Nancy Hartman Ruddle ’62 receives award.

Nancy Hartman Ruddle, John Rodman Paul Professor Emerita, Epidemiology of Microbial Diseases and Immunobiology, Yale School of Public Health and Yale School of Medicine, has been selected as the 2021 recipient of the Connecticut Medal of Science. For details click here. This award will be presented at the Annual Meeting of the Connecticut Academy of Science and Engineering on May 27, 2021. Nancy earned a BA degree in Zoology from Mount Holyoke College in 1962 prior to earning a Ph.D. degree in Microbiology from Yale University.  

One classmate’s view of the Women’s March

By Connie Dilley, Toronto, on attending the Women’s March in Washington, D.C.:

The first hint of how big this was going to be came in the dead of night  at a service area, somewhere in Pennsylvania. The fog had been thick all night and the bus driver was ready for a stop. At four in the morning, all the restaurants and little shops were closed and the lights dim, but the place was full—full of women, lining up for a toilet, laughing, many wearing pink toques with little ears, ready for whatever was to happen. Coming from both Canada and the U.S., 8 buses were waiting to complete the trip to the Women’s March on Washington.

Several impressions endure; the numbers of people, both women and men, some children on shoulders or comfy in strollers; the posters; and the atmosphere of determination.

People were everywhere. They walked up and down every street, a great web of humanity. There were so many, yet I saw no attempt from authorities to exercise control. The orders had been, no backpacks (unless transparent), no purse larger the 8”X6”X4”, no sticks on posters. But there were no check points. As this was truly a grassroots endeavour, there were no trained volunteer security people, keeping order or giving directions, no one patrolling anything. People had a vague idea of where the stage for the rally would be and the direction of the march after the rally. I for one never saw the stage. On any single street, people would be walking in both directions, trying to find a way to get out of the gridlock (or find a port-a-potty, of which there were few), and reach the Mall, reach the Stage, get to the head of the March. The rally took hours and was transmitted through loud speakers and on giant screens. As people grew tired of listening to speeches (Angela Davis, Michael Moore, Madonna, and dozens of others) the cry went up “March, March, March,” but that looked impossible. People had overflowed the sidewalks and clogged the parade route. We finally had to exit backwards and enter the Mall at the height of the Washington Monument. Yet there was perfect calm, people watching people, united in their frustration at the election’s outcome. It was really a women’s march.

For me, the posters were the best. Aside from those supporting Planned Parenthood, they all seemed to be hand-made, graphically witty and colourful. Many were angry (“Keep your little fingers off our bodies”), offering resistance (“Not my president), or proposing optimism (“Love trumps hate”). Many addressed the pussy issue in various ways, and suggested that those who practice sexual harassment should not live in the White House. My favorite was “You’re so vain, you probably think this march is about you” because it hit so directly at Trump’s overblown consideration of himself. “Free Melania” wasn’t bad either. Some of the chants were predictable but one that got people giggling was “We need a leader/not a creepy tweeter.” Every now and then, a great roar would begin and ripple through the entire crowd until you really did hear and feel how vast the March had become, and how loud the response was to “I am woman. Hear me roar!”

Yet, for a parade or a demonstration, the atmosphere around me was uncommon: a mixture of pride in women and solidarity, and a deep anxiety about this uncontrollable, lying man who is now president of the U.S. Congratulations were not in order, at least not yet. There was fight in the mass, but uncertainty about what actions would change the trajectory of Trump. The general feeling was that this was just the beginning, and that we should be ready for a long haul. “Never give in! Never give up!”

After two nights of foggy bus rides, and 23,000 steps on Saturday under gloomy clouds and damp, chilly weather, I felt sober rather than elated. One poster caught that mood: “If you’re not worried, you’re not paying attention.”

Note from Class of 1962 Web Coordinator: This article expresses the viewpoint of one of our classmates. It does not represent any expressed opinions of officers or spokespersons of the Alumnae Association.

’62 at MHC Volunteer Conference

Some officers of MHC Class of 1962 attended the Mount Holyoke Alumnae Association Volunteer Conference on campus September 17-18. The photo below shows Elaine Kasparian Elliot (Class Treasurer), Marion Fitch Connell (Co-VP and Co-Chair of our upcoming 55th Reunion), and Peg Credle Cunningham (Co-Head Class Agent) at the conference.

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Class of 1962 Minireunion in Washington DC, Oct. 6-8, 2015

A Class of 1962 mini reunion was held in Washington, DC from October 6-8, 2015. It included special tours of the National Archives, the Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress, visits to the National Gallery of Art and the Hillwood Museum, free time to visit other museums, etc.

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Judy Osborne, Marion Fitch Connell, Hannah MacLaren, Anne Wadsworth Pardo, Kimmie Halligan McCann, Julie Hawks Perlman, Martha Lee Edmonds Owen, Elaine Kasperian Elliot, and Carol Kent at the Capital.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was also a special meeting with Rep. Nita Melnikoff Lowey ’59.

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Rep. Nita Lowey (D-NY), class of 1959, with Hannah MacLaren, Kimmie Halligan McCann, and Martha-Lee Edmonds Owen.

Valuing Land — One View by Karen Wegner Porter, ’62

Valuing Land – One View

by Karen Wegner Porter, ’62

Here is a tangent to Lynne’s literary look at women’s roles: women historically have recognized and attended to both the large and small matters of living and place. In every quarter, something large or small needs attention. In my quarter, on an intermontane prairie south of Butte, Montana, I attend a piece of the land surface.

My interest is landscape, which engenders affection for place. Affection engenders caring about what happens here. It recognizes intrinsic value. It acknowledges an original condition, now compromised, and agrees that there is value to its restoration. Not all agree.

What really is the value of “original condition” of a piece of land, especially in light of evolving species, shifting environments, and changing land-use patterns? Who cares if weeds like spotted knapweed (Centaurea bieberstenii) are replacing original grasslands? Or Common toadflax (Butter-and-eggs; Linaria vulgaris)? Or (the wretched) Kochia (Kochia scoparia)? Or Baby’s breath (yes, that one; Gypsophila paniculata)? But it’s not enough to pass off the caring with the question of “who cares” – the important question is “why care?”

Is a weed recognized only in the beholder’s eye? Definitely not. Certainly we all have likes and dislikes among the flowers, grasses, and shrubs on our place, but on that place a “weed” is a known plant – known as an invader, not native to the place. Native vs. non-native status is not a casual assignment. It results from extensive research by field and laboratory botanists ferreting out a plant’s geographic history — when the plant was first recorded in the area and with what plant community it is associated. Generally, invasives have been physically transported — usually inadvertently, in a hay bale or truck tire, but sometimes purposefully — into new spaces where they happen to be able to not just survive but thrive and out-compete the native flora. When invasives are removed, we find that slowly the native flowers and grasses come back, either by advancing from uninfected areas or by seed that has remained in the soil for years. And back come the insects and birds that were part of the original landscape. Sounds prosaic, but it’s true.

Presently, weed control must have an economic value to be considered of any value at all. Ranchers and farmers in the west fight weeds because of the threat to grazing land and crops. Towns and subdivisions, rallying around the concepts of urban blight and property values, sometimes manage to appropriate dollars for weed control, but the efforts are miniscule compared with the problem. And, of course, there is the perennial question of whose problem is it, anyway? Still, there is a growing recognition by municipalities, subdivisions, public land agencies, and individual landholders of the value in controlling invasive plants. Yet we are a long way from weed management for non-economic reasons – simply for the intrinsic value of the land itself.

Do you have observations, opinions, experience with caring for the land?