NCHC Journal of Undergraduate Research and Creative Activity

Creative Writing

Messy Gardening

Jillian Rogers

University of Washington

When I visited the Danny Woo Community Garden, located in Seattle’s Chinatown-International District, I noticed the garden’s abundance of plastic (e.g., old buckets, milk jugs). Abhorred as they are in traditional gardens, plastic was integrated into the garden’s structure as much as the varied vegetables and herbs. That visit invited me to reflect on my experiences with Chinese culture, plastic, and supposed “messiness.” Drawing on conversations with gardeners, many hours spent in the garden, and deep, multi-sensorial immersion, I explore the boundaries of what is considered natural, starting with the ways plastic is used and incorporated in the garden. Additionally, I draw from academic and creative writing to inform a surrealist poem that lives a second life in the poem’s footnotes, which may be referenced for how my research and experiences informed certain lines or phrases. The poem takes the perspective of a subterranean, worm-like being in the Danny Woo Garden who experiences the world through every sense except vision, reimagining the garden from the ground up. Through this strange perspective of the underground, I reveal the instabilities of the definition of “natural.”

The Body Maker

Nic Hinson

University of New Mexico

“The Body Maker” is a radical affirmation of bodily autonomy and an encouragement to realize the truest form of self even when the self is ever-shifting, seen as disgusting, or politically targeted. It acknowledges the surreal reality of surgery, the science-fiction of gender transition, and the simultaneous mastery and loss of control over a gender-deviant body.

The Funeral Guests

Hannah Regan

University of California, Irvine

I wrote this short story during the fall of 2024 based on a dream I had within my first few weeks of coming to university. Writing has been a hobby of mine for as long as I can remember, and though I struggle to find time to write in recent years, it is always something I come back to when I want to ground myself and find clarity in my thoughts. The Funeral Guests was a story that stuck with me after I woke up from a dream similar to its premise, and I could not stop thinking about the idea of an alternate universe where you could visibly see the versions of you that have changed through time. It is a story about recognizing how we change, for better or for worse, but it is also a story about loss, and appreciating the privilege of knowing someone so deeply to the point where you have met hundreds of versions of them, and loved every single one.

Highlights from previous editions

Secret-Keeper

Cassandra Zimmerman

Young Harris College

Playing with the neighbor’s boy Sam wasn’t always Eliza’s favorite pastime. Each Saturday they’d sit in front of his house, searching for caterpillars between the slick, green blades and dried husks of weeds. The sun watched them as intently as they did the grass, or perhaps it was looking for caterpillars too. The real fun, however, didn’t start until Sam brought out the toys: a combat jeep, as small and shiny as a beetle; a plastic shooter that was always slick with bubble soap; fistfuls of dinosaurs, some forever frozen in a hungry roar, others in a panicked stare; and, finally, the Green Camper. It was like holding a green, sub sandwich with wheels and windows. With a click, the roof swung open like a treasure chest. Bed, bathroom, sink, dinner table—everything a house had but with a driver’s seat. Unlike the blue squares on the sides, the inside windows had stickers: at the table, the sun peeked over black mountains in an orange sky, but it was also bright and yellow above the sink, while the moon hung by the bed.

Northern Spy

Anne Livingston

Grand Valley State University

“Northern Spy”

…Quite susceptible to many of the usual range of diseases, particularly mildew and fireblight. Northern Spy also takes its time to come into bearing.

Lyrics for Magnolia, too

Sreyash Sarkar

ESIEE Paris

As the beats of summer

Went down

Went down in Sorbonne

We were together

In the shades

Of perplexity

And magnolia too.

Talking of death

What would

What would indeed

Happen after that

Tears of a Jester

Anjali Chacko

The University of Illinois at Chicago

As I stared at my former doctor in her casket, I felt my throat tighten and the stomach acid climb up. Mary looked so different from the pictures her family had placed near her body. Her skin seemed thicker in death. She appeared much paler, almost sallow, and her body sagged in all the wrong ways. I joined the procession of mourners and thought about how poorly the makeup artist had done their job. I mean, it was bad—it looked as if someone had just slapped some lipstick all over her face and called it a day. I almost laughed at the thought, but I stopped myself. It’s impolite to laugh at wakes.