The Scholar: October 2013 Edition

The Scholar October 2013 Edition

1 The University of Tennessee at Martin‘s University Scholars Organization

Table of Contents

Important Dates ................................................................................................................................................ 2

Brooke Baker—Chapter 18: College ......................................................................................................... 3

Heather Mullis—Scholar’s Seminar........................................................................................................... 4

JD Leavell—Mentorship Program .............................................................................................................. 4

Josh Diltz—Coming to UTM .......................................................................................................................... 5

Jacob Fiala—The Tragedy of Mam Ma Mattie and Uncle Fred ........................................................ 6

Kendall Oziminski—The Glow Worm Cave ............................................................................................ 9

Mike Nolte—Salvaged Neural Log ........................................................................................................... 10

Stephen McBride—Untitled Poem ........................................................................................................... 12

Brooke Baker — My Mother ....................................................................................................................... 13

Jeremy Greenburg — Stars ......................................................................................................................... 13

Garrett Ellison — Archer Book I ............................................................................................................... 14

Junior/Senior Projects

Garret Ellison .................................................................................................................................... 18

Chelsea Boyd ..................................................................................................................................... 19

Colton Jones....................................................................................................................................... 19

Hannah Sexton ................................................................................................................................. 20

Jordan Jensen .................................................................................................................................... 20

Madilyn Peay..................................................................................................................................... 21

Laura Miller ....................................................................................................................................... 22

Disclaimer: Any views or opinions herein

expressed are not representative of the University Scholars

Organization as a whole

Senior Editors: Photographers:

Riley Rich Katrina Moeller

Hunter Lindberg Katie Pigg

The University of Tennessee at Martin‘s University Scholars Organization 2


Important Dates

Scholar Events— Fall Semester

Buckets Dinner: October 16th

Talon Falls and Patti‟s Trip: October 26th

Halloween Party: October 31st

Sammie‟s Dinner: November 4th

November EC Meeting: November 5th

Black Light All-Nighter: November 16th

Thanksgiving Party: November 21st

Christmas Party: December 5th

Academic Calendar— Fall Semester

Oct. 12-15 Fall Break

Nov. 27-Dec. 1 Thanksgiving Holiday

Dec. 6, Friday Classes End

Dec. 7-13 Final Exams

Dec. 14 Commencement

For more information, visit:

http://catalog.utm.edu/content.php?

catoid=7&navoid=359

http://catalog.utm.edu/content.php?catoid=7&navoid=359

http://catalog.utm.edu/content.php?catoid=7&navoid=359



Chapter 18: College

Brooke Baker

On Tuesday, August 20th, 2013, all of the incoming

freshmen began new chapters in their lives. This marked the

day that we left our homes from all across the country to come

to good, old Martin, Tennessee. Upon arriving at the Honors

Study that night for a half-nighter, none of us knew what to

expect. Back in February, we were nervous to walk into the

Honors Study because we were all trying to compete to become

Scholars. This day, it didn‘t matter; WE WERE SCHOLARS!

After chilling in the Honors Study for the half-nigher

on Tuesday, the real fun began on Wednesday. Our first all-

nighter of the semester was just

about to commence, and

none of us knew how ―nerds‖

could have so much fun! We

started the night off eating

LOTS of pizza and getting

to know each other. We played

―The Game of Things‖ which

brought out some very helpful

insights into the dark recesses

of everyone‘s minds. Needless to

say, all awkwardness was put aside because now we were all a

family. Families have crazy people, smart people, helpful

people, people who love pugs, and people who are simply

always there for you. Joining University Scholars brought

together an eclectic group of people and made them a family.

After getting to know one another better, it was time

for the infamous scavenger hunt around campus and Martin.

Everyone split off into groups and did their best to accomplish

crazy, unthinkable tasks. The people who work at Wal-Mart

had no idea that when they came in for their shift that night,

that they would be encountering the Scholars bunch. From

singing to random strangers and dancing for employees, to

being pushed around in a stroller, no stone was left unturned.

By the end of the scavenger hunt, we were all hot, sweaty, and

tired. But the night was just beginning.

“What‟s Happening?” Freshmen News Reports

―Joining

University

Scholars brought

together an eclectic

group of people

and made them a

family‖

We played all sorts of games in the Honors

Study, doing our best to make it to Huddle House at 3

A.M. We played charades countless times, hide-n-seek,

and even ―I Have Never.‖ When all this got old, we

decided to take a little field trip around campus to

climb on top of the EPS building. My first thought was,

―What the heck have I gotten myself into?‖ A select,

brave few ventured out into the night with Dr. Lionel

Crews leading the way. Climbing the rickety ladder to

get to the top of the building was one obstacle worth

overcoming to see the gorgeous view of campus and

the glittering night sky.

Eventually, a good group of us made it to 3

A.M. and to the wonderful home-cooked styles of

Huddle House. At this point in the night, you REALLY

get to know people because you‘re all delusional from

lack of sleep and hunger. You learn that some people

get really giggly when they‘re tired while others have a

severe fear of maple syrup. By the end of the night, or

should I say early morning, we were all exhausted, but

we were a family; a crazy, dysfunctional family.

Lots of memories were made during Welcome

Weekend that I‘m sure none of us will ever forget. It

finally made being a college student and a University

Scholar seem real. After all our festivities had

concluded, we were ready to begin our first semester at

The University of Tennessee at Martin. Come Monday

morning, we were bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready

to start a new chapter in our lives.



Mentorship Program

JD Leavell

My first recollection of the Scholars program was of sheer surprise. The day I found that I would be

joining the ranks of the organization itself. The second was the day I discovered who was going to be my Big Sib.

The mentorship program had been somewhat of a vague patchwork quilt in my mind pieced together by comments

heard through my interaction with others in the Scholars program. From what I had discerned it seemed like a

Scholar‟s Seminar

Heather Mullis

―The only thing we have to fear is fear itself‖ – and Scholar‘s class, of course. At

least, that‘s what I was thinking as I registered for the 3:00-4:30pm class every Wednesday.

However, Scholar‘s Seminar is very much the opposite of fearful; it‘s fun, exciting, and

enjoyable. So far we have been in school for almost a month now and have attended

multiple classes. In Scholar‘s we have done many things including icebreakers, discussions,

and a gift exchange.

The icebreaker games have been very interesting, to say the least. The first

consisted of everyone splitting into two teams. The first team remained seated, awkwardly

stared at as the opposing team attempted to memorize every inch of their bodies. Then, the standing team turned

around as the seated players changed something about themselves, in hopes that the alteration would go unnoticed

by their rivals. Shoe-laces were untied, bracelets were removed, and pen marks were added as the race of careful

observation came to a close. Our next icebreaker was even more entertaining. Everyone received a piece of paper

and wrote down something silly or crazy to do. Once every strange action was written down, the papers were

passed in a circle a certain number of times. Then of course, came the fun part: each person had to do whatever the

paper told them to. Some consisted of doing the worm, sit-ups, or talking in an accent, while others got a little

more risky – such as daring the reader to propose to Dr. Crews and kiss his head. Later on, we were told to come

up with our own icebreaker, and we first used Georgia‘s idea. Everyone got two different colored straws, and the

question you were asked depended on the color you chose. It was a much calmer icebreaker game where we

learned a little more about each person.

