Blurring Bounds               

I sit outside Chicago’s famous Art Institute. Exhausted after a hectic city tour, my mind teems with images of ancient and contemporary art and architecture. This city has turned the most mundane of objects into architectural splendours. A massive circular edifice houses a set of residential and commercial apartments and is fittingly called the Corn Cob. Whimsical steal webs conceal state-of-the-art sound systems, forming a sprawling outdoor auditorium at the heart of Millennium Park. 

Inside the Art Institute intricate neoclassical sculptures, opulent furniture and fantastically designed paper weights encapsulate centuries of human achievement. One is delighted, and awestruck by the marvels around. As I sit musing, the wealth of experience gathered over the last two days weighs down on me. And the "windy city" ironically feels devoid of air. 

Suddenly my reverie is punctured. “Would you like a paper, miss? Just a quarter”. I look up to find a dark man - a weary grin pasted on a sweaty face - his tired muscles almost refusing to stretch into a smile. “No, thank you!” I blurt out instinctively. The smile melts away – he drags his weary legs down the steps and accosts another man. This time he tries a little joke. The man laughs, shakes his hand but buys no paper. I see the lines on the dark man’s face deepen until they seem sculpted into his countenance – as fixed as the ones on the statues I gazed at the Art Institute. I wait in anticipation; fearful, that those lips will not peel back next time to reveal a set of white teeth – the forced signs of politeness will desert the man for the day. 

As his tired, intermittent grins gradually settle into a grimace, a lump begins to form in my throat. My eyes blur and the images become indistinct. I hear the dull roar of traffic punctuated by shrill honking. A shrivelled palm is thrust in front of me and a snot-covered child looks up whining for alms. “Sorry! No change!”, I exclaim and walk on. Her litany follows me down the familiar arcade on Park Street until it is drowned in the usual Kolkata bustle. 

A cold breeze stings my face and I can taste the brine at the corner of my mouth. I find myself back on the wide, clean steps of Chicago Art Institute. My eyes scan past the hobbling figure on the sidewalk to settle on a huge, middle-aged woman seated on the ledge of a shop-window. The empty McDonald’s cup looks absurdly small in her enormous hands. She could almost be a comic character out of a Disney animation movie until she thrusts the cup out at a passerby, asking “Got any change?” Some people dole out a few coins; some a pitying smile, while others do not even spare her a glance. Strangely enough, the triangular recycling sign hovers before my eyes. I hear distant voices – “Recycle plastic cups, recycle glass bottles – save the environment”. The chant has become all too familiar ever since I came to the US. But this woman gives a new import to recycling. I wonder if the environment-friendly people thought of this option.

City landmarks along Chicago river (top)
Skyscrapers by Lake Michigan (bottom)

The Chicago skyscrapers glisten against a blue summer sky. Huge flowerpots line the sidewalks while plush cars whizz by. It is a far cry from the busy, potholed streets of Kolkata with its snail-paced traffic. But I am not dazzled anymore. Chicago has lost the “glory and freshness of a dream”. Yet it has left something else in its wake – a strange intimacy. I am not a tourist anymore. I know the hobbling newspaperman, I know the beggar-woman, I know the callous passerby. I know the HUMAN FACE. The "windy city" has indeed lived up to its name, sweeping boundaries away. I suck in the cold air – long and deep. 
And . . .  FEEL . . . FREE!

Moraine State Park

“Want to visit a state park tomorrow?” asked my housemate over the phone

“Sure!” said I, “where is it? What’s it called?”

“It’s called Moraine State Park - an hour’s drive from Pittsburgh”

Once my housemate got home we started scouring the internet for information. Moraine State Park lay 50 miles north of Pittsburgh in a small town called Portersville. The park’s website promised all kinds of exiciting adventures, from biking to fishing, hiking, boating and kayaking. Apparently a camper's delight, the park also offered a range  of cabins at various prices. “Rustic” cabins for 2 to 3 persons could be rented for as low as $200 per week . It seemed perfect!

