Since I arrived at Penn State in the summer of 1997, our pristine campus has undergone many changes.

The HUB went from a '70s style building with small hallways and a diminutive, enclosed "fishbowl," to a cathedral of relaxation with vast open airways full of big screen TVs and I-Macs in every corner.

Pattee Library was even retrofitted with a completely new wing to house the school's ever-growing collection of scholarly material.

And currently, Beaver Stadium is being expanded to allow 11,000 more fans to enjoy a weekend of football and an atmosphere of Nittany Lion madness.

But there has been an addition to campus that goes unnoticed by many compared with massive projects undertaken by the Office of Physical Plant and various construction companies throughout Pennsylvania.

For the longest time, I never took notice to the new structures until I took the time to think about where I was walking between classes from downtown State College to Thomas Building.

Something was impeding the direct route that took me across the middle of the Old Main lawn and other such open areas on campus.

That something was a series of post-and-chain fences.

The fence invasion has spread like a huge vine of poison ivy lining the streets and sidewalks that criss-cross the grounds of University Park.

The fences have been a part of the Penn State campus for many years, but in the past few years they have proliferated and will not stop, just like an unwanted plant overtaking an entire local ecology.

When walking on campus, you can see the fences everywhere, including lining Burrowes Street in front of Deike Building and all around Old Main and Willard Building.

The fences are easy to distinguish if you're looking for them but hard to pick out in the hustle and bustle to reach class on time.

In many instances they contribute to the human traffic jam of students crammed into narrow pathways, much like steers being driven through a cattle herd ready to be drilled through the head with a metal steel bolt.

In the past, it was not uncommon to see hordes of students walking across extensive green pastures and wooded areas in the pursuit of finding the "path of least resistance," a mythical path that can actually get a person from an 8:00 Engineering 100 class at Hammond Building to a 9:05 ballroom dance class at the Intramural Building.

The telltale signs of such actions include beaten-down paths that went around gaps in the fences.

Now when students come in contact with the barrier, many are compelled not to cross as if an invisible force-field is sending a message to their brains that harm will come to them if the chain is hopped over or ducked underneath.

As I've been walking to class this summer, I began to contemplate the necessity for fences that slow travel.

For what reason has Penn State deemed it necessary to line walkways with an impeding object?

The trees that give campus its character of a rural university seem to be the reason to put up fences.

Paul Ruskin, OPP communications coordinator, said that the main objective for the addition of fences is to preserve the old stands of elm trees that line areas such as in front of Pattee Library and along Burrowes Street.

There are an estimated 12,000 trees on the Penn State campus and the stands of elms are among the oldest on the East coast.

According to OPP, pedestrian traffic was taking a heavy toll on the root systems of the trees. Car doors were even damaging the roots of trees on Burrowes Street when parking was still allowed there.

When construction on the street was finished last summer, OPP decided to put up new fences to protect the trees there.

Although OPP has taken noble and extensive efforts to save the enormous and ancient trees, the fact still remains that students are still constrained to narrow paths that constrict the general population.

We are squeezed through small paths, squeezed into tight classrooms We are squeezed in the pocket by rising tuition costs.

And furthermore, unscrupulous ticket officers waiting for the chance to make people pay.

In the deepest parts of my mind, I also see the fences and walkways as a metaphor set-aside by our fine institution — stay on the straight and narrow path.

We shouldn't deviate from the corridor or damage will come from outside interference.

Walk in a straight line and go with the flow.

Well, I'm tired of walking the straight and narrow path and I'm tired of going with the flow.

If it is easier for me to cut across a lawn to get to where I need to go. No fence is going to stand in my way.

I'll just make sure I don't walk on any roots.