Letter From the Editor
We built an igloo on the first snow day of winter. Bundled in mittens knitted by our friends, coats a little worn from a frustratingly long cold, and shoes already soaked through, we braved the icy sidewalks speckled with turquoise Ice Melt—no match for the inches still falling from the impenetrable grayness that replaced our sky. With one shovel, one sled, a stick, and five pairs of cracked hands and numb toes, we pushed the snow into a mound and carved a hole just big enough for two. We were little ants running back and forth, carving trails throughout the park, until we gave out and made a heaping pot of soup.
We played games in the park on the first day of spring. The days were growing longer with our twilight shadows, and the May storm carried us to the park, birds floating in the wind. I found it quite comical to watch grown adults—or pseudo adults, as I like to call us, college students—compete in Duck Duck Goose and run in a euphoric desperation. It was pure joy. Grass stains were welcome. Cartwheels were required. When the rain replaced the wind, we trailed back inside but stopped to find a circle of mushrooms had replaced our igloo—a fairy circle!
We climbed a tree on the first day of summer. Our souls were a bit more burdened that Sunday. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was another disappointing church meeting. Maybe it was the absence of the relief we usually feel at the end of a BYU semester—after holding our breath for four months. I don’t know. Bikes strewn at the roots of the tree, we climbed the branches and picked at sappy knobs at the top. Up there, I think I cried. Frustration? Relief? I don’t remember. But I do remember we could see the grass where the igloo stood and the fairy circle grew.
After two years of gritting my teeth in a college, a city, and a culture that just didn’t fit, I found my park. And with igloos, fairy circle discoveries, and tree-climbing, I claimed it as my haven. The park exists only within Provo. It is inextricably linked with BYU. It is born of the trauma and the disappointment and the betrayal that follows Cosmo the Cougar. And now it offers peace.
The same year I found my park, I joined Prodigal Press. With memories, friends, and stories—no igloos this time—we claimed Prodigal Press as our haven. It exists only within Provo. It is inextricably linked with BYU. It is born of the trauma and the disappointment and the betrayal that follows Cosmo the Cougar. And now it offers peace.
From the volunteers at Prodigal Press, we thank you for a wonderful year of metaphorical and maybe literal igloos, fairy circles, and tree climbs. Just like the park, this Year in Review follows the seasons of grief and joy here in Provo, and we owe it to you. Thank you for writing, reading, and maintaining this project as a haven for those seeking peace and understanding.
We will meet at my house near the park on the first day of Fall. With another year behind us, supported by your ideas, words, and love, Prodigal Press will return.