It’s early Saturday morning, and I am not wearing a jacket. In Madison, that is already cause for celebration. There is water in the air and sunlight is shattering into millions of tiny beams, illuminating Capitol square as I approach it. It’s a gorgeous, late-April Saturday, and I am on the tip of State Street, heading to the farmers’ market.
By Gethsemane Herron-Coward
As I am writing this, we have sprung forward an hour. I am sweating in my knee-length coat as I walk to class and when I get out of class, often at 5 p.m., I swear that it’s possible to see those last vestiges of sunlight decorating the horizon. It’s a beautiful sight y’all. Spring is coming.
One of the things I miss most about life on the East Coast, besides the ocean, the men (sorry, not sorry), the metro and the hop-skip-jump mentality of travel on the East Coast (Baltimore? $2. New York? $12. Boston? $30.) is the food. I’m talking jumbo slice pizza for four bucks, when a single slice is as big as a kite. I’m talking pupusas from the pupuseria on the street where no one speaks English and the owner of the place treats you like you're a long-lost relative. I’m talking 5 a.m. philly cheesesteaks during an impromptu road trip to the city of brotherly love. I really want to love Madison’s food like I love the East Coast.
I’m ashamed to say it, but during my four years here at UW-Madison, I’ve become ridiculously familiar with all- nighters in College Library. How familiar, you ask? Familiar enough that Jay, the night librarian, and I are on first-name terms and have midnight and 4 a.m. check-ins about our respective days and our interests (he bakes a mean vegan almond vanilla cake). And though I don’t know about you, if I am staying up eight-12 hours longer than I should, my engine needs some serious energy to combat some pesky, ubiquitous thing like a circadian rhythm.
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