Looking Ahead to Spring Semester
By Amber Foster, Ph.D. – February 1, 2021
In the 14th century, the noun spring referred to an “act or time of springing or appearing . . . the beginning, birth, rise, or origin of anything.” Likewise, the verb form indicates forward movement—a leaping or bursting forth, or, in a more archaic usage, a release from imprisonment. [1]
In modern times, spring continues to be a time of rebirth and renewal. Major League Baseball begins training fresh recruits; families open the doors to dusty closets for a round of spring cleaning; universities resume operations after the winter break. That said, I know I’m not alone in thinking that this particular spring semester will be special.
We’ll begin the year with a change in national leadership—a new president, and a new administration. If our nation is a ship whose course has gone awry, we can find some hope in a different captain taking the wheel.
Of course, there is still a long road and many battles ahead of us. The pandemic rages on, with the number of cases continuing to increase daily. It may be many months before we have a viable vaccine, and longer before that vaccine becomes available to all. Our President will have to contend with a divided nation, not to mention some of the greatest social, economic, and environmental challenges of our lifetimes.
There can be no doubt that Fall was hard on all of us at USC. I had students fall ill with the virus and get sent into quarantine. Some worked part-time jobs despite the pandemic, worried about how they would pay their tuition and fees. Others lived in multi-generational households, forced to battle daily for the bandwidth and quiet space they needed to attend their classes. I saw colleagues struggle to balance full time childcare with full time work. Too many of us wrestled with mental health issues born out of social isolation and stress. There was a day when I looked out my window and literally saw a world on fire, as wildfires raged through my state. With ash and debris falling from the sky and rendering the air unbreathable, it was all too easy to believe the apocalyptic prognostications and let myself slip into endless social-media doomscrolling. Hope can be like a child’s balloon—so easily let go.
Yet as this semester comes to a close, I continue to be impressed by the perseverance of my fellow Trojans. When I log into Zoom and see my students there, smiling back at me from around the world, my pessimism fades. I do what I can to steer my own ship into calmer waters, and to remind my students that brighter days lie ahead. In teaching through a crisis, I’ve rediscovered my belief in the importance of educating the next generation to be better than the one that came before. In Zoom meetings with colleagues, I’ve shared ideas and commiserated, finding solace in my community of teachers and scholars.
Yesterday, while reflecting on these issues, I climbed up one of the hills that borders my family’s neighborhood in Northern California. A month ago, the ground was blackened from the LNU Lightning Complex fires, with burnt root systems jutting out from the ground like gnarled fingers. Now, patches of grass have started to appear on the hillside, and some of the treetops remain green in spite of their blackened trunks—a sign that they, like all of us, can spring back.
[1] Online Etymology Dictionary, www.etymonline.com/word/spring#etymonline_v_21895