At this time of the year, densely packed snow mounds loom over many of Amherst’s corners and streets. Plows grind and scrape the fleecy roads through the night. Salt and sand trucks spew forth their grainy substances onto the desolate streets, preparing the ways for tomorrow.

Through the morning and afternoon, bundled residents maneuver their children and themselves in and out of the icy alleyways off North Pleasant Street, tramping through brown slush and sleety paths. Whether it’s going to church, or to browse the illuminated shop windows of ‘ The Toy Box or better still, to munch a leg of caribou at Baku’s African Restaurant, the winter break does not slow down these folks ‘- and why should it?

Thousands of students flock like Canadian Geese to Amherst each semester to partake in their share of the college revelries. But how many have stayed long enough to know the town itself, the people who live here, work here, and the people who just ‘hang out’ here?

Having spent a solid four weeks of the break in close quarters with my Russian girlfriend in Amherst, I’m even beginning to wonder which category I belong to, and what business a jobless student has in this town when there’s nothing to learn besides the complex formulas of the PVTA bus schedules.

When school is in session, it is easy to forget that Amherst is a town like any other, with a Design Review Board, a Finance Committee and a Board of Health. There is a detailed Web site loaded with information, ranging from town government matters to community development. Amherst even has its own TV station, channel 17, where, from 8 a.m to 6 ‘ p.m. most weekdays, the dutiful patrons of this town broadcast back-to-back recordings of the Select Board, which run about 3 hours, 20 minutes long.

As the students of the five colleges pack their bags around those two exciting times of the year and slip out of the Pioneer Valley by hook or by crook, the town they leave behind reveals its true color. But one thing is certain: No matter how much the students of UMass and Amherst College may temporarily nurse themselves upon the cheap-chow and coffee joints of these parts, the fact of the matter is, those people and places remain when the students do not.

This past month, I admit that on certain afternoons when I walked through town or rode the bus to Big-Y, and a scraggly old man happened to remark to everyone that he intended to fully realize the provisions of Question 2, and that it was only after he was governor of Massachusetts that he could do this effectively. I was pricked by a thorn of guilt, feeling as if my peers and I were somehow to blame for this madness. Does anyone else remember the James Brown imitator with the cape and kazoo?

And of course, there are always the homeless. There are few things which will shake up a person more than the scene of a man, dirty and worn through by the elements, who shakes that plastic Starbucks cup so mournfully. During the year, we often pass them by without notice. During the long weeks of the winter holiday, however, it is much more difficult to turn away from these people. We do not have the same feeling of security in our position as students. We do not have so many social occasions or distractions.

Once again on the bus, I took notice of two men sitting together. One of them, asleep, held a tattered backpack and his head bounced against the glass as the bus rumbled up Amity Street. The other one just looked tired and stared out the window. When these two guys got off, it suddenly hit me: the only people living in Amherst during school recess are the people who can’t leave. Though Amherst is known far and wide as a ‘college town,’ it seems during these strange weeks in January like a temporary association.

But of course, not every student feels this way. I ran into a classmate on the street who simply gushed with praise for the serenity and peaceful repose that Amherst offers this time of year. I couldn’t argue with her there. If you have ever taken the time to explore the more distant regions of Amherst, or the Robert Frost Trail, you know what I mean.

As spring semester begins, I admit that I look forward to the return of order and deadlines. Strangely enough, I’ve found it isn’t so easy doing nothing. After a few weeks things will have fallen into place, the order restored, and then I will feel more at ease in the Pioneer Valley.

Ironically, it seems it is college chaos which quells the weird and obscure scenes of this little town. Perhaps it is only then that the girl behind the counter in the Henion Bakery will seem a little less loud and annoying, and again we will be refreshed by the organ-grinder and his sleepy songs.

Evan Haddad is a Collegian columnist. He can be reached at [email protected].