The fun didn‘t stop at icebreakers. One class, we had a (gag) gift exchange. As gifts were chosen and gifts

were stolen, many people ended up with things they couldn‘t do much with – like an expired coupon or a bag of

cat litter. However, there were a few hot items such as a color-your-own piggy bank, a container of icing and a box

of popcorn, and a shocker disguised as a cigarette lighter.

Scholar‘s class however, is filled with more than just fun and games. We have had many discussions

concerning future trips, the Halloween party, and what leadership is. Our Halloween planning has been very

successful thus far. We have come up with many ideas, and after some discussing and debating, we have finally

settled on a few key themes that we will expand on and discuss in detail in future classes. We have also talked

about the characteristics of a good leader. After a thorough discussion, we were given a list of ten things that an

authentic leader does on a regular basis: They speak their truth; they lead from the heart; they have rich moral

fiber; they are courageous; they build teams and create communities; they deepen themselves; they are dreamers;

they care for themselves; they commit to excellence rather than perfection; and they leave a legacy.

All in all, our Scholar classes have been productive and entertaining at the same time. I suppose when it

comes down to it, perhaps truly the only thing we do have to fear is, indeed, fear itself.



worthwhile addition to my career in the program. I wouldn‘t understand the understatement I had made for

several weeks.

The next event in my mentorship saga is the day I was asked to come up with my top three choices

for a Big Sib. At first I had no idea who to choose but as I reminisced upon the past experiences I had as an

incoming scholar a few people came to mind. I put them down, leaving to fate and the more capable hands of

the current scholars to decide how it would all pan out.

Finally the day came when the long awaited unveiling would occur. I was so excited, but

apprehensive. I had absolutely no idea as to who my Big Sib would be. All the Scholars gathered together for

a meeting and all of the freshmen Scholars were directed to make two single file lines and close our eyes.

Naturally, we did as we were instructed. Someone came behind me and placed an object in my hand. It was

heavy and wrapped in some sort of plastic. ―On the count of three everyone turn around and meet your new

Big Sib,‖ yelled someone from behind. ―One! Two! Three!‖ Surprise overtook me as I turned to find an

unfamiliar face. I was shocked. I had thought surely someone I had been talking to and building a relationship

would have taken the mantle of my mentorship upon themselves. As the shock wore

off, however, I decided I better start getting to know this new part of my life. I started

with his name. ―Hey I‘m Jordan,‖ he said as he held out his hand. He was a country

looking fellow without a doubt. But that wasn‘t a bad thing because that‘s home to

me—not to mention I‘m currently residing in Martin, the definition of small town

country itself. As we began to talk I found that the unfamiliarity which had initially

insinuated a mistake was actually a well thought out pairing of two individuals with

very similar tastes and hobbies. I grew more and more comfortable with him and

foresaw a very good year in store.

Looking back, I am grateful for the experiences I‘ve had in the Scholars and

mentorship program. Both have been worthwhile and already added to my

educational career some noteworthy memories and influences that last a life time.

This is, I know, only the first of many memories and people that will shape my tenure

as a student at the University of Tennessee at Martin.

Coming to UTM

Josh Diltz

Prior to the Fall 2013 semester, leaving family and friends eleven hundred miles away was a daunting,

seemingly impossible task for my mind to conceive. Arriving in Martin, Tennessee on August 13, 2013 was

a momentous day which will not soon be forgotten. Much like that first day of kindergarten, it produced a

feeling of confusion and apprehension. Yet, unlike fourteen years ago, this experience was accompanied by

excitement, hopefulness, and a large degree of expectation. With this eagerness for the future came a

zealousness for involvement in ways that I could not and cannot yet imagine. Unlike the deserted mile-high

city of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Martin was everything that my former environment was not – green, flat,

wooded, vegetated, and rainy. Despite this new beginning, there has developed a sense of belonging in

Tennessee that I have never before felt. The University Scholars Program has only further bolstered this

sense of knowing. That first night of Scholars was only the beginning…

Over the course of that evening I had the opportunity to meet a number of the veteran Scholars and

express my desire to get involved on campus. Nervous all the same, many reached out and welcomed me to

the University and to their respective organizations. One such Scholar was sophomore Sean O‘Brien from



“Creative Outlet” Sophomore Creative Pieces

comparably faraway New Jersey. At La Cabaña I learned that Sean was also a Biology major with the

intention of one day becoming a physician (one day a long, long time from now). Both from distant states,

participating on collegiate athletic squads, having similar career pursuits, and having the desire for

intensive campus involvement, Sean and I displayed many common

interests. As such, I felt very fortunate to be mutually chosen as

Sean‘s Little Sib and to carry on the ―Out of State Dynasty‖ which was

first started by his Big Sib, Jordan, from Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

―Year after year, the Honors Council picks an out-of-state Scholar, so

we must be doing something right!‖ says Sean.

Although our time at UT Martin is only at its dawn, the future

is blindingly bright for our Scholars Family and for the next four years

of a yet uncharted history.

Jacob Fiala

The Tragedy of Mam Ma Mattie and Uncle Fred

My dear readers, I welcome you to this story- a delightful reflection on the horrors of going senile. What

you are about to read could very well test the fibers of your spiritual being. This is the story of Matilda.

Matilda and Fred- actually more like Fred and Matilda. It‘s more about Fred than Matilda, or Mam Ma

Mattie as most people called her. (Matilda, that is, not Fred) Well, technically just her grandchildren called

her that, but she didn‘t talk to anyone else. And she called Fred ―Frederic‖ but everyone else called him

Uncle Fred. He didn‘t have any brothers. He was always resentful of that.

Anyway, one day, Uncle Fred was on the brink of ―just about having it up to here‖ with Mam Ma Mattie‘s

constant nagging. Most people call it nagging. Uncle Fred didn‘t. Uncle Fred was an alcoholic. ―Frederic!

Did you feed Fufu!?‖ screamed Mam Ma Mattie. Mam Ma Mattie had a serious hearing problem. If her

sight was as bad as her hearing she would be legally blind.

―Don‘t scream at me woman!‖ he shouted back.

―I ain‘t screaming!‖ she screamed

―Yes, you sure as dadgum is!‖ he shouted back, ―Did you forget your hearing aids again!?‖

―Those dadgum things don‘t do a DADGUM thing!‖ she yelled back.

―Just replace the batteries!‖ he screamed.

―I can‘t tell the difference between ‗em!‖



Mam Ma Mattie was legally blind.

―I just about had it up to here!‖ screamed Uncle Fred, ―I‘m going to the bar.‖

―Whiskey on the rocks‖ Uncle Fred told the boy behind the counter as he walked into a QT.

―Sir, this is a gas station, not a bar.‖ said the boy.

―Dadgum it‖ mumbled Uncle Fred.

―When I was your age, this building was owned by Stinky Pete (Stinky Pete‘s parents actually named him

Peter Avery Wilson III, but most people just called him Stinky Pete) ―…he ran a tavern down here by the

name of Stinky Pete‘s Bar and Grille-‖

―Sir, I‘m sorry, but if you‘re not gonna buy anything, I‘m gonna have to ask you to leave.‖ said the kid. The

kid‘s name was Peter Whiterost. People called him Pretty Pete, and the irony was not lost on him.

