogging windows. Pollen made me love the rain, wandering through the summer to wash out the air and wash off the doorknobs. It made me at age five run in terror from my brother wielding a goldenrod crayon. My allergies were from ragweed, but who knew in kindergarten? You could never be too careful when an invisible speck would choke your throat and suck up your air. A tiny monster living inside your lungs.

We had so many crayons; a box larger than my shoes filled to the top. I could hardly lift it. There was the standard 64 assortment from Crayola, but also any we could get our hands on. Professional ones that were smooth and creamy with expense, crumbly 4-paks from restaurants, all were mixed together. We wore them down to nubs we could barely pinch in our clumsy, delicate hands. Mom would pile the remnants together and melt them in the oven.

I learned that there is not one yellow, or one blue; a spectrum in each stripe of the rainbow. I also learned I wanted very specific colors. No I would not use a brick red for a fire truck. That was not a true red any more than indigo was. Skintones were next to impossible. Sandstone, peach, sienna brown, nothing was right.

Rachel Skorupka

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