It's not quite Labor Day yet, and most Indiana days still see 90 degrees in the rearview mirror. Something in the air around Naptown, though, foretells the downfall of this Midwestern summer. Last week, I took a walk along the Canal Path between Butler University and the Indianapolis Museum of Art to enjoy some of summer's last gasps.
Indy Greenways points out: "As early as the 1960s, Indianapolis citizens began voting with their feet to make the Towpath a greenway. Even today, the single track made by thousands of joggers and walkers is rutted and visible." On this day, however, human beings were outnumbered by turtles sunning themselves in the shrinking pockets of late afternoon sun.
On the return path, I ducked across the bridge to Holcomb Gardens on the
Butler University Campus. Holcomb Gardens has long held a place in favorite spots of my hometown. Most of the flowers were still in bloom, and a rabble of butterflies danced about the beds. (As an aside, yes, I looked up the term for a group of butterflies! There seems to be some dissension, but even the New York Times has used "rabble." Plus, it sounds way cooler than "flight, flutter, or swarm." As a further aside, a group of monkeys is commonly known as a "troop." Being rebels by nature, petulant monkeys prefer to go by the lesser-used terms "barrel or cartload." In a final, progressively more pointless aside, my favorite animal collective noun is a "murder" of crows.)
Strangely, after a bit of searching, I was unable to find a website dedicated to Holcomb Gardens or its history. Get with the program, Butler! Surely such an Indy icon deserves an online tribute. I certainly have fond, if somewhat painful memories, of many illicit, late night campaigns of 'Capture The Flag' amidst the inky darkness of Holcomb. Fortunately, I did stumble upon some good stuff regarding the Holcomb Observatory and Planetarium that stands everlasting vigil on the hill above the Gardens. This beacon of science and learning was a staple field trip for elementary and secondary schools back in my day. I hope this remains the case.
The centerpiece statue and fountain of Persephone is my favorite part of
Holcomb Gardens. Sadly, I can't remember the last time the fountain was
functioning during one of my admittedly infrequent visits.
From Pantheon.org: "Persephone is the goddess of the underworld in Greek mythology. She is the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, goddess of the harvest. Persephone was such a beautiful young woman that everyone loved her, even Hades wanted her for himself. One day, when she was collecting flowers on the plain of Enna, the earth suddenly opened and Hades rose up from the gap and abducted her. None but Zeus, and the all-seeing sun, Helios, had noticed it.
Broken-hearted, Demeter wandered the earth, looking for her daughter until Helios revealed what had happened. Demeter was so angry that she withdrew herself in loneliness, and the earth ceased to be fertile. Knowing this could not continue much longer, Zeus sent Hermes down to Hades to make him release Persephone. Hades grudgingly agreed, but before she went back he gave Persephone a pomegranate (or the seeds of a pomegranate, according to some sources). When she later ate of it, it bound her to underworld forever and she had to stay there one-third of the year. The other months she stayed with her mother. When Persephone was in Hades, Demeter refused to let anything grow and winter began. This myth is a symbol of the budding and dying of nature."
Holcomb Gardens also features some engraved quotations dedicated to the giants of Western Civilization and Philosophy. Included are a couple from two of my beloved progressive thinkers that are particularly cogent in these troubled times. Jean-Jacques Rousseau:
And Thomas Jefferson:
As it appears increasingly certain that my destiny calls me to leave Indianapolis alongside summer, I hope to make a final visit (at least for now) to the Canal Path and Holcomb Gardens in the next week or so. This oasis in mid-metropolitan cacophony continues to be a tonic for my soul. While my future lies westward, I'll close with the view gazing north:
Here's to upturned fortunes and brighter futures...
