Holiday Issue

NOV 2018 - JAN 2019

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A letter from

the editor.

Sonali Sanjay, Founder & Editor

Dear reader,

I am so proud to present our Holiday Issue!  It's the culmination of two months worth of articles, poetry, multimedia, and the work of our amazing staff writers.

As I head into the second semester of junior year and as the weather becomes more dreary, I find myself thinking almost constantly about what the future holds.  When I was younger, the word "future" had this bright, almost-blinding shine to it, so far away and abstract that I cast it away as a mere afterthought.  But now, it solidifies by the day, and the word "future," something I had stored for safekeeping and taken out for an occasional shoeshine, is now becoming more and more real.  

 

A part of me is terrified, and the other part of me feels ready, I think.  

Either way, I couldn't have gone through these past years without my incredible family, friends, teachers, and Steward as a whole.  Knowing that junior year is inching to an end (in just a few months) and that senior year will probably fly by, I'm making a more purposeful attempt to make each and every moment count.

Here's to more memories, newspaper meetings, good lunch with great friends, and an endless amount of laughs. 

Let's make this year count!  It's only 2019 once.

Sincerely,

Sonali Sanjay, '20

P.S We have big plans for our multimedia and Interviews page!  Please stay tuned for more updates and club announcements!  Thank you.

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By Sonali Sanjay, '20

a prodigal summer.

 

December 31st, 2018 / Sonali Sanjay, Founder and Editor-in-Chief

It was 2010. Avatar had become the highest-grossing film of all time, the Burj Khalifa had just been opened, and Kobe Bryant had just won his fifth (and final) ring.

 

I, on the other hand, was seven-and-three-quarters, refused to write in anything other than slanted cursive, and had just received a green and black Huffy bike as an early birthday gift.  The brakes had malfunctioned on its ride back from Walmart, and I had been given strict orders not to ride it until it was fixed. It sat invitingly in the corner of the garage, sending fractals of light when the sun materialized in the window.  How could I resist? The Virginia air was thick with adventure and humidity, the likes of which Tom and Huckleberry excitedly recounted. I marched outside valiantly, twin brother in tow (so that I wasn't the only one who'd face consequences) and a weird feeling in my stomach, not butterflies or those terrifying Dumbledore-looking moths.  It was adrenaline.

 

My fist-pumping, peace-sign flashing, thrill-seeking second-grade self had waited her whole life for this moment.  The two of us walked out with the naive brazenness of rookie investment bankers entering Wall Street: wholly unprepared for the tempest ahead.

 

Looking back, I wish I could say that I didn't know what prompted my action, but in all honesty, I know exactly why I did it.  I was fed on a robust diet of adventure, mystery, and science fiction novels, ones that trained me to see every lock as a key, every tree as Jack's beanstalk, and every day as an opportunity -- one I seized on that June afternoon.

 

We rolled our bikes to the continental shelf of the yard, which was the part before the earth steepened, flattened out at the very bottom, and then immediately backed off to trees, boulders, and briar.  I had a plan -- one that would stop the very principles of physics and gravity mid-orbit; in that, it disregarded them all. A plan that conveniently left off any modicum of depth perception, momentum, or even an accurate appraisal of my bike-riding skills. 

 

Here was the plan: I’d ride my brakeless bike down the hill, make a sharp right turn before I hit the trees, and cycle along the flattened land. Upon narrating this to my brother, I received a shrug in return, one I took as an emphatic sign of approval.

 

The calculations (or lack thereof) were done.  The figurative big, red button was pressed. I mounted the bike, repeating the plan in my head, and kicked off the hill, careening towards the trees.  

 

In that second, I realized my helmet wasn't the only thing I forgot.  

 

My epiphany had arrived egregiously late.  I braced for impact.     

 

That day, a part of me was lost to the trees.  And by a part of me, I mean some of my blood, skin cells, and dignity.  

 

Since then, my boldness has been funneled into more sensible endeavors (ones that obey the laws of physics), but it’s a trait that almost wholly defines me.  I had no hesitation in going down that hill, and although I should’ve definitely evaluated the consequences, I have learned to live life as fearlessly and unapologetically as my fist-pumping, peace-sign flashing, thrill-seeking second-grade self would have.  Obviously, I now assess the repercussions and risks before I take action (common sense that just came with time on earth), but it’s that same 2010 gall I know I’ll take on the world with.

