Concrete Park

Gary and I left the home of our friends Laura and Scott in Ashland, Wisconsin one Sunday afternoon this summer and decided to head back to St. Paul via Phillips, Wisconsin, where Laura had assured us we would find a magical place called Concrete Park.  Earlier in the day Laura had directed us to Tetzner's Dairy, just outside of Washburn, and we had shamelessly purchased the last of the homemade ice cream sandwiches from their self-serve freezer.  Tetzner's runs on the honor system - you write down what you purchased on a tiny envelope, put your money inside, and stick the envelope in a metal box.  The ice cream sandwiches looked so tasty, we stuffed an extra dollar in the envelope, and the frosty treats did not disappoint.

Good ice cream invariably leads to giant roadside architecture, especially in the upper Midwest.  It was no surprise, then, that we soon stumbled across a larger-than-life representation of our national bird. With the memory of creamy strawberry ice cream still haunting our tastebuds, we sped through Park Lake, Wisconsin on our way to the mecca of glass and concrete in Phillips.  "Honey, look!" I cried.  Gary turned his head and gasped.  "Turn around!" we shouted simultaneously.  There, on our right, was the giant eagle. With clockwork precision, we jumped out of the car, grabbed the tripod, set up the camera, and we had our photo.

We continued our journey south on Highway 13 and soon arrived at our destination.  Laura had not led us astray. Concrete Park was, indeed,, magical . . . and magnificent. Created by self-taught artist Fred Smith, this giant collection of haunting sculptures depicts real and imagined icons of American history, from Paul Bunyan and the Statue of Liberty to Abe Lincoln and his lovely wife, Mary Todd. For good measure, Smith added some regular folk, doing their logging and other chores, and a menagerie of horses, dogs, deer, fish and other critters.  And Ben Hur, of course, because what collection of visionary art is complete without Ben Hur?

Smith had been a farmer, logger, musician and tavern owner during his long life, and he used the empty beer bottles from his tavern to decorate his creations.  According to the Kohler Foundation website, Smith got the inspiration for his first sculpture from an image of a deer leaping over a log that he noticed on a boy's sweater. Gary and I wondered what he might have created if he had seen an image of adorable kitties appliqued on a woman's sweatshirt.

Despite the lack of cats and kittens represented in Smith's museum, we couldn't get enough of these mystical creatures and wandered through the park much longer than we had intended.  Fortunately, there is a restroom on site, and a picnic area and nature trail for those so inclined.  There's even a gift shop, which was closed during our visit, which made us very sad.  A visit to the Friends of Fred Smith website revealed some of the items we might have purchased if had been open.  It's a fact - we'll be back!

A Love Story

I met Gary on June 4, 2002.  Like many modern romances, ours started with a personal ad. The ad was Gary's, and it proclaimed an affinity for old houses, the State Fair, travel, baseball and obstreperous cats, among other things.  (It also offered free Ginsu knives to the first 10 callers, but that's a whole other story.) This looks promising, I remember thinking, trying to suppress the cynicism that plagues a 30-something single woman who can count more cats in her house than she can dates she's had in the past year.

Our first encounter took place on the outdoor patio of Vintage, a now-defunct wine bar in a charming Victorian house in St. Paul's Cathedral Hill neighborhood. Sensing that Vintage was perhaps a bit too classy for us, our second date took place in the Saints' Midway Stadium, nestled between the Burlington Northern tracks and the Saint Paul Fire Department training facility, where we cheered for Wilbur the pig and pined for better baseball.  Date six took us to the Art Car Parade on Lake Street in Minneapolis, and within a few months we were on our first road trip, to Owatonna to see the Orphanage Museum and the Louis Sullivan bank and to Austin to visit the SPAM Museum.  One month later we were on a plane to Boston to see the Twins play the Red Sox at Fenway Park, walk the Freedom Trail, sit in JFK's booth at the Union Oyster House and be denied the oppurtunity to take the Duck Tour (dang planful tourists who bought tickets in advance!).

Our courtship continued along the back roads of the upper Midwest that led to various gigs Gary played with Lucky Town, a Bruce Springsteen tribute band (also now defunct).  Although gainfully employed as a trainer and instructional designer during the day, Gary turns into a bass player at night.  His passion for low notes took us to such exotic locations as Hayward, Wisconsin, Spirit Lake, Iowa and Alexandria, Minnesota. These and other destinations proved to be a treasure trove of misguided civic pride and quirky community passions that we found irrisistable.

For example, Hayward lays claim to the World's Largest Muskie and the National Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame. We could barely contain our enthusiasm as we pranced from giant fiberglass fish to giant fiberglass fish.  Not only can you step into the 1930s at the Lake Okoboji Historic Arnolds Park in Spirit Lake, but just down the road is West Bend, home of the Grotto of the Redemption, which really is the Eighth Wonder of the World.  And Alexandria?  Big Ole the giant Viking and the Runestone Museum sent chills up our nordic spines.

We got married on June 11, 2005 at the Minnesota State Fair.  Not during the fair (we're not quite that crazy), but in the Progress Center, which was originally built in 1916 to be the Poultry Barn.  Our guests wore pig ears and pickle hats, ate food on a stick, and enjoyed a puppet show featuring King Boreas and Vulcanus Rex from the St. Paul Winter Carnival.  We honeymooned in Pipestone, Minnesota so that we could take in the annual Song of Hiawatha Pageant, which sadly ended its 60 year run in 2008. And we entered into married life with not only our love for each other, but with our mutual love for the American experience in all its bizarre, absurd, beautiful, ignoble, magnificent, quirky, and resplendent manifestations.  And of course, with our love of baseball, which you don't need me to tell you is the American experience, and for cats, which, well, what can we say? We don't own any purr-niture yet, but it's probably only a matter of time . . .

This blog is a record of our travels and other adventures. Most of our destinations are NOT on the list of 500 things to see before you die, but all of them are extraordinary in their ability to delight and amuse us. Lest you worry that we are provincial rubes and odious xenophobes, please know that we each have spent considerable amounts of time in various foreign countries and have delighted in the cultural riches we discovered there.  But that's not what this blog is about.  This blog is about the America that lurks behind the super highways and chain restaurants and suburban sprawl; the America that is a collection of individual passions and regional distinctions; the America that surprises and scintillates us with its energy and eccentricities.  This blog is about the America that we love, with the occasional non sequitor tossed in to keep things lively.

Please join us. If you too have delighted in (or been disappointed by) the same places and experiences, please share your thoughts.  If you've visited an attraction you think we would enjoy, please pass on your recommendations to us.  We hope our ramblings will inspire you to explore some of the same destinations that delighted us.

And please accept our apologies, in advance, for the gratuitous cat references . . .