Sharp at ten the next morning we were on our way to Portersville. A warm, inviting October sun caressed our faces as we drove out of Pittsburgh. It was high Fall and the wooded hills on either side blazed with orange, pink, yellow and red foliage. After about an hour’s drive the signs declared that we were in Moraine State Park. Our car winded its way through partly wooded roads until it reached a large open area, marked as car park. Jumping out of the vehicle we readied our cameras. Click. Click. Click – went our little devices, taking in the wide grassy meadows with a few straggling picnic tables, the bright blue sky and trees dressed in their best Fall colours! 

But before long we realized that the area was utterly empty. A cool breeze kept up a low, steady roar in our ears as we walked around. An invisible bird tweeted now and then. But it was funny how desolation renderd such a picturesque landscape rather eerie.  Spying a small cement hut at a distance we decided to check it out. It seemed like an office building with brochures and maps of the area arranged in a stand outside. Unfortunately, the door was closed. We tried the handle only to get an obstinate crunch in return. “Well, so much for our boating and biking plans!” sighed  my friend.

According to the map we were in the Pleasant Valley area of the park. A carved wooden sign on the left read “Sunken Garden trail”: one of the numerous hiking trails crisscrossing the park. Perhaps we could hike later in the day. But for now it was time for some quiet afternoon lunch by a murky pond. After a while a long, narrow kayak came lazily cutting through the pond. An old couple paddled away in perfect sync.

“That looks so cool!!” squealed one of our friends

 “Didn’t the website say that we could rent boats? Should we go check?” ventured the second.
The brochure indicated that we must head to McDanel’s boat launch, north-west of Pleasant Valley.

But as we strolled uphill, en route to the boat launch a breathtaking view opened up on our right. Two massive islands jutted out on to a sparkling blue lake. This was Lake Arthur – the giant water body at the very heart of the park. A yacht went gliding past, its massive white sail with yellow and navy patches billowing out against the wind.  Our luck indeed changed from this point on. 

McDanel’s boat launch was teeming with people. Cars drew up hauling in little boats behind them or with long kayaks strapped to the roof. At the launching area men were busy untangling thick ropes as they got ready to zoom away in their motor boats. Tired from all the walking we entered a small shop, fittingly called OWLET, for some refreshments. The woman at the shop informed us that a cruise was about to leave the dock in half an hour. Just $10 would provide a grand tour of the Lake. 

So off we went on a big white vessel marked NAUTICAL NATURE! The inside of "Nautical Nature" looked like a large rectangular room with wide square windows. An aisle divided two rows of seats. Brownish orange plastic maple leaves twined the four walls, close to the ceiling, keeping up the Fall feel. Except for the stack of life jackets in a corner, a bearded man behind the stearing wheel and a soft gurgle of water now and then it was hard to tell that we were inside a boat.

“Welcome aboard, people!” hollered a vivacious old lady. 

Her deep wrinkles scarcely undermined the sprightliness of her smiling grey eyes.  Even the usual cautionary statements and instructions lost their tediousness as they emanated from her affable voice.

“As you all know, we are in Moraine State Park”, began our guide. “But can anyone tell me why it’s called Moraine?”

“Because of glacial activity”, I blurted, my high school geography popping up in my head.

“Yes! Excellent! This entire area originates in glacial deposits”

And with that she launched into a history of the park. About 140,000 years back a continental glacier dammed up some local area creeks to create three major lakes. Towards the north Slippery Rock Creek created Lake Edmund, towards the southeast sprouted up a tiny Lake Prouty and in the middle the Muddy Creek created Lake Watts. Eventually Lake Prouty carved out the Slippery Rock Creek Gorge, now lying towards the west of Moraine State Park, forming part of McConnell’s Mill State Park.