 

Life is about pressing the big red button.  It’s about being lionhearted and confident and audacious -- even in the face of boulders and briar.

 

I guess when it comes to epiphanies, they’re better late than never.

silence.

 

Jan. 2nd, 2019 / Anonymous

My canvas shone in shades of black and blue

Cerulean and indigo adorned my shadow

Raven-haired brushes and broken bottles

Banshees emerged from his throat

Their spirits gave life to ones in his glass

 

I loved you still.

 

Piano riffs

Thunderstorms

Cherry jam

Symphonies from next door traveled through the wind

The jazz pumped through the veins of the listeners

 

Our silence was louder.

 

Your voice opened as the front doors closed

Confining our love to the gazes of others

I wished for you to see me

The soul I had fashioned for you

Through pinpricks and thistles

Richer or for poorer

It wasn’t enough

 

I loved you still.

 

The bruises healed

New wounds arose

My canvas turned darker

Deeper blues, emptier blacks

And with the darkness came the desire

I begged you to see me

My tears reached for you

And retreated

 

Crying and fighting

Kicking and screaming

Rising and falling

 

I loved you still.

 

(Inspired by Nina Simone's Wild is the Wind & Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God)

I'm out of fondness.

 

Dec. 3rd, 2018 / Walter Y. McHale

i'm out of fondness

i'm out of respect

i'm out of persistence

these feelings are void from my chest

a cavity where they once rested is thrashed

no flesh

no bone

only a dark pit where a heart used to be

i should feel anger

any shred would be just and yet

nothing

how can one love and hate simultaneously?

how can i be ensnared by your image

long so desperately for your warmth

and still have nothing

but cold bitterness

for you

for everything

for the circumstances that led this to be

for the time i invested

to no avail of course

and most of all for myself

for being so blind

i feel nothing but remorse for the months i took to rearrange my life

to let you in unimpeded by those that wished to impede

if only i knew in those months

you were turning away from me

the love you felt withering away

leaving me to swing open the door i had shut for those months

filled with joy for the love waiting for me

only to be met with an icy tundra

devoid of heart

soul

and the courage to release me from my chains i so ignorantly bound to you

WHy poetry is like a green dot.

November 29th, 2018 / Allison Langenburg

I remember clearly sitting in church several years ago, staring at the notebook eternally open in my lap, as my pastor gravely informed us that a church member was dangerously ill. I’d heard the news already and was very upset, so to distract myself, I began listing words: “Ensanguine, acoustic, lightning…” I ended up with a multi-column list of random words, words that made me feel better just to pronounce in my head, to write on paper, and to envision, one syllable at a time. That list was nothing near a poem, but now I realize that that’s what poetry is to me: getting lost in the syllables, the flow of the letter and the rhythm of words. That’s why often times poems “make no sense”; In these cases, the beauty of the words themselves was more important to the poet than conveying a perceivable meaning. And that beauty is why they’re valuable anyway. But a convoluted poem is no less valuable than a surreal or abstract painting. Just because you can’t tell what that thing on the ground below the runny clocks is doesn’t mean you can’t learn something from appreciating it.

 

Just like paintings, a poem can be just about anything, from the Mona Lisa to a white sheet of paper with a snobby-looking green dot in the center and a price tag that makes you question the morals of society. Since I find words therapeutic, here are several different methods of obtaining that comfort.

 

1.) The Free Verse Poem

There are no rules here. Make something up that comes from your heart and it’s a free verse poem. It doesn’t have to rhyme or have consistent rhythm (or any rhythm). It’s whatever you want it to be. If you are literate, you can write a free-verse poem (Okay, I’m not saying it’ll be good, I’m just saying you don’t have to count your syllables for it to qualify).

 

After the Sea-Ship

By: Walt Whitman

 

AFTER the sea-ship, after the whistling winds,
After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship,
Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
Waves, undulating waves, liquid, uneven, emulous waves,
Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves,
Where the great vessel sailing and tacking displaced the surface,
Larger and smaller waves in the spread of the ocean yearnfully
flowing,
The wake of the sea-ship after she passes, flashing and frolicsome
under the sun,
A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments,
Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following.

