The vivid imagery here truly paints a warm picture—envisioning toasting by an open fire, the satisfying pop of popcorn, and playful hiding of apples and cookies under an 'innocent red pillow.' It beautifully captures that timeless, universal joy of late-night camaraderie in dorm rooms. What a wonderful archival gem! Letters like this remind us that young people a century ago were just as clever, mischievous, and loveable as we are today. Thank you so much for sharing this charming slice of history.
Kids will always be kids. One of my former roles was teaching freshman English, and something I’ve never forgotten is that despite the rough, sweet, or snarky exterior, every young person is a complex bundle of humanity, and invariably remarkable and also childlike, each in their own way.
I love that, Molly. Teaching freshmen must give you a particularly good eye for Ethel—the ability to look past whatever face a young person presents to the world and remember how much is happening underneath it.
Maybe that is part of what makes these letters feel so immediate. The clothes, rules, and gaslight belong to another century, but that strange mixture of confidence and insecurity, mischief and seriousness, independence and still needing someone to care for you feels completely familiar.
The historical distance keeps shrinking the more of Ethel you share. She stops feeling like “a girl from 1894” and starts feeling like a young person we might have known. ❤️
The vivid imagery here truly paints a warm picture—envisioning toasting by an open fire, the satisfying pop of popcorn, and playful hiding of apples and cookies under an 'innocent red pillow.' It beautifully captures that timeless, universal joy of late-night camaraderie in dorm rooms. What a wonderful archival gem! Letters like this remind us that young people a century ago were just as clever, mischievous, and loveable as we are today. Thank you so much for sharing this charming slice of history.
Kids will always be kids. One of my former roles was teaching freshman English, and something I’ve never forgotten is that despite the rough, sweet, or snarky exterior, every young person is a complex bundle of humanity, and invariably remarkable and also childlike, each in their own way.
I love that, Molly. Teaching freshmen must give you a particularly good eye for Ethel—the ability to look past whatever face a young person presents to the world and remember how much is happening underneath it.
Maybe that is part of what makes these letters feel so immediate. The clothes, rules, and gaslight belong to another century, but that strange mixture of confidence and insecurity, mischief and seriousness, independence and still needing someone to care for you feels completely familiar.
The historical distance keeps shrinking the more of Ethel you share. She stops feeling like “a girl from 1894” and starts feeling like a young person we might have known. ❤️