"One day at UGA" is a collection of pieces by a group of students in Professor Nick Chiles' Feature Writing and Memoir Writing class. Each student visited a different spot on campus to observe what was going on and write about it. These 11 pieces capture a snapshot of the variety of activity occurring on the University of Georgia's campus on any one day.
Missing color at the Latin American Ethnobotanical Garden
Nestled on the corner of Baldwin Street and South Thomas Street, the Latin American Ethnobotanical Garden is quiet at 1 p.m. on Thursday. Twenty-two stairs lead to a small collection of culturally significant plants that originated at least 1,000 miles south from their current home. As expected in winter, the foliage is wilted, brown and dead. A handful of evergreens are the only representatives of color in the garden. Name plaques identify these plants: Acca sellowiana (feijoa), Burial capitata (palm trees), Eriobotrya japonica (loquat), Cornaceae (dogwoods). Eleven individuals pass through the space designed for rest and education as a shortcut to their final destination. One walking a dog, another seemingly wanting to meet a step count and another grumbling on the phone about their impending assignment due dates.
The sun is diffused by the clouds but begins beating down at a humid 60 degrees. The concrete walkways are still stained and puddled from the previous day's downpour. Two gentlemen sit at a picnic table, one with a ponytail of hair down to his waist only attached by the back half of his head, the other outfitted in full khaki attire. With several notepads, writing utensils, and floppy reference books sprawled out in front of them, a contemplative agricultural discussion can be heard between them.
“Right, but it grows more in North Carolina. . .”
The quiet is disrupted by beeping buses and squeaky brakes as the intersection experiences a class change. The garden quickly becomes a vessel for pedestrian transit once again. The weathered informational welcome plaque goes unnoticed.
—Joelle Erwin
A hotel lobby: where intricate paths cross
Someone walks by saying to an acquaintance, “Go Rock Lobsters!” A young adult is sitting on the modern couch in front of me with their luggage in sight and their AirPods in to concentrate on her laptop. To my left is someone watching a Jeopardy game at their leisure. “I love your outfit,” one stranger says joyfully to another as they pass behind me. “Are you Molly?” asks a woman in a striped shirt with her backpack and coffee in hand as if she had a long travel day. When I respond “no,” she explains she will soon be meeting someone named Molly in that exact lobby space. Countless interactions intertwining with one another as lives cross paths for this one brief moment at the University of Georgia Center for Continuing Education & Hotel.
In front of me is the large glass window encompassing the front half of this trendy, modern hotel. I have an ideal view of the endless stream of people coming in and out of the hotel. I wonder, are most of these visitors alumni here to visit Athens, cherishing their memories as a UGA student? How many people are here on a business trip wanting the full UGA experience by residing close to campus near the hustle and bustle?
To my far right is a woman with her dog, and I notice her dog peeking curiously outside the other side of the hotel’s glass wall. The dog looks around the coffee shop and seating area where someone is sitting and focusing on their laptop work with their headphones blocking out all distractions. Meanwhile the dog inches closer to this person, with the individual never seeming to notice. Maybe the dog sees something I can’t see from my view, like a snack. The dog peacefully sits right back down by the owner with its gaze still fixed on the coffee shop.
Two girls leisurely sit on a circular table with modern-looking chairs and casually chat about a recent interaction that is striking them as unusual. I wonder what brings them to this hotel, but I’m not thinking it’s a business deal or tour of campus. She has a UGA hat on as if she is not in Athens often, but she is also not in a rush to be anywhere. I wonder if this is a girls’ weekend back in Athens at the hotel current college students might not even know exists.
—Grace Burnett
Coffee at a crossroads
The scent of freshly brewed coffee floats through the air, combining with the quiet mumble of conversation and the occasional clatter of a plastic cup or Owala water bottle against a tabletop. Inside the Tate Starbucks, students and strangers alike settle into their own little worlds—some bent over their laptops, fingers flying across keyboards, others lost in textbooks. A few sit alone, earbuds tucked in, nodding absently to the beat of their personal playlist. And then there are those who stare blankly ahead, no book, no phone, just existing in between obligations.
To my right, two women, polished and professional, are deep in conversation, their expressions shifting between seriousness and laughter. Papers and contracts are scattered across their table, a laptop glowing with open documents. It started as a business meeting, I believe, the energy and conversations focused, but somewhere along the way, the formality softened into familiarity. A Stanley cup, engraved with the words “Realty & CO,” sits between them— a glimpse into their world beyond this coffee shop.
To my left, two Asian women share a quiet moment. They speak in hushed tones, in a language I can’t understand, the conversation ebbing and flowing. One sips on a chocolate frappuccino, the whipped cream, while she picks at an Asian-style meal from a takeout container. The combination seems strange to me—rich chocolate and savory spices clashing on the palate—but who am I to judge? I glance down at my own lunch: a coffee paired with a spinach and egg white wrap.