 

2.)The Narrative

It’s a poem, plus a story. Well, a poem that tells a story. The poem actually has things like “characters” and “plot”. I’ve written one or two of these and enjoyed them. If you don’t know what to write about, a narrative poem may be most comfortable to compose; once you know the story you want to tell, the structure of the poem will fall more smoothly into line.

 

Excerpt from: The Charge Of The Light Brigade

By: Alfred Tennyson

 

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred...

 

3.) The Couplet

A couplet is two rhyming lines, on their own or in a poem (which is made of this pattern repeated over and over). Shakespeare used many couplets, mostly because they are a necessary component of the Sonnet, which he was fairly fond of (That was sarcasm. He wrote so many sonnets that they literally named one style of sonnet after him, “The Shakespearean Sonnet”. He didn’t even invent it, some Italian guy did, but I guess that guy didn’t write 154 of them after the initial inspiration).

Here are some examples:

 

Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

-Sonnet 98

 

Did my heart love till now, forswear it sight,

For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

-Romeo and Juliet

 

The point is, poetry doesn’t have to be dry, structured, and predictable. There are many other types not even listed here (epics, haikus, limericks…). And we haven’t even scratched the surface of rhyming schemes. However you want to express yourself, there is a way to do so, whether it’s a story, a formless flow, or some simple rhyming words. Maybe your poems are dazzling Monet’s that everyone loves, or maybe they’re quirky Picasso’s or Dali’s that nobody quite understands. Maybe your poem is the green dot that’s either nonsense or pure genius, and if you understand it, maybe it doesn’t matter. Writing poetry lets people connect with your heart. It binds us together, and if that doesn’t have meaning, what does?

a story never forgotten.

 

December 9th, 2018 / Hailey Wharram

On October 22nd, 2018, myself and many other Steward upper school students and faculty members had the incredible privilege of hearing Dr. Roger Loria speak about his personal experiences while growing up as a Jewish boy during the Holocaust. After just having read and been deeply moved by Elie Wiesel’s Night, an autobiographical account of Wiesel’s life in a concentration camp during the Holocaust, I felt so overwhelmingly honored to be able to hear from another Holocaust survivor, and this time in person.

 

He began his presentation by providing some background information about the beginnings of World War II and the Holocaust, in case there were those in the audience who were unfamiliar with the details of these historical events. In doing so, he shared with us some truly startling statistics about the Holocaust, revealing that an estimated 6 million Jews, 3 million Polish, and 500,000 LGBTQ+ individuals were killed during these horrific times. These statistics chilled everyone listening to the bone.

 

After this preliminary portion of his presentation, Dr. Loria then began to delve more into his own personal story by showing us photos of his family members, such as his father, mother, aunts, and uncles. He told us that he was so incredibly thankful to have pictures of his family, because many other survivors are not as fortunate. He also shared with us that he will forever be indebted to a kind Christian women who selflessly risked the endangerment of her own life so that he could have these photos today. As soon as these pictures were shown, Dr. Loria revealed that he was the only survivor from his father’s side of the family to survive the Holocaust. This immensely heartbreaking sentence sparked a noticeable pause within the crowd, a deafening silence as everyone listening thought of their own families and just how blessed they were to have them in their lives.

 

Dr. Loria then told us the story about the time in which he first encountered the Nazis as a young boy. According to his recollection, he had been playing with some rocks outside when he saw a car pull up next to his house. The Germans came out from these cars, entered the house behind him in which his mother was currently located, and began cursing at the women in the kitchen. With the Germans temporarily distracted, Loria’s mother managed to sneak outside, grab her son and run for her life into the woods. She learned many years afterward that all of the women in that kitchen ultimately died in concentration camps. After fleeing and narrowly escaping capture, Dr. Loria said that he then traveled around Europe with his mother for a long time, desperately trying to outrun their seemingly inevitable fate of ending up in a concentration camp like the women in the kitchen.

 

Something that remained consistent throughout Dr. Loria’s utterly inconsistent upbringing during the Holocaust was his hope for a better future. In his eyes, this better future which he imagined was dependent on the Allies, specifically America, coming to rescue him by winning World War II, something evidenced by a picture that he showed us of himself during this time in which he was seen hopefully waving an American flag. Eventually, after many long and treacherous years, this wish finally came true for Dr. Loria, with the war finally coming to an end. However, this was after the loss of the majority of Dr. Loria’s family and his once beautiful, childlike innocence, making the win hardly feel like a victory.

