A column by Serena Stauffer

As summer begins to wrap up, my time with The Clarkston News is coming to a close and I’m preparing to say goodbye to the first internship of my journalism career.
The experience and knowledge I’ve gained throughout my time working here has been immeasurable, and I’ll forever be indebted to everyone here for all they taught me and all they did to make this experience the best it possibly could be.
I was able to write pieces on just about everything that goes on in our small town during the summers, from board of trustee meetings to Concerts in the Park and feature stories on anything from gardens to rock bands. I was able to attend our annual 4th of July festivities not just as a patron this year but as a journalist, seeking out the best photo-worthy moments.
Everything I had previously learned in my classes at Loyola, I have been able to apply here and I’ll be heading back to the windy city with an abundance of new real-world skills that I will put to good use during my final years of study.
As I think about my impending return to life as a student, the tiny dorm room and monotonous dining hall food that awaits me, I can safely say: this summer went by too fast. The days went by at what seemed like hyper-speed and, as I predicted, they were full of endless writing, taking photos and meeting deadlines, and I wouldn’t change a single second of it. I got to experience the world of journalism in a way I never have in my classes and I was lucky enough to have my first published stories be about my hometown.
This summer was also still a summer just like any other. I got my typical sunburn, went to the bookstore almost every week, celebrated my best friend’s 21st birthday, had water balloon fights with my brothers and ate way too much ice cream. The summer heat has made me forget what the bitter winter wind feels like, but it’s also made me crave the crisp smell of autumn, leaving me ready for the seasons to change.
In two short weeks, I’ll be back in Chicago, listening to the train rush past my bedroom window and bracing myself against the strong gusts of wind that come off Lake Michigan. And when I’m drowning in papers and textbooks, crammed at a table in the library between the many pre-med students, I’ll think back on the quiet and friendly office on Main Street and how much I grew as a writer there.