On Feb. 13, the midnight atmosphere of Amherst College shuffled back and forth from anxiety and fear to disbelief and joy as emergency emails notified the students that classes located in Johnson Chapel were canceled due to “extensive flooding.”
It’s 3 a.m. at Amherst. The usual pile of left-behind work is precariously piled atop a desk as you loll around drowsily on your bed, your head urging you to work but your body refusing to oblige. Silence pervades the air. Only the faint tick-tock of the alarm clock can be heard, teasing you as the minutes wilt into yesterday. Closing your eyes, the heavy monotony of the late hour persuades you to go sleep. Just as you drift off into unconsciousness, a low, disturbing rumble erupts, making a sound akin to a very disgruntled moose.