 

Yet despite the immense sadness of Dr. Loria’s presentation, the most impactful part of his speech was his final message of love and peace. Even after all of the hardship and the suffering that Dr. Roger Loria has experienced in his lifetime, he still chooses to have an optimistic outlook on life, something which I found very inspirational. It is an outlook on life that he urged us to adopt as well, claiming that as long as you are continuing to be kind to others, you will always feel a sense of warmth and fulfillment in your own life, knowing that you are indeed making a positive difference on the world around you.

 

With many survivors of the Holocaust beginning to pass away due to old age, now, more so than ever before, it is imperative that we make active efforts to hear their stories so that we may never forget them. As the last generations who will ever be able to listen to their experiences firsthand, we need to cherish the time we have left with these heroic men and women, committing their stories to paper in addition to memory so that future generations may be able to listen them as well.

 

Additionally, we must take Dr. Loria’s message of spreading kindness to heart if we hope to enact change in the world we see around us. On a planet that too often choses cruelty over love, we must do everything we possibly can to tip the scale in the other direction. Whether it means doing something small like opening the door for someone or something big like fundraising for a cause that you are passionate about, these acts of kindness do add up and they can make a difference, even if it might not be evident at first glance.

 

Dr. Roger Loria is a man who inspires me to use my voice to promote love and positivity. His incredible life and his message of spreading love and positivity in spite of life’s most insurmountable obstacles will never be forgotten. He is the embodiment of inspiration, persistence, and courage, and I am truly honored to have been able to listen to his story.

remember.

 

Nov. 16th, 2018 / Courtlyn Dranoff

On Saturday, October 27, 2018, a mass shooting happened in Pittsburg at the Tree of Life synagogue.  The horrific event showed the world that it is incredibly important that we educate people about it, so that anti-semitic acts of violence will never happen again. The people that walked in the synagogue that day did not know what was to come. Eleven people were killed and seven people were injured. The shooter was charged and arrested with 29 federal crimes and 36 state crimes.

Unfortunately, anti semitism has grown immensely over the past few years. The Holocaust was a mass example of the heartbreaking and tortuous effect that anti semitism had on the world, a hateful idea that escalated to the genocide of millions.  We will remember the names of those who have been killed forever and always.

 

We will always be stronger than hate.

Joyce Fienberg, 75

Richard Gottfried, 65

Rose Mallinger, 97

Jerry Rabinowitz, 66

Cecil Rosenthal, 59

David Rosenthal, 54

Bernice Simon, 84

Sylvan Simon, 86

Daniel Stein, 71

Melvin Wax, 88

Irving Younger, 69

the hearth.

 

December 3rd, 2018 / Walter Y. McHale

i could spy the hearth roar through the panes

 

it was lively and crackled and spat

 

showers of sparks and piercing tongues

 

intense oranges and bright yellows

 

clashed and flickered against one another

 

i could make out ivy vines curled around the frames

 

evergreen branches and gold objects adorning the sill

 

bathing in the warm light and the heat

 

together acting as a mellow border for the blaze behind the glass

 

as your shiny windows locked with mine i thought to myself

 

from my seat across the room

 

if eyes really are the windows to the soul

 

then i'd love to grace the front step

the flighT.

 

December 29th, 2018 / Kennon Cummings

When spring break is brought up, what comes to mind for most people is a week of fun and serenity. Maybe your idea of your favorite spring break consists of fruit smoothies and beach houses, or maybe it’s a snowy day in the mountains.

 

Mine, on the other hand, is very different.

 

We’d been in Costa Rica for a few days, and things had been amazing-- full of swimming, good food, exploring rainforests, and so much more!  Now, there had been a little detail my parents mentioned a few days before the trip that I was dreading. We were scheduled to go on a zipline course later in the day-- one that included a whole section of ‘superman’ ziplining. Now, if you don’t know what a superman zipline is, it’s basically a kind of zipline where instead of you being set up in a ‘sitting’ position, you’re essentially set up like a human battering ram… which looks ten times more terrifying than regular ziplining, something that was already scary to me. Reasonably, I was extremely nervous.

 

When we got to the course, I was in utter terror to hear that our superman line went right down the side of a hill. I was sure I wasn’t gonna be able to do it-- what if my harness broke halfway down? What if the wire snapped in half??  The overwhelming amount of anxiety I was feeling became so irrational, I started to think I couldn’t even make it on the easiest of the ziplines.