There’s something about this place, this Starbucks nestled in the heart of campus. It’s a crossroads, a space where students pass through in the gaps between classes, where professors catch up on emails and where business partners hold meetings that dissolve into storytelling over Strawberry Acai Refreshers. It’s not just a place to grab coffee—it’s a moment of pause in the rhythm of the day. Some come here to be productive. Some come to be alone without really being alone. And some, like me, sit and observe, watching the world unfold one sip at a time.
—Avery Cameron
Phillies in Athens
Large swaths of Georgia students pour into the Joe Frank Harris Commons, eager to escape the biting winds and get a warm meal. Their shoes, wet from the damp pavement, squeak against the wooden staircase as they ascend toward the Village Summit dining hall on the second floor. At the top of the staircase, there is a small lounge area with comfortable chairs and sofas where many students take power naps between classes. As the students look to get into the dining area, they are greeted by a Village Summit employee. The employee greets everyone with a smile on her face, even students that have earbuds in and completely ignore her.
The students file into the already-packed dining hall, scanning the food area and surveying their options. Many students make their way over to the Blue Steel Grill, which offers “phillies,” burgers, hot dogs and fries. The line for phillies protrudes way out past the roped-offline space. An employee behind the glass divider calls out to each student in line, asking for each part of their order: the type of meat, cheese and whether they want bread. She is a small woman, but her culinary skills are prominent. She furiously flips the meat, making sure each side is evenly cooked. Then, she chops up the meat, letting it cook a little longer before adding a slice of cheese on top. Finally, she scoops up the meat and puts it on a plate, making it into a sandwich for those who want bread. As soon as she hands out the last plate, she gets right back to work, asking for orders.
Once the students have their food, they wander through the dining hall, some looking for friends to sit with, others trying to find a table where they can sit alone. All of the tables are occupied, so as soon as someone gets up to leave, there is an unspoken race to get to that table and claim it. Once seated, the students can, at long last, relax and enjoy their meal.
—Owen McDaniel
Koi keep it moving
On the University of Georgia’s behemoth of a campus, attention to details is rare. Students, consumed by the chaos of their lives, rush to class, paying no attention to their surroundings. With their eyes glued to their phones and their brains dwelling on their looming assignments, students carelessly pass through the Founder’s Memorial Garden, failing to notice the dozen koi fish splashing around the miniature pond.
Hidden in plain sight, the garden is perfectly manicured and lush with greenery. Blooming camellia japonica flowers shroud a crispy white archway leading to ornate black benches, inviting students and professors to take a moment for themselves.
If embracing the garden’s horticulture does not provide a moment of peace from the activity of north campus, the garden's puddle-sized pond may do the trick. Unlike the other man-made bodies of water scattered on UGA’s campus, this sputtering fountain is home to real aquatic creatures. Shining through murky waters, the golden bodies of koi fish glimmer as they navigate their confinements. Belonging to a species whose value has depreciated to purely ornamental, these fish find themselves circling the same freshwater pool that has imprisoned them their whole lives. Forced to endure the occasional gawking eye of a college student and the bustling traffic exiting downtown Athens, these fish embody the motivational sentiments of their animated comrade Dory: “Just keep swimming.”
—Izzy Farina
Under or around, negotiating the Arch
The sun beams on Broad Street as people surround downtown Athens. In front of me, the UGA Arch stands tall at the top of a small staircase, holding the shadow of many generations and a warning superstition: do not walk underneath the Arch, or else bad things will happen.
Students pass it every day, some avoiding it and others unaware. However, there are those who walk under. Men in sophisticated suits and women in flowy dresses, their heels tapping against the ground with every step. They walk with a sense of pride given their accomplishment.
Undergraduates in sneakers and earbuds scroll through their phones as they step off the UGA buses. A few glance up, admiring the graduates passing through the Arch, while others pause for a picture as a keepsake of achievement.
For now, those students will save their first walk under the Arch for the moment that matters most: graduation. One day, they will return in their own suits and dresses, carrying that same sense of pride. It will not just be a pass from superstition or a simple step under the Arch. It will be a step toward everything they have worked for.
—Joyce Bell
Stopping time in Old College
As I sit down on the bench in Old College labeled “Class of 1885,” I feel a bit overwhelmed by the thought of how long this university has been around. How hundreds of thousands of students came through here. How time never stops moving. But everything feels so still here. This clearing exists in this weird in-between of the bustle of downtown and the buzz of campus. Students pass by, rushing to get to their next class. Nobody can be bothered to stop and let the constant whirr of the water fountain soothe them for a while. Every now and then, the unpleasant sound of a bus or big car will remind you that downtown is right past the wall. The only person with any interest in hanging out was a small boy with a stick and a bunch of leaves he must’ve picked up somewhere, but even he’s whisked away quickly by a parental figure. Places like this remind you to slow down a bit sometimes.
—Bo Underwood
Spring comes soon
The sun shines as it repents for its disappearance the day prior. A day without sun in Athens feels sinful, especially to college students who chose the school based on its unspoken promise of warm weather. However, the sun can only do so much to remind students of campus’ sunny spring. I am reminded of this as the harsh February wind whips in an ungodly manner against my face and fingers making me scrunch my numb fingers into my coat sleeves.
