It’s not supposed to be here.

It was suppose to be gone long ago when modern life ran headlong into historical treasure.

 

Oil-changing stations and mega super stores squeeze the nearby open spaces dry of life and fun and I wonder how long art for art’s sake will last.

Sculptures fierce, sad, demure, funny, happy, and content. Rusted with bird poop and straggly bird nests that are not out of place. This place makes me smile.

Sound of kids playing mixed with the highway din.

Old paint chipped houses and trailers in need of care.

Lying next to a slow shallow river calling for a picnic on a sunny day.

 

A man with a blowtorch and a sense of humor and grandchildren and feeling made this place. I want to know more about him. I imagine hands that wouldn’t let him stop working.

I want to tell him that I would be his ambassador. I would gladly settle here and show kids the way and why. But first he would have to tell me the story of it all.

Come and spend some time in this place while you can.