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NewsvineWhen I first meet History Prof. David Kennedy ‘63, he is striding purposefully down Stanford Avenue at the break of dawn on Saturday morning. He is wearing hiking boots and has a water bottle and coat neatly buckled around his waist. A KQED reporter trots at Kennedy’s heels, firing questions as he fumbles with recording equipment and tries desperately to keep a microphone steady in front of Kennedy’s mouth. Kennedy answers with the smooth air of a practiced lecturer, which of course he is, but he is walking at a frighteningly athletic pace, and the reporter soon stops his questioning and falls behind.
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#gallery http://daily.stanford.edu/image/full/7272
The walkers proceeded clockwise along the route mapped here, starting and ending at Palm Drive and El Camino Real.
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#gallery http://daily.stanford.edu/image/full/7273
Early in the morning, the hikers left the pavement and ascended a ridge between Arastradero Road and Page Mill Road, where a public trail is planned.
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#gallery http://daily.stanford.edu/image/full/7274
Early in the morning, the hikers left the pavement and ascended a ridge between Arastradero Road and Page Mill Road, where a public trail is planned.
Kennedy, co-director of the Bill Lane Center for the Study of the North American West, is certainly an accomplished academic, but today will test his thigh muscles as well as his brain. He is beginning an educational jaunt around the entirety of the Stanford campus, which spans some 8,180 acres. The walk will push 23.5 miles, but Kennedy is determined to do it in a single day, and a group of about 20 people has come out to join him. As far as Kennedy knows, no one has ever walked the entire periphery of the campus.
We begin at dawn, or rather everyone else begins at dawn. The group starts at the intersection of Palm Drive and El Camino Real where large sandstone gates mark the entrance to the University. As the first rays of sunlight peek down from the heavens, the group is heading east toward Gunn High School, but I am lost in Escondido Village, winding my way through bungalows and eucalyptus trees. As I search for the group, I worriedly chew 750 calories worth of Clif bars that I’ve stolen from my roommate. Slung over my shoulder is a messenger bag that contains everything I’ve been told to bring: water, food and a raincoat. I hope it will not rain.
I join the group about 30 minutes after they’ve begun. Walking down Stanford Ave., the group looks like what it is — a bunch of academics (plus reporters) out for a walk. The attire is, fittingly, an odd mix of North Face water-resistant pants, V-necked sweaters, and thick-rimmed glasses, as though Sherlock Holmes has dressed up to climb Mount Everest. Wishing that I had put on something herringbone-patterned, I merge awkwardly with the line of walkers and try to keep up.
Jon Christensen ‘81 welcomes me to the group. Christensen is a currently a history graduate student and a research fellow at the Center for Environmental Science and Policy. It was his winter quarter course “What Went Down on the Farm: Stanford Campus as a Laboratory for Environmental History” that served as the inspiration for this epic endeavor. Jon tells me about the varied members of our party, pointing out professors, reporters and post-docs as the mouthpiece of his water-bottle-backpack-hybrid sways lazily above his shoulder. Jon introduces me to Peter Wright ‘08, who took his class and has organized many of the logistics of the walk. A graduate of an outdoor survival school, Peter is wearing a hat and snazzy backpack and seems eminently prepared. He and I are the only undergraduates on the walk.
As Kennedy strides by, the KQED journalist riding in his wake, Jon makes a quick introduction, and I’m suddenly at Kennedy’s side. Jon has told me that Kennedy is a Pulitzer prizewinner and now an acting member of the Pulitzer Prize Board. Just the day before, the distinguished professor was in New York City making the final decisions about this year’s prizes. I tag along next to Kennedy like a lost, star-struck puppy, still in awe of the fact that I am walking next to the man who wrote my eighth-grade American history textbook.
Kennedy’s pace is fiercely aerobic, and I have trouble keeping up, despite the fact that he’s 65 and has legs hardly longer than mine. He asks about my major and my own writing interests, and soon we’re off on a discussion about the theater. He and I agree on several things: the state of modern American drama (worrying), Tom Stoppard’s plays (more textbook than dialogue) and “Anna in the Tropics” (decent). We disagree, however, on Alan Bennett’s “The History Boys” — I say it’s profound, he says it’s inconclusive. I immediately reconsider. Kennedy also mentions that he is listening to Ian McKellan reading Robert Fagles’ translation of the “Odyssey” on tape. It’s oddly fitting, as we ourselves are on a sort of peripatetic odyssey. And perhaps Kennedy is our brave Odysseus, although I’m not sure about the hordes of suitors at home.