Girls gossiping, laughing and soaking in the welcomed sun walk along uneven sidewalks with cracks filled with weeds. Rapidly swinging ponytails and wrist weights display the extra effort Athens’ finest women are putting forth as we all know spring break is rapidly approaching. Boys, shirtless despite the sun’s weak rays, play in the front lawns of fraternity houses throwing dice into the sky in an effort to normalize drinking on a Thursday at 3:06 p.m.
Most people love UGA for football, but I love it for the small moments where I recognize how far I have come and how proud my younger self would be. With each glimmer of warmth from the sun, I am reminded of a memory from the last three years I have spent in Athens. Athens in the spring is heartwarming, exciting and effortless.
Milledge Avenue at 3 p.m. is a warm capsule of my favorite memories at the University of Georgia. Boys and girls, both with various priorities, enjoy the fresh air as it is a reminder of the generous spring that is to come.
—Emery Pikel
Hoping for luck at Tate
With even the slightest chance of rain in the forecast, it’s almost a given that the parking deck at the Tate Student Center is going to be packed. Centrally situated at the heart of the University of Georgia’s expansive campus, students rely on the two level garage heavily when thunder clouds loom overhead.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and the rain has eased away, but the wind is whipping. Cars are circling around, like sharks waiting for their bait, in search of a parking spot. The sign indicates the deck is full, but a line of vehicles snake through the tight corridors. Desperate to make their next class or their mandatory meeting, drivers inch along with the hope of seeing someone’s reverse tail lights flick on.
A Nissan attempts to squeeze into what seems like the tightest spot of them all. An old Honda sits in the “Electric Vehicle Only” space. A Tesla sports a wrinkled parking citation, tucked beneath its robotic windshield wipers. A Cadillac backs out, a Chevy pulls in. Miraculously, there are no sightings of booted vehicles or of Georgia’s infamously brutal Transportation and Parking Services fleet. Everybody’s safe – for now.
The Tate Deck is truly organized chaos, but that’s the reality of the world we live in. Just do another loop around and maybe you’ll get lucky.
—Mia Fishman
Warmth at Wesley
The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies wafts through the air, rich and buttery, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It lingers in the fabric of the well-worn couches and hovers over the plastic tables where students gather, curling around them like an embrace. The sweetness is almost tangible, filling the space with a sense of home.
Laughter echoes through the open space, a melody of camaraderie. The sharp, rhythmic pop of a ping pong ball bouncing back and forth punctuates the chatter, followed by bursts of cheers and groans of mock frustration.
A sign on the far wall catches the eye—bold black letters printed on a clear acrylic frame, reading “Every Student Matters”. The words stand as a declaration and a promise, a quiet reassurance to every person who walks through the doors. Beneath it, staff and students huddle close, deep in conversation, their voices low but filled with sincerity.
The hum of quiet conversations weaves through the noise—deep, intentional discussions whispered in corners where students sit cross-legged on the floor.
Soft string lights cast a golden glow over the room, their flicker reflecting off the brick walls that have absorbed years of tears and breakthroughs. Worn floors creak under shuffling footsteps, carrying the weight of tradition. The air is thick with warmth, not just from the cookies baking in the kitchen, but from the presence of something that feels deeply sacred.
Outside, the cool Georgia day presses sharply against the windows, but inside, the UGA Wesley Foundation pulses with life, hope and the unmistakable feeling of being exactly where you are meant to be.
—Kerwin Cannon
Growing in ecology
Stepping inside, the auditorium is dimly lit. With the middle section solely being turned on, I know I have a chance of blending in.
Looking around, this doesn’t appear like a typical class environment. The usual auditorium seats with a mix of couches in the back and chairs taken from the common room. Sitting in the back, on a worn-down couch, I watch everyone enter. One by one, they take the seats they are familiar with. Like a practiced routine, they open their bags to grab their laptops, notebooks or tablets.
Observing, you can tell who was passionate about the material and who wasn’t. Tabs opened on shopping websites, games, other classwork, the list could go on. A divide in each section with those who have the course notes up and others occasionally glancing at the slides before going back to check what kind of sales are going on.
Sitting purely to observe, I noticed how foreign I feel. As if I had intruded. A lost person who somehow made her way into an Ecology class. With a friend majoring in Ecology, most of her lectures were a straightforward discussion with PowerPoints. So, I hoped things would go smoothly.
An unexpected twist to my hopes, the professor asked everyone to get into partner work. Hearing those words and having zero clue about how the class work functions, I landed in the worst-case scenario. Yet a twist to my twist: I was surprisingly good. My partner, who had the other half of the couch, was asking ME for help. Thinking I was a classmate with past notes, they asked how I got the answers. I’m sure the TAs got tired of my questions.
By the end, I had newfound knowledge of calculating population growth. I may never see these students again, but I hope my partner can read a growth chart.
—Yesenia Hernandez