―Fine, gimme one of them Lotto Tickets, youngster‖ he said ―So anyway, Stinky Pete once said to me…‖

Pretty Pete sighed. ―Matilda, I‘m home!‖ said Uncle Fred as he came through the door. ―You‘ll never guess what I did today!‖

―What?‖

―I bought a Lotto Ticket!‖ he said triumphantly ―I haven‘t bought one of those since Nixon was in office!‖

―You bought one last week!‖ she said, ―You were trying to go to the bar and accidentally ended up in Quick

Trip, and you were telling the kid the story of how it used to be Stinky Pete‘s place and he said you had to

buy something.‖

―Oh,‖ he said, ―I must have forgotten.‖

―Well, did you win anything?‖

―I was saving it for us to do together.‖ he said

―Well, where is it?‖

―Dadgum it!‖ he said, patting his pockets ―I must have left it at the dadgum store!‖ A couple hours later Uncle Fred finally arrived back home. Mam Ma Mattie was napping, so he set his ticket

in his dresser and lay down too.

Mam Ma Mattie shook Uncle Fred.

Uncle Fred woke with a start, ―DADGUM VIET CONG!‖



―Did you feed Fufu?‖ she asked

―Who the hell is Fufu?‖ he asked

―I don‘t quite remember,‖ she said thoughtfully ―I feel like we should be feeding him though.‖

―Oh my dear Matilda,‖ he said ―we‘re not forgetting anything, now go back to sleep.‖

The Lotto ticket was long forgotten.

Fufu looked down at his empty dish and let out a little whine. Almost a week passed. It was probably around 153 hours. Most authors would just say a week passed, but the

point of this story is to remain completely honest. No punches pulled. Don‘t get mad at me either. As this story

heats up, don‘t get mad at me- I‘m just recounting the events how they happened. Anyway, exactly 153.8 hours

passed before Mam Ma Matilda found the Lotto Ticket and was reminded of the events of the previous week. She told Uncle Fred and he was ecstatic. ―I haven‘t done one of those since Nixon was in office.‖ he said. Mam

Ma got out a quarter and started scratching. ―We won!‖ she screamed. ―Won what?‖ said Uncle Fred. When Uncle Fred and Matilda got over the initial shock they began to discuss what to do with the 153.8 million

dollars that they had won. Mam Ma Mattie was under the opinion that they should give the money to their

daughter and her husband to guarantee that the grandchildren went to a great college. ―Maybe Princeton or

Yale!‖ said Mam Ma. Uncle Fred wasn‘t so sure.

―I‘m not sure,‖ said Uncle Fred ―I dropped out of school in 9th grade to fight with my fellow countrymen in

‗Nam, and after that I spent 6 years in Jimmy Sprunkle Community College.‖ He glanced at his associates

degree framed on the wall.

―And now, I‘m worth roughly 153.8 million dollars!‖ he said. ―The grandchildren need to claw their way to the

top like we did, Matilda!‖ he said.

Eventually, they arrived at the conclusion that they should destroy the evil ticket that was threatening their

grandchildren‘s future. ―Let‘s burn the dadgum thing!‖ Mam Ma said.

Hank Hassleford was minding his own business when he received a call from the police department. He picked it

up and looked into Mary‘s eyes. His face was a mix of shock and disappointment. Mary was the daughter of

Fred and Mattilda. Hank was her husband. They were destitute.

When they arrived at Fred and Matilda‘s house, they were taken aside by the cops. The cops explained to them

that their parents were fine, but that they were in custody. Apparently, they were both suffering from massive

dementia and had mistakenly set the family pet, Fufu, on fire believing him to be a lottery ticket.

―I feel so sorry for them.‖ Mary told Hank as they were cleaning Uncle Frank‘s and Mam Ma Mattie‘s house.

They had just recently committed Mam Ma and Frank to a nursing home. This nursing home dealt strictly with

dementia patients and was therefore more of an insane asylum, but most people preferred calling it a nursing

home.



Kendall Oziminski The Glow Worm Cave

I walk through the opening to the cave. I am very relieved to be out of the rain that has been coming

down all day. The small entrance slowly opens up to high walls and even higher ceilings. The only

prominent noise is that of the stream running below me. I see an eel and some small fish swimming in

the sparkling clear water. I walk further down the path and over a bridge where the shallow stream drops

into a large ravine. The sound of the rushing water echoes loudly throughout the room, so loud I cannot

even hear myself think. I can tell I am reaching the end of the cavern, though. The walkway plateaus,

and still lake water reaches up to the edge of the rocks. In order to explore the last and most important

part of this cave, I venture into a small, shaky boat. The once lit room goes black and the boat is pulled

further and further into the emptiness. I have never experienced a room so dark. It‘s disorienting; I

cannot tell which way we are moving or if we are even moving at all. The only thing keeping my sanity

are the small illuminations hanging on the ceiling. This is what I came here to do. This is what I wanted

to see, even if only so faintly. Sitting in absolute quiet and

absolute darkness, I find it hard not to think about the

wonderful yet fragile creatures I am observing. I think about

how to these glow worms, this kind of environment is

normal. I look at their life from a stranger‘s perspective,

thinking there is no way any animal could survive more than

a day in this let alone tens of years. I can see a similarity

between us, though. Humans have just as weird and unusual

lives that would look strange from an outsider‘s view. There

―Your crazy parents didn‘t throw anything away.‖ Hank muttered while filling a trash bag with junk

from Uncle Fred‘s dresser. ―Don‘t you dare call my parents crazy, dadgum it!‖ she screamed.

―Don‘t scream at me!‖ he yelled ―They burned the dadgum dog!‖

―…What are we doing?‖ she said ―We can‘t turn into this.‖

―You‘re right.‖ he said ―I‘m sorry for yelling at you.‖

―We‘re growing old.‖ she said

―Oh my dear Mary,‖ he said ―we‘ll never be old.‖

Elsewhere, Amy Hassleford, their youngest daughter, found out that she was pregnant.

―What‘s this?‖ said Hank as he pulled the Lottery Ticket out of the sock drawer.

It was covered in dog food.

―I think we‘ve just won 153.8 million dollars.‖ Mary said

They were overjoyed.



are many dark things in our world, but we are so accustomed to seeing them, that it normally has no

impact. The small accomplishments we do make, though, act as a reason to keep us working for the

future. I think that, like these glow worms, we miss out on seeing our incredible selves because it is all

we know how to do. It requires a step back to see the amazing possibilities and to understand that we

will keep living for that future as long as there is even a small beacon helping us through all of the

darkness.

Mike Nolte

Neural Log, March 12th, 2043: I still can't believe I was offered a place on the Rheinland. Space

travel has always excited me in a way I could never really understand. Two parts fear of the unknown,

three parts Star Trek nostalgia, I suppose. And to be one of the first humans ever to colonize another

system? Wow! I will be continuing to record my thoughts during pivotal events in the journey, for

posterity's sake. Hopefully my descendants or researchers in the future will have some use for these logs.