 

Fast forward to me, in the setup area, being hooked up to the superman line while crying.  The view of the line was less than pleasant-- a diagonal drop down to another station that seemed like it was hundreds of miles away. My fears had gotten the best of me-- instead of going out of my comfort zone and trying something new, I was trying my absolute hardest to stay inside it. Finally, after what felt like years, I felt a tug at my harness, and---

 

I know how cheesy it sounds when I say this, but-- I really did feel like I was flying. The suddenness of it all caught me off guard from crying, and instead, I just looked around me. The view was breathtaking, to say the least. I could see the ocean from where I was, and the entire island around it-- all the stations, forests, and beaches I had seen on land were twice as pretty in the air. It was amazing!

 

After a while, I finally landed at the next station with a huge smile on my face-- I actually did it! By moving a little bit out of my comfort zone, I experienced something I truly loved.

ten feet tall.

 

November 24th, 2018 / Libey Eynan

Brandon Farbstein is a public speaker from Richmond, Virginia. Last year, he came to Steward to speak to the middle school. At a young age, Brandon was diagnosed with a rare form of dwarfism. At his public high school, he was the victim of severe cyberbullying. He ended up having to leave his school, and finish high school online. Now, he is helping other people overcome difficulties and living life to their full potential. At just the age of 18, he recently published his first book, Ten Feet Tall, which is now available for purchase on Amazon.

Brandon talks about being 3’9” tall in a world that can be sometimes be insensitive to those who are different from the status quo. He shares about his difficulties and how he overcame it all. He explains how until the age of 15 years old, he let his suffering lead him, causing him to feel invisible. After leaving school, he started to embrace who he was and transform his challenges to move forward. Brandon decided to stop being a victim and start being a victor. He talks about embracing his own story and not getting stuck in his own struggles.

 

Ten Feet Tall is full of inspiration, hope, and ways to improve your life. Each of us have personal struggles and areas of growth, fighting battles that we can overcome. This book is about improving your situation no matter what life throws at you. It's a book about life, adversity and not letting circumstances define the rest of your life.  Thank you, Brandon Farbstein, for not only being an inspiration to your audiences everywhere, but also for showing us how to be the masters of our own ship, and using your story to positively change the lives of so many students.

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a trip of a lifetime:

ladakh, india

 

December 8th, 2018 / Anya Bhargava

This past summer, I went to Ladakh, India for a nine-day cultural exposure/climate change awareness camp with sixteen other kids (with an organization called Journeys With Meaning), none of whom were from the United States.  Ladakh is located on the foothills of the Himalayas, bordering India and China, and is incredibly scenic. Honestly, when my dad told me about the camp, I was a little apprehensive, wondering whether I’d easily connect with kids who have a different culture than I do. I was worried about the non-Western toilets, cold showers, no heating or air conditioning, and other trivial things like that. Once I landed at the campsite, called the Students' Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh, all my worries disappeared.

 

Some of us met and immediately became close at the Mumbai airport, and the others I met at the Ladakh airport. We spent the first day sleeping, getting used to the extreme 3000-meter elevation, and getting to know each other. We all became extremely close within the first 24 hours, which was a pleasant surprise for all of us. The next day, we met the SECMOL students (an alternative school for kids with fewer opportunities to get a good education) and really got to know them. I realized that, despite our many differences, we had many things in common with the SECMOL kids, from our favorite sports to favorite subjects in school. The Journeys With Meaning kids (JwM-us), did various activities with the SECMOL students, including playing games, eating meals, and just talking to us, which was helping them improve their English. We tried to learn some Ladakhi (the primary language spoken in Ladakh), but it's safe to say that they’re much better at English than we’ll ever be at Ladakhi.

 

SECMOL also promotes environmental awareness and teaches about the effects of climate change. It is a completely self-sufficient camp, getting its electricity from solar power and other clean energies. Everything is made with biodegradable materials, making sure that no waste is created. It taught me a lot about how poorly humans are treating our planet and how a few minor tweaks can make such profound positive impacts on the environment. We had discussions about how to reduce our own environmental footprints and what we could do to influence others to make the same sort of change. I learned about some statistics which made me realize that climate change is not a far off problem; it has already done so much damage and is continuing to do more at an accelerating rate. The JwM kids went on an amazing trek up one of the mountains, where we saw crystal clear streams and got to enjoy the fresh air. It was definitely one of the best experiences I have ever had.

