There are a number of ways to get there. Follow the bike trail from the tennis courts. Verge to the left on any one of the leaf-carpeted paths through the light-dappled woods. A few minutes' walk and you'll find yourself surrounded by nature in a ready-made nirvana. The campus is out of sight, forgotten. Signs of spring are beginning to emerge; now is the perfect time to go. Abruptly, the path and the woods end and looming up before you is an abandoned house. Boards have taken the place of windows; the doors are barred shut. It is a sprawling, hodgepodge house. The house is at once frightening, if only because of its mystery, and strangely alluring. It is the perfect site for filming a horror movie. Despite the peeling paint and ripped screens, the house still seems habitable. A few touches of paint, some new windows and the house would be ready for inhabitants once more. But this is only fantasy. You circle the house, and here, a second surprise greets you: A spectacular view of the valley unfolds before you.

You may be disappointed, or relieved, to know that there are no legends yet that claim that the house is haunted. The closest I've heard to an urban legend about the house was innocuous speculation on the part of a fellow student. "We tried to find it at night once, but we couldn't. I'm pretty sure it wanders around after dark eating hapless rodents and small children," Elizabeth Petrik '08 joked. The house may not be haunted, but it has a story of its own.

Its name is Tuttle Farmhouse, named after its original owner, Miner Tuttle '13, though some call it Fort Hill House. The house was not constructed on site. The parts of the house, parts which may be over 100 years old, were bought elsewhere in Massachusetts and transported to Amherst where they were stuck together to build Tuttle Farmhouse. Where the parts of the house come from exactly is a matter of debate.

Legend has it that parts of the house came from one of the towns that was destroyed and burnt to the ground in the late 1930s in order to build what is now the Quabbin Reservoir. Man-made, the Quabbin Reservoir is the largest body of water in Massachusetts and is the primary source of water for Boston. Yet this legend has not been substantiated.

For many years after the College acquired the house in 1941, Professor of Psychology Haskell Coplin and his family lived in Tuttle Farmhouse. History professor Couvares fondly remembers the frequent intimate gatherings the Coplins hosted for members of the faculty at their home. Couvares reminisced, "On summer nights, we would often go up there and sit and chat. We'd have gin and tonics and throw steaks on the grill. It was a place of fun and lots of laughter." Couvares recalled that his favorite aspect of the house was the breathtaking view of the surrounding land from the porch, uninterrupted by the floor-to-ceiling porch screens.

During first-year orientation, it became a tradition that students would walk through the woods, and a barbecue picnic and a Zumbyes concert would be waiting for them at the house.

The Coplin family has since moved away. The house was pulled out of the faculty housing pool because repairing it proved too costly. For a while, a campus policeman lived in the rental unit over the garage to oversee the house. After falling into disrepair, the house was boarded up in 1996.

Now it has become a place where students seek out adventure, sometimes out of curiosity and at other times, out of desire for mischief. A year or so ago, two Amherst students lugged a mattress across campus in the middle of the night, determined to sleep the night on the porch. Curled up in their blankets, gazing at the stars, they were soon interrupted by lights sweeping alongside the house and the sound of a car pulling up. "What are you doing here?" A policeman angrily barked at them. Their quick response? "We don't know." Mortified, the two students were put in the back of the patrol car, their identification information and their misdeed were reported. Part of the way back to campus, the students insisted on getting out and walking the rest of the way so that no one would know of their scrape with the law.

The fate of the house still remains uncertain. Many have suggested that the house be renovated and used for faculty housing again or even for student housing. Others, including Professor of Political Science William Taubman, have suggested that the College convert the house into a conference and research center. Still others suggest leaving the house be. Andrew Gehring '06 said, "I think we should leave it as is because right now people can go there simply to explore it, try to figure out ways to break in and lift cool things from the property-not that I've ever done those things."

For students who fare less well in the upcoming Room Draw, this house may be an option for you, provided that you have a working knowledge of house construction that cannot be acquired through an Amherst liberal arts education. But for now, the house retains its aura of mystery for wanderers who happen to chance upon it. And for every visitor, the house has a different story.