I overheard some of my neighbors in the next pod over talking about the algorithm they used to select

the passengers. "A perfect cross-section of society", they said. Laborers, Psychiatrists, Technicians; you

didn't have to be the best at what you did, just the right combination of ethnicity, social status,

occupation, and personal interests. I wonder how many other middle-class white male actuaries they

selected. Out of Seventy five thousand people, I imagine I can't be the only one. Perhaps I'll try to find

another in between my Cryo-cycles. Fifteen years, cooped up in what is the space of a small closet. At

least I'll be asleep. Apparently they can't keep us asleep any longer than 20 years, or they risk brain

damage. "Degradation of Key Neural Pathways", the pamphlet said. Good thing, too. I wouldn't want to

sleep the whole trip away. Well, a call just went out over the PA. They're starting liftoff in 15 minutes. I

better go get a spot by the windows.

Neural Log, March 16th, 2043: Everything going smoothly so far. They're putting the first cycle

of sleepers under now; should be a few minutes until a crew member is free to help me. My quest to find

my demographical clone is going pretty well. I managed to get a copy of the data tables from the Sleeper

Exploration Initiative website. Thank goodness for government transparency, they published all of their

selection data. Its taking me a bit to sort through the endless excel lists though. Apparently they also

sorted by weight, and not just for fuel-conservation purposes. There is actually a portion of people that

were selected specifically because they were obese. That's going a little too far in trying to preserve the

culture of Earth in my opinion, but I guess that's why I‘m not in politics. I befriended a crew member

and, while telling him about my mission, he imparted another interesting snippet to me. Its common

knowledge that no one knows exactly how the launch date was chosen. Even experts in the field thought

that it would be postponed due to hazardous weather, but for some reason the officials stood firm. Also,

my contact told me that there is a secondary mission. We are taking a small detour from the optimal path

to pass by an asteroid. It showed up as carrying organic particles in a spectrometry analysis so we're

checking if it really has life on it. It came as a pleasant surprise to me. I'm sure they don't need any

passengers‘ help, but even the chance that I'll be this close to where they first find extraterrestrial life

brings me a stupidly wide smile. Well my attendant is here, so it's time I tucked in for the longest nap of

my life.

Neural Log, March 16th, 2058: Holy crap, 15 years, and I don't feel a day older. It really was like



a nap. Well, except the muscle atrophy. My attendant said that I'll have to keep a very tight exercise regimen

over the next two weeks to return to pre-sleep levels. That is fine by me, but first I've got know what

happened with that asteroid!

Neural Log, March 16th, 2058: It contained life! I don't think I've

ever been so excited. To think, not only am I playing a pivotal role in

planetary colonization, I was also (kind of) present during the discovery

of extraterrestrial life. Wow. I asked what happened to the samples, but

got some canned response. They are ―being held in Research‖. Forget

about demographics, from now on I‘ll be focusing on this!

Neural Log, March 18th, 2058: The life they found was silicon,

not carbon based. Joann says that it will be a huge leap forward in

medical research. Joann Lowry, by the way, is my woman on the inside

with the whole ET life situation. I caught her on a coffee break yesterday,

while I was waiting outside Medical. She is very personable and was more than happy to answer all my

questions. She said the life wasn't like anything the researchers had ever seen. Instead of having cellular

walls, the prokaryotes (or at least what resembled prokaryotes) seemed to have internal skeletons made of

calcium scaffolding. She got so excited describing it, I almost lost track of everything she had to say. It was

the most fun I've had on this ship yet, which I guess doesn't seem like much, since I've only been awake 7

days, but it feels like I've been here so much longer. Which, I guess I have, ha. Note to Self: Lunch with

Joann tomorrow.

Neural Log, March 30th, 2058: It‘s almost time for me to sleep again. I've learned so much in the

past few days; I feel like I just went through a training montage. The researching Doctors let me in the lab

twice: the first time, just to help move some stuff since they were short on hands, but they allowed me to

examine the specimens the second time! I really envy the biologists and doctors working on that project.

They all seemed to have such fun with their jobs, something I never really could say for actuarial work.

Something about them did grate on me a bit though. Not two days ago, when I was eating dinner with Joann,

she got an emergency page and had to run. She later apologized, of course, but I was more concerned with

what the emergency was. Contaminants in the specimens, she said. One batch was exposed to some foreign

amino acids and started changing, taking on more familiar biological forms. I couldn't make much sense of

what she was saying, but according to her, it‘s a huge discovery. I can't imagine it was all good, though.

These things are supposed to have carefully controlled environments. Bah, I worry too much. It‘s time. I'll

miss Joann and my friends in Medical while I'm out. See you in 15 years, posterity.

Neural Log, October 9th, 2066: Oh god, I'm finally out of there. When I first woke up, the pod was

pitch black, and locked. You haven't known fear until you've been trapped in some sick metal coffin, left

only to feel around blindly for a way out. I found the emergency release, though now I wish I had stayed in

there. Power is out all over the ship, which must have been why I woke up so early. I've been looking for the

crew for hours now, with no luck. It‘s almost like a ghost ship. I went to the bridge, only to find it

abandoned as well. Emergency power was on, but all systems were powered off, including life support.

There's no telling how much longer the oxygen will hold out. A small message flickered on the screen.

―Situation Critical, Launching all Pods in... 0 Seconds.‖ I don't know how long its been like this, or where

the pods could have gone. I know why they left, though. On a whim, I dropped by Medical, hoping to find

others. As I approached, the air got thicker and thicker, until eventually I was coughing, even in attempting



to breathe. I turned the last corner, only to find the doors wide open. A single fluorescent light gently flickered

inside, and the floor was wet. I stumbled from door to door, coughing, until I found what I was looking for.

Another person. A body in a doctor's coat lay on the floor, dried blood in a pool around it. I turned the body

over, and despair wracked me. It was Joann. Lacerations, each no longer than an inch, coated her corpse, and

in her hand, she clenched a tape recorder. I set it to play the tape back, and sat near her, listening to her warm

voice as I cradled her lifeless head.

―The organisms continue to mutate at astounding rates. Protein production has been completely altered

since our first recording on it. The cells now operate in a very standard, well known nature, which is

completely disparate from our first operations. My colleague, Dr. Bullock, suggested that we re-introduce

some of the old, untampered cells into the new ones, perhaps with the hope that they absorb the traits of the

unaltered ones. I worry that we've tampered with them too much, however. There's no telling what changes

could come of this.‖

The recording cut out, and there was static for a few more minutes. I ceased my weeping and turned to

the door. Time to check if there are any escape pods left. I took two steps, then another, but I couldn't make a

forth. The labored breathing was back, this time coupled with my heart racing. I felt like I was running a

marathon, and I had just hit the wall. I fell onto one knee. Why did I feel so lightheaded? My head was on fire,

and I reached up to cradle it in my hands. Blood dripped down my wrist, out of my mouth. I gagged, and spit

up two mouthfuls of phlegm and coagulated blood before collapsing. Then everything faded to black.

Stephen McBride

One day I‘ll reach the top of the hill,

Though in the valley I believe it still.

There I‘ll make the dark turn bright,

I‘ll take the wrong and make it right,

The day I reach the top of the hill.

It may seem I‘m far below,

I will face struggles, this I know.

Onward I look at the path I take,

I know my journey is no mistake,

For I will reach the top of the hill.