 

After SECMOL, which is where we stayed for the first five days, we stayed with a family in a village close by. It was a really cool experience to stay with a real Ladakhi family and learn about their village and culture. Their hospitality was out of this world. They were so friendly, welcoming, and were ready help us with anything we needed. I even got to hold their one year old baby girl, which made my heart melt.

Ultimately, Ladakh, SECMOL, and this entire experience turned out to be nothing like I expected. I had so much fun, developed a new passion for helping the planet, and made some amazing friends, who I hope to stay in touch with for years to come.

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ILVERMORNY.

 

Nov. 22nd, 2018 / Thomas Halsey

Are you a fellow Harry Potter fan? Well, you’ll be glad to hear that J.K Rowling recently shared new information revolving around the whimsical franchise. Rowling wrote about a North American wizarding school, equivalent to that of Hogwarts, on Pottermore, a website where the author shares stories, facts, and basically anything orbiting the Harry Potter world.

 

The new wizarding school is named “Ilvermorny”, and is located on the rocky mountains of Mount. Greylock in Massachusetts. Ilvermorny was founded by Isolt Sayre, a witch who fled her homeland of Ireland due to a dreadful and oppressive aunt, Gormlaith, ancestor to the dark wizard, Voldemort. Isolt made her way to the New World in 1603, where she met James Steward, a no-maj, or non-magical folk, and the pair fell in love. While resting in their quaint cottage in the middle of a forest, the pair found two Native American boys, Chadwick and Webster, who were abandoned in the woods with only a towel wrapped around them. The boys’ Native American heritage would heavily influence the different houses at Ilvermorny.  Throughout their young lives, the boys heard magical (no pun intended) stories about Hogwarts, and dreamt of attending such a fine institution, something they were unable to do because of Gormlaith. When Chadwick turned eleven, which was the age of acceptance at Hogwarts, he begged his mother to construct a wand for him. Not knowing how or where to make a wand, Isolt traveled to a nearby stream and encountered a horned serpent, a gigantic snake with a glowy jewel in the middle of its forehead that had mind-reading powers. This comes from Native American folklore. With the consent of the serpent, Isolt cut off one of its horns, which her husband James, a carpenter, would later help construct into a wand. Isolt taught her boys magic in their cottage, and through the grapevine, other wizarding families in the New World soon found out what was happening behind the cottage walls.

 

Soon, the quaint, cozy cottage was constructed into a large castle, where students from all over North America would be granted acceptance into. The new school became so large that the four founders, Isolt, James, Chadwick, and Webster, created four houses in order to create house competitions. The founders named their house based on their favorite magical creatures, which resembles Hogwarts’ four houses. Isolt chose the Horned Serpent, which favors scholars. James chose the Pukwudgie, which favors healers. Chadwick chose the Thunderbird, which favors adventurers.  Webster chose the Wampus cat, which favores warriors. All of these creatures come from Native American culture, which pays tribute to their traditions and folklore.

 

When newly-accepted students make their way to Ilvermorny, they are sorted into their houses in the middle of a large circular room where other students watch from a wooden balcony above. Four wooden statues of the houses creatures will tell the students which house they will be sorted into. If the Horned Serpent wants a student, the jewel in its forehead will glow. If the Pukwudgie wants someone, the creature will raise its bow and arrow. If the Thunderbird wants a student, it will flap its gigantic wings, and if the Wampus wants someone, it will let out a mighty roar. The students of Ilvermorny wear blue and cranberry colored robes, due to Isolt being sorted into Ravenclaw house at Hogwarts, and James’ love for cranberry pie. Ilvermorny has the same classes as Hogwarts, which include Potions, Transfiguration, Defense of the Dark Arts, and many more.

 

You can read more about this imaginative school on the Pottermore website. I hope you find it just as interesting as I do!

This is the end of our holiday issue! 

We have new articles updated constantly, so please stay tuned for changes and uploads on our site.  If you wish to print this issue, please do.  We hope you enjoyed reading our articles as much as we enjoyed writing them!

Love,

The Steward Ink Team

Thank you for reading!