My Visit to Deep Springs College (2009)

I'm married to a Deep Springer. I've been lucky to go there once, during the Centennial.

Yes, they are brilliant.

Yes, they are hilariously weird and counter-cultural.

The college is absolutely gorgeous. I would cherish the opportunity to go again.

I made it to the final interview round in 2018 (1 of ~50). It was a delightful experience, though I was a little heartbroken when I didn't make it in. It was also the first year they were accepting women, which I suppose cut my odds in half. I believe their plan was half women this year, then all women next year, and then leave it up to the student body for future classes, but I'm not certain if they put that in place.

Some anecdotes:

The application process was intense. I wrote 4 essays for the first round, then four more for the second (and an extra one at the college), plus several other smaller prompts and questions. Each essay was 2-3 pages. The essay topics weren't easy either: "In what ways do your actions escape the boundaries of your intentions?" was one I remember in particular. They were enjoyable prompts, just difficult, but I think I did fairly well with them.

They paid for my flights. It was the first time I had ever flown.

At the airport I chatted with the other nervous applicants. We took a long, winding bus ride into Bishop. The driver took a good look at us and said "Ah, must be that time of year again" when we all climbed aboard. We were dropped off at a Walmart parking lot, and got picked up a couple hours later by a student in a large white pickup truck.

The sun had set, so we couldn't see anything. We drove through a very narrow pass carved through some mountains, you could see the layers of rock in the truck's headlights. The student honked three times since it was only one car wide. When we arrived we were directed to a dusty attic to drop off our things, and then told to be ready to work at 6am. We all split up and wandered around aimlessly. The attic had a calendar with cowboy pinups on the wall, and was filled with musty old magazines and random bits and bobs. I loved their music room, with hundreds of old records and CDs and cassettes, as well as the smoking porch, which they endearingly called the "Smo'po' ". I was slightly surprised that so many students smoked. The conversations they had were interesting and rich. There was no small talk, only waxing poetic with a pack of marlboros. I wandered into the dining hall where students were cleaning up dinner. The kitchen was loud, two giant amps spewed Taylor Swift while somebody sprayed off plates with an industrial(?) washer.

In the morning, I learned how to milk cows with another applicant, a girl who talked about Aristotle the whole time (just to impress the students, I think). Two buckets later and we watched the sun rise over the ranch. Again, we arrived in the dark, so this was the first time I was seeing everything. It was brilliant, like nectar pouring over the mountain sides. The whole valley opened up, much larger than I expected, almost swallowing me whole. The campus itself, just a handful of buildings, was now a small speck in the distance.

I did very poorly in the interview. In the application they ask you to list every book you've read in the last year, and whether it was for class or personal enjoyment. I did dual enrollment and was about to receive my Associates in highschool, and pretty much only took math classes (I wanted to be/currently am an OR scientist), and I never read much outside of my lit classes. They asked why, claiming that reading was a particularly important skill for this school. I gave a mild response, but said that recently I had started reading a lot more, and pulled out a copy of Tristram Shandy. The president of the college was one of my interviewers, and his eyes lit up. He asked me why I was interested in the book, and I said something along the lines of "I heard it was incredibly boring." His face immediately turned sour, and said "Well, it's also incredibly funny." What I really meant was that it's about the monotony of everyday life, which seemed interesting given that most books I enjoyed were fantasy and sci-fi. But I was fairly nervous and starstruck at the moment, and didn't express myself very well. I never finished the book.

Later in the day I helped a student load hay bales into a truck and distribute them around to various stables and pens. I had an interesting conversation him. He said that the biggest reason he came to Deep Springs was because he wanted to escape his drug and alcohol use. He was lean and tan, with short black hair, and wore a grimy white t-shirt and jeans. He was the "gopher hunter" (though I think it had a more prestigious name), and told me all about the ins and outs of the art of gopher hunting.

During lunch I spoke with several other students. One, from India and had attended a famous international school (whose name I unfortunately don't remember, but apparently has had many alumni attend Deep Springs), was the most well-spoken person I've ever met. Everything he said was eloquent and precise, in a way I can't quite describe. He somehow chose the optimal words for every sentence, leaving his audience with no room (or need) for interpretation, you simply understood exactly what he meant in an unsettling vivid way. I wish I could remember something that he said. After lunch, I sat in on a philosophy class. They were discussing an Ayn Rand text they had read the previous week. I tried to ask questions and participate, though not having read the text made it difficult. If only it was a diffeq class!

The next day I went on a hike with another applicant into the mountains. He was Bulgarian, with a thick beard and a puffy sweater, and spoke with a heavy accent. We made lots of jokes and talked a lot about what we'd imagine life would be like here.

When I got back, I wrote another essay, though I don't remember the exact topic. A student brought me up to a nearby house on a hill, and gave me a printed prompt and several sheets of paper and a pen. I asked what this building was for, as it was rather empty, just a table and a few beds. He said that sometimes students sleep in this house, and I asked why. He had slept there last night, because he was sick. I said I hope he's feeling better, to with he replied "Yes, though it was more of an emotional sickness than physical one." I didn't ask any other questions, though I wish I did.

We all took another winding bus ride through the mountains back to the airport, though we were rather silent this time. I flew back out and eagerly awaited to hear back from them. It was my first choice for school. I was crestfallen when I got rejected, and heavily considered reapplying next year. But the application process was so long and intense, and I was so busy with applying for internships and completing upper level courses, I couldn't muster the energy to do it. I regret it less each year.

Everything about that sounds like a SNL skit. TASS? Like really?

How many teachers are there and how long do they usually stay at the college? It seems like it would be hard to sustain much of a faculty at that size.

I too know several people that died young after attending, albeit they were in a class in the ‘70s.