It is the season of long-awaited reunions for University of Mississippi students as we all return to our slice of paradise for another year of companionship and curriculum. The Ole Miss campus leaves a lasting mark on visitors — an enduring enchantment that is carefully cultivated.
When we step onto campus, the nostalgia we feel is the product of a campus constructed to keep us coming back. Though it may go unnoticed, the main component of Ole Miss’ lasting appeal is its layout and design, which was heralded in the 1940s and ‘50s by the very same architects who prioritized pedestrians in their design of Central Park in New York City. With a canopy of green leaves above, walkable pathways and an abundance of places to dine where you study, the school’s infrastructure fosters social connection in a way modern suburbia no longer does.
Why must we forego togetherness as we matriculate into the professional world? American urban planners should place the same value on intentional gathering spaces as the university places emphasis on the Grove as a communal space.
My favorite days always end with a walk home: past the Lyceum, the tennis courts, Guyton Hall and beyond. When I leave campus, these leisurely walks will likely become a suburban commute — a prospect I find dreadful.
However, it is not just the walk that makes these evenings memorable. It is the fact that walking made opportunities for human connection possible. As I walk, I exchange pleasantries with strangers, catch up with friends, stop to admire the tulips or abandon my route on a whim to stop by the Union. These moments of spontaneity are not solely accidental but are afforded by a place designed for pedestrians instead of cars.
On our campus, nearly every necessity lies within walking distance. The automobile that is central to American life yields to the pedestrian, as travel by foot dominates on campus. Students can meet friends, grab lunch, attend class and study in the library without the hassle of driving.
Our campus succeeds because all our needs lie within a short distance of each other. Residence halls have food options, academic buildings house POD markets, and the green spaces on campus are often flanked by coffee trucks — our campus takes all the requirements of living and places them within close proximity.
The campus design, with its blend of learning, dining, housing and recreation, creates an environment in which the moments spent waiting for a traffic light can be spent socializing, and make obvious a walkable neighborhood’s direct link to happiness, as discovered by the Journal of the American Planning Association.
Unfortunately, most of modern America is designed differently. Single-use zoning separates the home from the office, the neighborhood from the restaurant and recreation from daily life. The result is a lifestyle dependent on automobiles and the hustle and bustle of American life, thus pushing spontaneity and community into the background.
The allure of a college campus does not have to be an isolated phenomenon. Reviving the American neighborhood is possible with designs that place human living first. For example, sidewalks, shaded by tall trees, allows neighbors to mingle and connect destinations that blend life’s necessities.
Perhaps what makes our campus magical is not unique to us after all. Our cities have simply forgotten how to build communities that invite people to come together. If we can design a campus that makes an August pilgrimage feel like coming home, then we can also design neighborhoods that also keep that feeling alive.
Logan Durley is a junior biological sciences major from Olive Branch, Miss.