At this point now it‘s hard to walk,

The naysayers all begin to talk.

I gain more strength; no longer weak,

For I have reached this towering peak.



Jeremy Greenburg

Stars

Two eyes meet, and a spark of yellow forms. It quickly ignites, rapidly booming out to a fiery orange

orb and continuing on to a passionate rosy swell. They radiate indigo joy, and for a while everything is fine. But

their love never returns to that stable fireball of orange. No, it greedily grows and expands until it is too volatile

for its own good.

Now it‘s a dark maroon giant, wobbling along as it tries to maintain what dignity it has left. But black

decay has already seeped in, twisting the couple‘s thoughts and actions to feed its own destruction. And then it

finally snaps.

Emerald Envy bubbles out first, giggling madly as the star begins to collapse. Violet Rage and Cerulean

Sorrow spiral out next, consuming love‘s own sanguine. Sparkles of silver—a sterile, apathetic color—frequent

out of the star as hearts harden and love dies.

With an anguished cry, the burdensome star supernovas and a brilliant spectrum of emotion dazzles the

heavens. Fury thunders through the cosmos, howling its woes as planets quake in its wake. Misery screams

through the sky, bewailing all who would dare follow from the Star. Jealousy flashes its coiled face and seeks

that which it has always lacked. Love cries softly, seeking what can be salvaged if it‘s not too late. And hope

peacefully dies, smothered under the weight of its brethren.

Colors that should have lasted a lifetime fade to gray and drift away, forgotten. Peaceful black emptiness

returns to its reign, a blank slate for all of life to imprint. Colors meander in for a while, but never stay for long

as they move to other domains.

Time passes. Lives are lived. Two eyes meet, and a spark of yellow forms.

Brooke Baker

My Mother (In memory of my mother: Debra Woodard Baker)

Before I ever knew her, she knew me.

Raising me

Loving me

Always taking care of me.

She kissed my scraped knees and made my lunches time and time again.

She was rock, my best friend.

We told each other everything, never holding back.

Sometimes we hurt each other. But that was the past.

She is no longer with me and I miss her every single day.

Her smile, her laugh, simply her.

One day we will be reunited.

Oh, what a joyous reunion.

When I see her face, I know I can smile again.



Garrett Ellison

Foreword

I will be brief. A story is a simple thing: a beginning, middle, and an end. But of course, a mountain is also a sim-

ple thing; just a pile of rocks. I am endeavoring to build a mountain with words, and I am allowing you to follow

me along the way. Here is the beginning. Let us see if I can crawl, stumble, and struggle my way to the top. Let us

begin, shall we?

“One cosmic traveler looked to the other and said, „Usually, I just go with it.‟”

Chapter 0

It had become a game of cat and mouse by now, and his time as the mouse was beginning to take its toll. Two bril-

liant, blue eyes attempted to stay fixed on the road in front of him, but exhaustion had stolen all the detail that he

might have seen. All that remained to him was the road and the goal that lay at the end of it.

He chanced a glance at his mirror. The mountain road had once again jostled it out of position. He reached up and

righted it, and while doing so caught a glimpse of his barely recognizable reflection. If he had the energy to be

startled he would have been. He looked like he had aged forty years and his facial hair showed almost a week of

neglect. Everything about him seemed dull and muted like the color was being drained from him. He features had

hardened and his usually pale skin almost looked gray. Anyone could have been excused with mistaking him with

a dying man... or a corpse, he thought.

With a slight feeling of revulsion he fixed the mirror so that it was again showing the road behind him. It was still

as empty as the time before... and the time before that... and the time before that...

He looked back to the road and immediately swerved right, barely avoiding going down the middle of a fork in the

road. This old road was dangerous, but it was perfect for getting someone lost.

His heart stilled in his chest and looked to the seat next to him. A woman lay there, her long midnight black hair

spread all around her in gentle curls. He was relieved to find that she was still asleep. She had got less chances

than he had in the last few days. He knew the exhaustion had finally gotten the better of her because she would

have never fallen asleep willingly.

Once again he returned his attention to the road. Daylight had reached the tops of the mountain, and everything

was cast in a red early morning glow. By this time of the year all of the trees were bare, except for the occasional

evergreen that dotted the mountainside. The result caused the entire forest to look like that last ember of a great

fire. It would have been beautiful if he had taken the time to look at it. He glanced back up toward the mirror, and

this time ice filled his veins. The black shape appeared almost monstrous in the dawnlight, and it was approaching

fast. He immediately dropped gear, but forgot the clutch.

"Shut up and do it!" he shouted, stomping the offending petal. The vehicle quickly obeyed its master and lurched

forward violently. Beside him the woman's eyes fluttered open. She looked around, momentarily confused as to

where she was.

"What's going on?" she asked.

He nodded behind him, "We've got company." She glanced behind them and there was a moment's pause. Then

suddenly she grabbed the wheel.

"What are you-" he begun to ask when she pushed the wheel. The car swerved left just as the back windshield im-

ploded and the rearview mirror disintegrated. A red light danced across the ceiling of the car.

"Thanks," he said.

"Get rid of them and I'll be thanking you," she said still looking behind them.

He knew that it would only be moment before the shooter lined up to get to get another shot. He looked up ahead

of saw another approaching fork in the road.

THONK! THONK! A bullet embedded itself into the back of their car and another in the dashboard. The shooter's

aim was getting better. With another glance ahead, he saw something and idea quickly began to form in his mind.

"What side is he on?" he asked. The woman looked.

"Right," she said, "leaning out the passenger window."



"Hold on!" he said. He floored the gas and lined up with the right lane, but that gave the shooter a perfect line up

for a shot. Speeding towards the fork, he suddenly pulled a hard left. His light car barely snapped into the left lane,

but still lost a mirror on the tree that was physically separating the road. His tires screeched but he managed to

keep in control. As he did so, he was barely aware of a loud scraping sound behind them.

"Did he crash?" he asked.

She shook her head, "No... but the shooter-"

He looked over his shoulder. The massive vehicle of their pursuer had lost most of the paneling on its right side.

The shooters limp body hung out the window, and what was left of his head dangled at an unnatural angle. The

other driver apparently recovered from the death of his partner rather quickly as black van's engine roared. It

quickly closed the gap and rammed into his car's back trying to make them fishtail.

He only just managed to get out from under the vehicle's grasp, but the van then pulled up beside them and forced

itself into the car's left side. It slid across the road and into the ancient railing that lined the side of the road. The

car grated against the railing, which luckily held the weight. The van backed up and reared back to slam into them

again.

Looking up ahead he noticed that the road was about to loop back from a sheer drop. The van turned back towards

them just as he stomped on the cars brakes. The car dropped behind the van and was covered in a shower of sparks

as the van hit the rail which stubbornly held in place.

"Take the wheel," he said, lowering the window. She grabbed hold as he unbuckled his seat belt and sat up on the

doorframe. Cold air rushed past him, and he did his best to ignore it. He relaxed his mind and raised his hand. The

air suddenly began to heat up rapidly. The paint on the door began to peal and crack, but he felt no heat all.

The van had rebounded off the railing and was now back to the left side of the road, and he took aim. A stream of

sapphire-blue fire blasted from his hand and engulfed the van's right front tire. The air inside the tire superheated

before it had a chance to melt. It exploded with enough force that it lifted the van onto its two left tires.

