Beauty is not always elaborate. At times simple, clean lines serve the purpose.
Add a little color. Perhaps variety in texture.
The local garden club in this small town (the inspiration for Crystal Springs) maintains several planters in public areas. The planters are not large, but they serve as pleasant dividing lines between spaces with different purpose.
A line of seasonal beauty separates park from parking lot. A feast for the senses — plus the bees and butterflies.
We’re going to the zoo! We’re going to the zoo!
Ooops! Not going to run here.
They hide. They sneak. They slither.
Really — they can’t help it. How would you move without legs?
It doesn’t make them a lot of friends. But they do their best. And when they coil and rear up they can be elegant. Sleek. Beautiful. Powerful.
Be sure to look twice.
What’s your favorite way to view cobras? Behind glass? In the wild? In bronze?
Many small towns have one, or perhaps two, features which are “must see” for visitors and residents alike.
It might be a town square. A historic building. A park or bandstand within a park. Or a sculpture of a founding father.
In the particular small town I called home — this place was “THE DUCK POND”
From the time I was a child until now — it has both transformed and stayed the same.
Location is the same. Visible from Main Street if you don’t drive too fast or blink at the wrong time.
Spring fed is the same. The spring (or springs) are strong enough to keep the water open year round. (Not common in Wisconsin.) Yes, some ice forms. But don’t venture on it — it’s thin and fragile.
Cement curbing is part of transformed. Years ago one end had a stone wall and the other banks were grass and dirt. Now, the shape is fixed.
The center fountain is part of transformed. And notable enough that it was incorporated into the Sesquicentennial logo.
And the name? I’m glad you asked.
Yes, most years there is a duck population. And the fish — the descendants of a time when the pond was stocked with trout have thrived. Fishing? Only on special occasions — such as a children’s fishing contest during the Summer Festival.
Relax at THE DUCK POND
We are so glad to see you! Welcome! Look at me!
Imagine a committee of three. That should be a manageable size. No tie votes. And you give them one task — welcome the visitors.
Now imagine that each of these committee members has the attention span and manners of a toddler. Or perhaps a shorter attention span and fewer manners than a toddler.
Do you see a problem?
A sculptor saw a solution.
A trio of well-mannered, watchful, Meerkats combine security patrol with welcome committee duties.
Small towns are not the only gems scattered across the upper Midwest.
Minnesota claims 10,000 of them on tourist information and auto license plates.
Wisconsin and Michigan are not far behind on the numbers.
The resort areas of these states are rich with “summer homes”. Some are simple. Others, often over the course of decades in the same family, have all the modern comforts. Most offer a quiet change of pace and a good view. Many families have added fishing and/or boat docks. Rules vary — some lakes are motor free. Others welcome fast boats and water skiers.
Nugget Lake –a park nestled in the hills of Northwestern Wisconsin, welcomes you to fish and picnic.
Parents protect. That’s one of the primary job descriptions.
Protection can take many forms. There’s the verbal confrontation, often with another adult, when the child is accused of an infraction of social norms. Providing shelter gives physical protection. Food is basic. Clothing for humans.
And when danger threatens. Sometimes it’s best to flee the scene.
I remember once dashing with my parents and brothers from the baseball stands to the car. We’d stayed for the fireworks. And the rain came down in sheets as the last explosion faded from the sky.
I’m not sure what this family is fleeing. But it looks like one adult is acting as “rear guard” while the other guides the children to safety.
Quick! The in-laws are coming!
There is a series of light-hearted plays popular in the Midwest featuring “The Church Basement Ladies.”
Have you ever wondered about the settting? Remember the brick schoolhouse/church from a recent post?
The basement was dug in the late 1940’s or early 50’s. Two entrances like required in every public building — one was a door direct to the outside, the other a narrow set of steps up to the building’s front narthex/coatroom/entrance. The main features when I was a child included: a large furnace (wood burning, then later oil), a kitchen with a propane stove, tables, wooden folding chairs, and (a requirement for all church basements) a support post a perfect diameter to grasp while twirling until you were dizzy.
A few remodels and updates later — the space hosts Sunday school classes, regular pot-luck suppers, and funeral lunches.
Socializing after a funeral early this century.
My, what big ears you have.
No, I’m not repeating a portion of a popular fairy tale. And the animal is not a wolf – large, evil, or otherwise. And certainly not talking.
Today’s zoo statue features a much smaller hunter. A native of the African savanna, this fellow uses his acute hearing to locate his insect prey. This adaptation gives rise to his name — Bat Eared Fox.
Imagine if you will — a trio of these listening intently, then dashing off to dine on a colony of termites. Yum, yum. Food and water both in one tasty bite. They will hear you coming — and likely hide in a convenient den.