The group rests for a moment at some soccer fields that Stanford leases to a nearby school, but it’s only a few minutes before Kennedy recommences the adventure, setting the pace for our motley procession. The area is charmingly suburban, and although Stanford’s ownership of the land is not at all apparent, I know we’re literally walking the boundary of the Stanford-owned lands. Christensen tells me that he has had to secure permission from all of Stanford’s tenants for us to walk along the perimeter of the property, which crosses roads and even Highway 280. He is enthused about the walk, even now that he is experiencing its painful reality. He tells me about the Web site he is building to document the journey: walkingthefarm.stanford.edu (accessible only to users with Stanford IDs).
We walk on sidewalks and highway shoulders, discovering among other things that Stanford owns a small vineyard. We also skirt the periphery of the Stanford Research Park, one of the industrial parks that started off the Silicon Valley boom. We leave the road and start up into the foothills, which look just like pristine ranch land, but without the cows. There is no path here, so we keep close to the barbed wire fence that delineates the property boundary. Trying hard not to fall sideways into the barbed wire, I shuffle through the long grass and weeds that cover the hills. The KQED reporter strides beside me, holding the microphone next to my feet to capture, presumably, the sound of my ascent. We reach the top of a hill and look below us at Highway 280, which looks no bigger than a stream winding through the hills. To the east is the Bay, and to the west is the Pacific, hardly visible through the incoming rain clouds. We descend, stopping periodically to duck under barbed wire fences. Kennedy’s jacket is momentarily caught on a barb, and we all freeze, but he is freed and we continue.
The foothills are interrupted periodically by stretches of quiet road. There is more ducking under fences, filing through gates and getting stuck in barbed wire. In one field, we see a collection of well-fed goats, and Kennedy stops. “This is where the Satanic circle was,” he observes calmly. We accept this statement reverently, as is appropriate for such a place. The spot is indeed ideal for a Satanic circle; it’s well-shaded, and besides, there are goats to sacrifice. I reflect momentarily on Stanford’s rich history.
As we continue through the hills, the barbed wire fence turns into a dirt path, and the only marker of the Stanford land boundary is a ridge of trees that Jon points out just before we pass under Highway 280 through a tunnel. We learn from Jon’s occasional commentary that between the Research Park and Jasper Ridge lie the Stanford-owned polo grounds, in addition to a number of areas that are leased by tenants such the Webb Ranch, which grows organic produce and runs a stable. As we walk through the Ranch, I am introduced to a history post-doc and her husband, a visiting professor from Florida, two grad students and others, including Nora Sweeny, a charming alum and University administrator with whom I share English department gossip.
Just as we’re starting through the Webb Ranch, a downpour begins. My ill-chosen cotton pants are soaked, as are my running shoes. Blisters form on the bottoms of my feet, and I’m growing rather chilly. The pace slows, and we all tread carefully around the cow pies that dot the road. The company, however, is well worth the weather. Nora introduces me to Maggie Kimball, the University Archivist, who tells me that the last remaining building of the Stanford estate is tragically housed behind the Classic Residence by Hyatt, across the street from the Stanford Shopping Center.
We ascend a hill into Jasper Ridge, a place that I’ve heard about but never seen. The land preserve isn’t open for public visiting, and I’ve heard it’s hard to get into. The rumor is substantiated by razor wire mounted above the chain-link gate. Our docent, Bob Dodge, tells us that over 100 research projects are currently in progress on the Ridge, which is home to a number of ecosystems that are representative of the central California environment. Dodge hands us each a list of the plants growing in Jasper Ridge, and we begin our walk through the preserve. As we follow a barely-defined dirt path, I begin to understand why it isn’t open for public visiting. The land is so well protected and preserved that it seems more valuable to keep it pristine than to open it up.
On the path, Dodge points out a pair of California newts, adorable little reddish-brown creatures who climb around his hands and boots unabashedly before ambling off together like a married newt couple. Above the path, tree branches slung with hanging moss drip residual rainwater onto our heads, and I am in awe of what Stanford has in its hands. We circle a lake and come to a dam that holds the lake water back from a three-story drop. A civil and environmental engineering professor appears magically on the dam and informs us of its history as a part of the California water supply. Apparently, sediment is building up behind the dam and necessitates the draining of the lake, the destruction of the dam or something equally momentous. It seems strange that the quiet preserve will have to be so drastically changed.
Joyously, our next stop is lunch, which is hosted at a strangely angular, windowed structure atop a peak in Jasper Ridge. There, we meet a group that includes President John Hennessy, some well-heeled donors, sustainability coordinators, Jasper Ridge officials and others who have come to observe us mid-trek, sweaty and rained-on. Kennedy, by contrast, looks crisp and clean as he bounds forward to greet Jean and Bill Lane ‘42. Ambassador Lane, sporting a red cowboy hat, makes a quick speech about the importance of Stanford’s focus on citizenship, given its proximity to and involvement with members of the surrounding communities. He encourages Stanford to remember that “fences don’t always make good neighbors. Sometimes fences have to be lowered.”