The turn quickly approaching, the man scrambled back into his seat and forced the wheel left. The tires screeched

as they managed to stay gripped to the road. Their pursuer wasn't as lucky. The bulky vehicle had lost all steering

and slammed into the railing cutting through it like tissue paper. It disappeared over the edge into the valley be-

low.

The woman slumped into her seat, looked up at the man, and smiled. "Thank you," she said to him. He had a look

of absolute shock on his face.

"I can't believe that worked," he said looking behind them.

She laughed, "Good thing it did. We were almost out of-" she froze as she looked ahead. "Phillip!" she shouted.

He tried to turn, but at that speed nothing could keep him from hitting the second van parked in the middle of the

road. The next few seconds were nothing, but flashes, sound, and vertigo, and he found himself flying through the

air.

Seatbelt, he thought before crashing to the ground which wasn't kind enough to let him land on his head and just

be done with it. He tumbled across the ground feeling and hearing his bones snap and splinter. He came to a stop

in a relatively soft part of a ditch propped up against its side. His head swam with sensation as it tried to process

his injuries and gather his bearings. He was vaguely aware that the car had landed next to him. Whether it had

landed first or if he had just barely avoided getting crushed he couldn't tell.

"Celia..." he said and passed out.

"You were suppose to capture one of them alive, Alastair!" shouted a voice. His eyes cracked open, and he was

relieved to feel a twinge in his toes. At least my spine's fine, he thought.

"Calm yourself, Morgan, we're still going to get what we want," said a voice like molten lead down one's spine. It

was refined, but it's tone was unnerving to the core.

The footsteps were approaching from behind the car, and he let his eyes close. Play dead, form a plan, and wait for

an opening, he told himself. The footsteps rounded the corner.

"Here we are," said the one named Alastair. A single pair of footsteps approached him and then he felt someone



lean over him. He tried to still his breathing but was rewarded with a laugh.

"Please, Dr. Mercer, you can cut the act," he said, "you can't beat me at that game." Mercer stubbornly held onto

his ruse desperate that Alastair was just trying to grasp at straws. He heard a sigh. "Really Doctor, you're begin-

ning to try my patience." The sentence was punctuated by Alastair's hand pressing firmly down on his shattered

femur. He managed a full second before the pain overwhelmed him and he screamed in agony.

"And he lives," Alastair said, amused. Mercer's eyes watered and they took a moment to focus on the diseased ver-

sion of humanity above him. The man's hair was a short, bright blonde and appeared natural on his thin face. His

eyes were so light blue that they were almost silver and seemed to contain nothing within them. His grin was thin

and it revealed a row of perfect teeth. He wouldn't have looked completely abnormal if it weren't for the giddy

madness he seemed to be holding back.

Alastair laughed again, "I really am interested in what you were planning on doing next? It's a miracle you're alive,

and that your spine isn't broken is astronomical. I'm afraid you can't possibly have much more luck left in you,

doctor." His face quickly put on a somber facade and looked up.

"It's a pity you didn't share any of it with your wife," Alastair said. Everything froze. Mercer strained to look at the

car. While on its side, it appeared to be in good shape. He looked over it and then... noticed the tree growing up

from where the back seat should a have been. What remained of the roof had accordioned against the side of the

tree.

It's not true, it's not true, it's not true, it's not true... Flashed through his mind. He believed the lie less and less each

time.

"If it's any relief," he heard Alastair say, "it was as close to instantaneous as possible." Alastair's tone was clearly a

little put out and that began to make every ounce of Mercer's loss boil down to rage. Ashes wouldn't even be left of

the man above him.

Mercer steeled himself and forced all of his energy into his hand. It briefly flared up, but was extinguished when a

pain he had never felt before enveloped his hand. His scream caught in his throat with both surprise and pain.

"I'm afraid your pyromantic ward isn't going to be of much help to you today, doctor," said the one, Morgan, that

he hadn't seen yet. His voice was low, but cut with the grace of a rapier.

Alastair chuckled, "You have no idea how useful a trick like ward suppression can be. My associate's gift for it is

invaluable." Alastair glanced at the Mercer's arm. "That must have been an interesting experience for you, doctor.

Pyromancer's are famous for their fireproofing, so you must be one of the only in the world to have experienced

pain like that. I've been told it's the worst kind there is. Truthfully, I'm surprised you're even conscious. That Mer-

cer tenacity is apparently legendary for a reason." An evil gleam flashed in his eye. "I wonder exactly how much it

can take."

Alastair lowered a hand to above the doctor's face. A faint static-like sensation buzzed in the air, and it felt as

though something cold was searching through his brain and grabbing onto certain places. Alastair sneered and the

world shattered.

The sensation was indescribable. Like every molecule was being ripped from you at once, and it never dulled or

deadened. It was agony that tortured your soul, and just like that it was over. It could have been a second or a thou-

sand years, he didn't really want to know.

"Stop!" shouted Morgan, "We need him sane enough for questioning, Alastair."

Once again put out, Alastair said, "Fine, I can restrain myself."

"Good," said Morgan, "we can't hand in a vege-" a car was approaching, "she's here."

A vehicle parked on the side of the road. A door opened and shut and a steady beat of footsteps walked up to them.

Mercer forced himself to look up and saw a women in about her mid forties walk up to Alastair. She wore a pair of

sunglasses and a well-tailored dress shirt and skirt, which seemed out of place. She had curly red hair and a thin-

athletic frame, and she knew how to walk in heels. Mercer fell back against the ditch.

"It appears there were complications," he heard her say. Her voice was soft and betrayed an almost gentle feeling,

but she was obviously a little annoyed with her subordinates.



"We tried apprehending them on the road, ma'am," said Morgan. "We didn't expect Mercer to take out the chase

car, or that he would ram the one were using to box them in. He survived the crash, but his wife died on impact."

"The doctor is the important one. His wife was expendable," she said. Mercer's unharmed hand clenched. "Where

is he?" she asked.

"Over there, madam," said Alastair, "He's critical, but conscious."

He heard footsteps approach him again until the woman appeared above him. She kneeled down at him and re-

moved her sunglasses revealing soft, brown eyes. She gave him a once over and smiled.

"Dr. Phillip Mercer," she said. "You are a very hard man to catch. You managed to avoid us for three weeks, and

I'm sorry it had to end this way." Phillip said nothing.

She frowned and all softness in her eyes evaporated, "Listen, doctor, I'll try and make this short, so I'll tell you

what we already know. Then you can fill in the blanks. We know that you found something in the Cleoyte desert

that is of great importance to me and my organization. We know that it showed you something. And we know that

you sent it via black market courier to Apolex. What we don't know is what it showed you and to whom in Apolex

you sent it to. All I really need to know is who that is. Tell us that and you have my word that whoever you sent it

to will not be harmed." Again, Phillip said nothing.

"Do I have to remind you that your sons are on our list?" she said.

At this Phillip barked a laugh which actually seemed to startle her, "If you think I was trouble. It would be in your

best interests to stay as far away from my boys as possible."

"Hm, your confidence is commendable, but wasted, Dr. Mercer," she said, standing. "I'm sorry we couldn't be

civil." She began to walk away.