But Lake Arthur was a man's handiwork - Dr. Frank W. Preston's, to be precise. An amateur English naturalist, Preston came to the area in 1926 to set up a glass research lab. But his naturalist side soon detected the signs of glacial sculpting. Unfortunately, the landscape had been much abused by mining activities and oil drills.  Rich limestone, clay and coal deposits catered to a booming mineral industry. But Preston set about restoring the natural beauty, setting up the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in the process. With friendly assistance from Pennsylvania departments of Forests and Waters and Mines and Mineral industries, Muddy Creek was dammed and Lake Arthur emerged as a smaller version of the original Lake Watts. Soil was fertilized and thousands of trees replaced mines and oil wells. Moraine State Park was up and ready by 1970 with the 30foot deep Lake Arthur in its centre.

As our cruise sailed along the lake vibrant pink, orange and yellow woods melted into one another upon the surface of the water. Ripples broke on the multi-coloured shadows, leaving thin white foams. The beauty was mesmerising! Tall poles with small clumps at the top jutted out of the water in places. “Bird’s nests” – pointed out our guide. These poles were deliberately built to provide nesting grounds for birds. And to offer tourists a chance to watch exotic creatures like the osprey, blue heron and bald eagle. The park’s brochure mentions that ospreys or “fish hawks” were reintroduced in the area in 1993. But of course, in keeping with the law of every state park none of these creatures honoured us with a glimpse! Their absence wasn’t a downer, however, as passengers took turns to step out onto a small deck in front of the cruise. As the vessel ploughed through the water, the sun shone in our faces and the wind roared in our ears.

On our way back from Moraine State Park our car stopped to make way for some horse riders. “That’s for next time!” was our pledge as we headed home.

Unfortunately the equestrian adventure eluded us on our second trip to Moraine this summer. When my friend called a number listed on the brochure to enquire about horse riding, the lady on the other end didn’t know what he was talking about. She seemingly had no idea that horses could be ridden!!!

“Perhaps those people we saw last time brought their horses with them along with boats and kayaks!”, we joked.

Speaking of kayaks brings me to the highlight of our second trip. Yes, we did kayak on Lake Arthur, for one whole hour and for $14 per kayak. It was my first time on one of these strange crafts. I thought my legs would be crushed as I looked at the seat inside an oval hollow cut out in the front. Surprisingly, however, there was enough space not only for my legs but also for my rather large hand bag. My partner settled into the hollow behind me, for we had rented a double kayak, and with our oars in hand we were ready to set off! Of course my initial kayaking would have put a toddler’s steps to shame! Lacking all sense of direction and thrilled about my first kayaking experience, my oars hit the water in all different angles. So instead of going forward our kayak promptly hit the launching board! One of the lifeguards pushed the craft back into the water with a grin, but it wasn’t long before I nearly collided with another kayak heading for the shore. Eventually my partner had to provide an impromptu kayaking lesson!

“O.K. Listen! When you want to go right, paddle left! When you want to go left, paddle right! And when you want to go straight, paddle on both sides! Got it?”

But of course in my excitement I kept making mistakes. Finally my partner took to yelling “Left, left, left – right, right right – now keep straight”! It felt like being back in my high school Physical Training class!  

Eventually I got the hang of it and we went deeper into the lake, sailing against a wind that got chillier and stronger! Our other friend sailed up next to our kayak and started taking pictures. Far out in the distance long wooded shores of the lake bobbed up and down. An island jutted a little way out on the left. We decided to race each other as we kayaked towards the island. But it was much farther away than it seemed. Only halfway towards the island a glance at the watch told us that it was time to return.  Panting and giggling like school children, we got out of the kayaks and headed to Lakeview beach, southeast of McDanel’s boat launch. 

Unlike a desolate sandy stretch in the Fall, Lakeview Beach now was a cheery haunt. Colourful umbrellas dotted the area. The air rang with barking dogs and squealing kids as they splashed in the water with adults. Settling down under a broad shady tree we quietly smiled at each other. 

True, we didn’t enjoy all the recreations promised on the website.  

And yes, on our first trip we seemed to have entered a ghost town!  

But neither the website nor the brochures had promised the breathtaking shadows of Fall foliage melting into Lake Arthur or the exhilaration of paddling a kayak against the wind. 

A journey that began with a whimsical phone call  did indeed reveal a slice of paradise in a quiet corner of Pennsylvania.