Jean Lane, a delicate woman in outdoorsy clothes, also steps forward to say a few words. A woman after my own heart, she mentions the importance of Jasper Ridge’s Global Change Experiment, a project begun in 1997 to gauge the effects of climate change on Californian environs. “We do know that there is global climate change,” she asks, “so what will we do?”
We sit down to our long-anticipated lunch, which the Lanes have generously funded. It is now about 1:30, and we have been walking for seven hours. I pile a biodegradable (!) plate with grilled salmon, fresh fruit, bread and salad. The building’s lab serves as a dining room; tables have been brought in, and the lab counters have been covered with tablecloths. A catering staff wanders incongruously through the lab, clearing biodegradable plates and refilling glasses as a history undergrad plays country-western themes on a classical guitar.
Once lunch is done, we leave the assembled crowd behind and proceed — a mere 13 of us — on the final leg of our journey. We are accompanied, briefly, by Hennessy, who appears to be in the same unnatural state of physical fitness as Kennedy. The two of them bound ahead as I struggle to keep up, eager to see our president in action. Kennedy introduces me to Hennessy as “the reporter,” and I reflect that there is perhaps no dirtier label. Nonetheless, I’m grateful for the introduction. Hennessy and I shake hands, and he asks my major. A double in classics and English, I say, and he asks why. I tell Hennessy it is because I want to read Shakespeare properly. I feel terribly conscious of the fact that I’m talking to an ex-engineer.
A wandering Dalmatian inexplicably crosses our path, and Hennessy coos at it. I feel a sudden wave of compassion for our University’s president, for whom life seems to contain far more meet-and-greets than I could ever stomach.
Kennedy tells us that “walking the farm” (the catch phrase that he uses to refer to our journey) is something he learned about from his own Stanford roommate, an Iowa native who told Kennedy about his family’s annual ritual of walking the entire periphery of their land to check for needed maintenance.
Given Stanford’s moniker, it is eminently appropriate to say that we are “walking the Farm” as we examine the extent of Stanford’s outer boundaries, checking up on the state of the University and assessing what exactly is under Stanford’s purview. It is far more than students, certainly. There is the agricultural land, the nature preserve, the various tenants along whose fences we have walked. I remark to Kennedy and Hennessy that it seems almost impossible to keep track of the Stanford “community,” if we are thinking about all 8,180 acres. Kennedy and Hennessy give me wise looks that say “No,” so I reconsider and amend. It is complex, I say, but not impossible. They heartily agree.
We need to cross a four-lane road to continue, and Hennessy leads the mad dash, ending up on the grassy highway shoulder on the other side, closely followed by Kennedy. It is refreshing to see our intellectual giants jaywalking. The president leaves us after another mile or so, but the 13 of us continue, mostly along the sides of paved roads, past housing developments and into the Classic Residence by Hyatt, where we see the old Stanford family carriage house that the archivist Kimball mentioned, sitting bravely behind a cluster of pre-fabricated apartments. As we stroll through a public park, History Prof. Richard White tells us about his course on nature films, in which his students are analyzing “Bambi” as a commentary on the state of the American family.
We enter the home stretch along El Camino, and the sandstone gates draw agonizingly close. Predictably, Kennedy finishes first, looking barely winded. I pass through the gates with an aching lower back and tired feet, but the walk is over and we are a quietly ecstatic group of 13. Reflecting on the journey, Kennedy tells me, “The land is a long-term resource, and it is in the University’s best interest to retain it.” And he is right. The land offers Stanford a place in which to grow and live, but it’s also a lesson in the practice and potential of sustainability.
Kennedy tells us that in addition to being a maintenance check-up, “walking the farm” is also something that prospectors do before purchasing a piece of land. I regret that I did not “walk the Farm” during Admit Weekend, as a kind of grueling survey of the territory I was about to purchase. I was a tentative admit, and discovering the breadth of Stanford’s community might have made the University more appealing. But it is better late than never, I think, to discover the extents (both geographical and otherwise) of the University. I am pleased to hear later that Kennedy hopes to make the walk an annual event.
I feel a sense of proprietary pride as we end our tour of Stanford’s 8,180 acres. Of walking the Farm, Kennedy tells us, “This has reminded me again and again of the Stanfords’ idea of a great Western university.” It is an apt summary of our odyssey.