"Do you want to know what it showed me?" he said. She stopped and looked at him. "It showed me what you are

planning to do, and everything that you're willing to sacrifice to do it. I swear to you that you will never get the

chance."

She smiled, "I'm afraid that you underestimate us, doctor, goodbye. Morgan!" she said.

"Yes, madam," he said.

"Wait an hour, clean up the scene, and report the accident," she said.

"And Mercer's children?"

"James is too public to pick up directly, and Archibald and Demetri Mercer are off the grid, but don't worry about

them. They'll come to us. They have a double funeral to attend. Alastair."

"Yes ma'am," he said.

"See if you can loosen Dr. Mercer's tongue, and if he's not dead when Morgan calls it in make sure he is."

"Ma'am," he said. A car door closed and an engine started. As it drove off Alastair said, "Well, doctor, are you

ready for our next session?" An odor suddenly drifted through the air. Gasoline. The old fossil fuel powered car

must have started leaking.

"We may have to reschedule, you bastard," he said and fought through the pain as he put all the energy he could

into one final blast of blue flame. He aimed it directly at the gas tank, and a wall of flame soon passed over Dr.

Mercer. He didn't care by this point. All he wanted was to find Celia and fall asleep.

―Science does not know its debt to imagination.‖

-Ralph Waldo Emerson



“Independent Studies” Junior & Senior Projects

Garrett Ellison

Mentor: Dr. John Glass

Building Worlds: The Familiar and the Strange

When I first started this project, it was barely more than an idea and a few names; but as I progressed, I realized I

had unknowingly initiated a colossal undertaking. Writing a story, especially fantasy, is about a lot more than put-

ting lines on paper. When the world you are beginning to envision is so far removed from our own that it barely

skirts the line of familiarity, a mindboggling realization begins to come to mind.

I am creating a world!

I believe Tolkien said that writers partake in an act of pseudo-creation. We mold worlds with words, breathe life

into them with our imaginations, and telepathically communicate those worlds to the people brave enough to pick

up our books, at least according to Stephen King.

There is a moment when you're at your word processor and you think rather excitedly, "Wow, I can do anything!"

However, not two minutes later you think rather timidly, "Wow... I can do anything?" It's that moment when you

realized that a world must have rules and familiar places. A place to stand and observe, if you will. When a writer

drops you down his rabbit hole, he has to make your landing gentle enough to keep you reading, but jarring

enough to shake you up a bit. Peak your interest.

Depending on the writer, this drop can be soft. A calming moment in the storm just before the strangeness is intro-

duced, and then plot construction begins. The goal is that the reader becomes acclimated to the world a step at a

time. The familiar things let them know it's safe, before they take the first steps into the strange.

This is how I wished to go. I built a world. One I hoped the reader would find familiar at first glance, allowing me

to then pull open the curtains a little more. I place you in the early morning light of a mountain road. Beautiful, but

normal in a every way. Then, there is a chase. Out of the ordinary, yes. Still far from strange, but then the twists

come. Jarring differences in reality that are quite normal in this world I've built for you. Hopefully, they pick at

your curiosity more than your skepticism, but that's for you to determine.

I have story built for you, all I need to do is make it real. I built a world, and I built my characters. This is the fun

thing about this project. It's mostly an act of discovery. What does it take to build a world? Surprisingly, very little:

some imagination and a few cheap ideas. The real question is what does it take to share a world?

This is what I want to find out, and what I want to help people learn how to do. I plan to learn how to teach people

to how to share the worlds they've created. My first lesson is this: begin with something familiar. It doesn't even

have to be a full sentence. A story can begin like this.

The snow was beginning to bite at Torvo's fingers as he tried to get the stubborn milque to pull the cart from the

ditch.

You have no idea what a milque is, I have no idea what a milque is. However, I have a feeling you can visualize

what it's like to be stuck in the snow with an uncooperative beast-of-burden. The situation is perfectly familiar, but

some of the circumstances are not. Torvo, our stranded cart driver, might not be human at all, but in one sentence

the reader already knows how he must be feeling: frustrated, tired, and cold. Mostly cold.

Ultimately, the familiar should swept out from under the readers feet. Depending on the writer, this can be done

quickly or so slowly the reader never notices. The point is I've given you an entry point. The next step is to see

how well I can draw you in without confusing you too greatly.

I plan on having this world packaged for you in less than a year. A world, however, is just the beginning. It's the

people that make it special, but that's for next time.



Chelsea Boyd

Mentor: Dr. David Carithers

I am composing a novel as a creative writing piece for my

University Scholar‘s project. The novel is in the style of a ―murder-

mystery‖ and has a strong background in psychology. The main character

works to solve a murder committed by someone with a severe and

influential psychological disorder. The protagonist is also a detective with a

military background. By having the antagonist of the novel afflicted with a

psychological disorder, the plot will hopefully intrigue readers as the main

character is forced to go through complicated ordeals and trials to solve the

murder. Bringing the criminal to justice is, therefore, a much more complex

task than when dealing with a mentally sound subject.

Dr. David Carithers is my mentor for my research project. My second reader is Dr. Joseph Ostenson of

the psychology department. Dr. Carithers and I worked last year to develop my skills in writing using a writer‘s

journal. The following is an excerpt from my novel:

―Her emerald eyes were still open, as if she were still viewing the last violent moments of her

existence; her red lips were slightly parted from drawing her last sudden breath. A trickle of red blood

flowed from the corner of her mouth, and it added to the red stain of blood that had pooled around her.

The man called to his mind an image of her from only a few short hours ago. She had worn her long

golden hair curled loosely around her sun-kissed face, adding to her already beautiful countenance. Her

bouncing, curly hair had been the envy of every girl and woman in her small town because of the way it

seemed to absorb the radiance of the sun and shine with a golden light. The man snapped back to reality

and curled his mouth into an evil grin as he looked at her hair now. What had once been beautiful and

gold was now soaked with blood, tinting her hair red. The corpse would still be easily recognizable, but

he wasn‘t worried in the least about that. No, what was done, was done, and he had no remorse, worry, or

guilt for what he had done.‖

The overall goal of my project is to complete a novel worthy of publishing. I am currently still in the

drafting and writing portion of my project; however, I plan to have the novel completed or nearing completion by

the end of this semester or the beginning of the next. Editing will follow the completion of my first draft, and if

everything goes as planned, steps to initiate publishing will begin.

Colton Jones

Mentor: Dr. Wes Totten Plant Growth Regulators

My University Scholars project involves research on 'Tifway' Bermudagrass growth regulation in golf

course roughs. The research is conducted on campus at the University of Tennessee at Martin at the newly

established Rhodes Golf Center behind the Dunagan Alumni Center on Farm Road. Plant growth regulators, or

PGRs, limit gibberellic acid synthesis, which in turn limits cell division and elongation, preventing vertical

growth. This project will be a joint effort with two PGA Agronomists: Dr. Bert McCarty at Clemson University

and Dr. Scott McElroy at Auburn University. The purpose of this project is to determine the possibility of

minimizing the mowing needs on 'Tifway' Bermudagrass golf course roughs.

