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!