My Mentor is Dr. Wes Totten, Professor of Plant Science, and my second reader is Dr. Barbara Darroch,

Lab Coordinator. Research began in the summer of 2012, and one round of research has been completed and

presented during Scholarfest in the spring semester of 2013 on the UTM Campus. When I returned to UT Martin

from my summer internship at the beginning of August 2013, I once again began spraying plant growth regulator

applications on a turf plot that is broken up into 4 rows of 9 – 3m2 sections. This is set up for four replications of 8



different PGR applications plus a control in a complete randomized block design. One

application is being made every four weeks during the turf‘s active growing period, and

turf quality, turf injury, seed-head percentage, and weed count are evaluated weekly after

initial treatment (WAIT). Height is rated in centimeters (cm). Turf quality is rated visually

on a scale from 1 to 9, where 1 = brown turf and 9 = dark green turf, with < 7 being

unacceptable. Turf injury is visually assessed on a scale of 0 to 100% with > 30% being

unacceptable. Seed-head percentage is visually assessed on a scale of 0 to 100%. Weed

count is calculated by physically counting and identifying each weed in each plot. A few of

the possible venues for presentations include the Southern Weed Science Society in

January and McCurdy's Turf Day in February.

Hannah Sexton

Mentor: Dr. Angie MacKewn

Second Reader: Dr. James Maples

In my Scholars Research project, I plan to examine the association of women‘s body image and gender

inequality with political affiliation. The faculty mentor for the project is Dr. Angie MacKewn, Associate Professor

of Psychology, and my second reader is Dr. James Maples, Assistant Professor of Sociology. The purpose of this

study is to identify any possible associations in order to determine current trends in body image, views on

traditional gender roles, and political affiliation among female college students. At this point in my research, I am

developing a survey, which is comprised of demographic questions, the Body Image Questionnaire, the Bem Sex

Role Inventory, and a measure of political affiliation. The Body Image Questionnaire is a 22-item survey that

determines women‘s body satisfaction using a 4-point Likert scale. The questions focus on particular areas and

aspects of a women‘s body as how ideal and important they are. Some areas of focus

include skin complexion, height, and facial features, among other body features. The Bem

Sex Role Inventory is a survey in which participants identify how alike they are to 60

statements on an 8-point Likert scale. This instrument will place female participants in

categories that identify them as feminine, masculine, or androgynous based on society‘s

views of gender roles.

The political affiliation measure will determine what political party participants

most identify with. The survey is projected to be available in November of 2013, pending

IRB approval of the study. One thousand female undergraduate students will be recruited,

with a goal of at least 300 participants. This semester will also be focused on the writing

portion of the research project. The introduction and methods section of the project is

expected to be completed by the end of this semester. During the spring of 2014 the focus

of the project will be on analyzing the data, finishing the writing portion of the project, and

preparing for the project presentation.

Jordan Jensen

Mentor: Dr. Renee LaFleur

Dr. Renee LaFleur is guiding me on the development of my project, tentatively titled ―Fjords to Prairies: Norwe-

gian-American Migration and History in the Sioux Valley of South Dakota‖. This is a subject that is dear to me as

I am from the Sioux Valley and grew up in a town founded by Norwegian pioneers that is still largely populated

by their descendents. The Norwegian-American pioneer experience is relatively well studied and documented in



Minnesota; however, the sizable group that made up half of the first Lincoln County, SD census is almost entirely

neglected with the exception of some, spotty and often unreliable, locally made records. My aim is to fill this void

and tell the story of this community. I am now in the preliminary stages, which

entail quite a large amount of secondary sources readings. In regards to my

project I am attempting to get a general working background knowledge of the

Westward Expansion movement in the Trans-Mississippi West and a more

detailed knowledge of the Northern Plains. These secondary sources will also

give me an idea of how other historians are approaching the subject, how they

are using the different sources, and what has already been done. As I learn

more about the subject I will also be looking for particular questions to narrow

my project‘s scope. Obviously, my aim is to do something new, be it tracking

down a primary source, such as the church histories from around Canton, SD

or personal letters saved by families, or approaching something known from a

new angle. My only concern is a lack of reliable sources, however, I do not

foresee that happening, as there are always other options. Overall, I am very excited about both this project and

Madilyn Peay

Mentor: Dr. Thomas Blanchard

My project will involve using radio transmitters to follow Eastern Box Turtles

(Terrapene carolina carolina) on Lake Isom National Wildlife Refuge near Reelfoot

Lake. A specific research question is still being refined, however, some potential

data could be: movement patterns, movement distances, home range size, fre-

quency of movement, habitat usage, and differences in behavior between males and

females.

At the moment, our main focus is to study the existing literature about box turtles

in order to develop and finalize a well-rounded research question. This also helps

us plan for what to expect once we actually start gathering data. My mentor, Dr.

Thomas Blanchard, and I are also currently in the process of locating funding. Ra-

dio transmitters are typically very expensive and several would be needed to create

a statistically valuable sample size.

I am a double major in both English and Natural Resources Management. The diversity of these subject made it

quite difficult to choose a single topic when making project decisions. I settled with this because I have worked as

an intern with the US Fish and Wildlife Service for the past two summers. During my internships I have gained

substantial knowledge regarding the problems facing wildlife and other natural resources. For example, I was able

to gain some experience with radio telemetry while tracking American Woodcock; hopefully, these new skills will

come in handy in the future, particularly in my project. It is my hope that I will have the opportunity to utilize all

of the knowledge I have gained through internships and my Scholars senior thesis in order to help preserve the



Laura Miller

Mentor: Dr. Chris Brown

Second Reader: Dr. Mathew Braddock

Treating Reproduction as a Disease: Are We Doing What‘s Right?

My University Scholars project is a philosophical investigation into biomedical ethics. The first part of my

research entails reading into ethical models. This will help determine what ethical theory I will argue from, or if I

choose to argue from many positions, it will serve as an information basis. The main ethical differences come from

consequentialists and non-consequentialists, each with varying degrees within its system of thought. My thought is

to take a moderate non-consequentialist view point. This would equate to some arguments based on consequences

and others on fundamental morality.

The second part of the research is general research in bioethics. I am reading

introductory biomedical texts and determining what specific sections within

bioethics interest me. After a topic within bioethics has been chosen, I will focus

literature research to that specific topic. This will help orient me to the current ideas

available, with respect to that topic, as well as helping me start to form the idea for

my thesis.

Currently there is no specific topic chosen, but I am leaning toward reproductive

ethics. This could include contraception, in vitro fertilization, cross boarder

reproduction, or abortion. As indicated by my title, I believe I will be focusing on

contraception and abortion as methods of controlling reproduction/ fertilization.

This could include discussions on birth control, condoms, Plan B, and natural family

planning and their ethical uses, as well as a discussion of using abortion as a type of

birth control. My current idea is to argue a point mainly from the secular

understanding of ethics. I might also include a theological thesis, but it would be as

a separate entity. The desire to keep the philosophical argument secular is for easy translation from the typically

―religious‖ arguments to non-religious arguments on points concerning the subjects mentioned above. I hope this

project would serve as a ―bridge‖ of sorts between the ―religious‖ and secular arguments concerning reproductive

ethics, so further discussion could be promoted with both parties.

The Scholar: October 2013 Edition

Documents

Transcript of The Scholar: October 2013 Edition