TIIE OMAHA SUNDAY BEE: JULY 2, 1911.
Omaha Parks Invite City Dwellers to Come Out-of-Doors
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UMMER and vacation! In the mind of
poet or peasant, lord or tailor, what
visions does not that little phrase con
jure? In these modern days of water
and rail transportation that rivals the
flight of the mallard in his migrations,
the accompanying vlBion brings inspec
tion of the railroad folders for he who has the time
and the wherewithal tc pursue rest assidiously.
Stiff armed, scantily clothed Venuses add their
Circean lure to stationary, stiff-looking wares, which
never dampened the central figure's garmentson the
back of the folder. Sentimental girls ride in canoes
with what the novelists call "clean limbed" young
fellows on placid lakes. In the back ground the
look of adoration in the male person's eyes is set oft
with a representation of , the wide verandas and broad
windows of a summer hotel, occupying a pleasing
prospect on top of a hill on the back of the folder.
Or if your tastes differ yet ye man with the time
and the wherewithal that gitters there is yet an
other chance. Pick up that folder lying there oa
your desk.
With a certan pert significance a buckskin frocked.
young woman amies at you, while stately peaks rear
their heads in a bluer sky than ever was blue, and
he says, "Come on" on the back of the folder.
Yes, there are many ways to pass a vacation. The
folders say naught of mosquitoes and aand fleas and
mountain solitude that bores. It all looks very nice
on the back of the folder and if one is enthusiastic "
enough, it is nice.
But this is the experience of a man who could only
gaze at the advertisements. It was not for him to
be disillusioned. The desk demanded his time and
the wife and kiddies needed 'his money.
' This man let's call him Mr. Stay Athome sa
no chance for a few days off at mountain, lake or
seaside for himself. The wife went to the country
for a few days, and the kiddies went along. That
was the formal vacation for them.
But the head of the family for him nothing.
ne Sunday morning he picked up a book called the
"Forest of Arden." The Hero and Rosalind, modern
ones, had tired of the resounding pavements and the
bounding street' cars. They took themselves away
to the enchanted forests and they lived happy ever
after. For in the mystic companionship of the blue-flsh-nd
the grosbeak, the maple and the elm, winding
paths and winking springs, there is the omnipresent
sense of freedom where individuality is developed
and such sordid cares as the butcher, the baker and
the candle-stick maker are forgotten. They do not
exist. And bankers and bills? They are nowhere.
"The Forest of Arden," mused Mr. Athome.
"Pretty things for the writers of books, but they
never had to dig alf day in vouchers and accounts, and
tay at home all summer.
"Wifey." he continued, "this is a tough world. I
wish I could get out in the country and remain there
until Gabe toots the horn."
"Oh, you're nervous and hot. and developing a
temper. Listen, I'll pack up a few things and we'll
go to the park for a day."
"Park,", he laughed. "What's a park but city
which also has paved streets?"'
"Come on," said she.
"Yes, that's what I'll be," said he, "a 'come on.' "
Ana ne grumbled and ne growled. But wifey put
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up mo prrao iuu uuner auu jam, ana picaies ana
sandwiches, and the cake and the cookies, and tea
tn a bottle.
The growl did not lesson as he toted the basket to
the street car. The car stopped at Hanscom park en
tranceor maybe it was Rtverview, or Elmwood. Any
park will do. Take your choice, for they have no
folders to deceive you.
A day off in parkland began to have interest for
Mr. Stay Athome. He still felt grouchy, however, and
led the way without speaking. The mistress and
kiddles stopped to commune with a squirrel, as the
little animal scampered away for a few feet and then
eyed them with dilated nostrils and a determination
to flee at the first sign of an advance. Overhead a
thrush piped his salute to the world and his mate.
One of the little Stay Athomes wanted father to buy it.
That grouch began to disappear.
"You don't buy things out here," observed the
parent, sententlously. "This is God's country, although
the park board thinks it owns It."
"What's the birdie doing, dad?" the youngster
wanted to know.
"Oh, he Is taking a day off with his lady love in
the park, Just as that young chap in the striped shirt
over there is doing."
"Oh, look at the hopple skirt she's wearing," broke
la the wife.
"Don't talk of skirts. This is a day off. and there
are no butchers, or bakers or candle-stick makers
around." admonished her spouse.
The little party stuck to the paved pathways for a
short time. Suddenly the man left the trail which
they were following and struck up through the woods
or he left. t "-as only a little belt, for on yon side
a wide open field Invited the sun's rays and distilled
them into a refreshing bid for the feet of human
beings to come and Jump and romp. But the belt
UR6T BAPTIST tSUrnxS? 5CZZOCLZ
was big enough to hide oneself and curious compan
ions. Setting down the basket, Mr. Stay Athome
stretched out on the soft turf.
"Say, this beats the railroad folders," he lazily
observed. Through his half-closed eyes he saw a Jay
laughing at him from the branch of the sheltering
tree. But it was a laugh of companionship. That Jay
seemed to say, "Come on old top, it's a fine day off.'
"Who said the owl was the wisest bird of plumage?"
Mr. Stay Athome asked anybody in general and no
one in particular.
"Don't talk plumes and hats to me. This is a
day off," answered his wife, who had not quite under
stood the observation. He only laughed.
The sound of distant voices, merry with happiness,
ringing with the care-free peals of joyous picknickers,
came drifting lazily through the trees.
The kiddies chased gay-colored creatures of the air
from tree to tree, and pretty soon the luncheon was
spread. Nothing was left of it after the second on
slaught. Every one in the party had an appetite.
Fauns and wood nympha follow the lure of the
Pipe O'Pan in crowds. The gregarious instincts of
'the party ani its head asserted themselves. Among
the trees and down the vales they wended their way
in the direction of the voices. They came out upon
the space where a pavilion, in the declining angles of
the sun's rays, assumed the proportions of an en
chanted palace in this enchanted forest. In this
demesne reigns the king of all that Is bucolic, and
whose only -wars are against the invasion of sordid
thoughts of a workaday world; whose minions of
conquest are the silver throated denizens of the sky;
and whose bodyguard is the giant-limbed forest horde
These successfully resist the encroachments of thr
army of care.
A day in the park, yes, but the landscape gardener
has not spoiled all the sylvan lure of the parks It
Omaha. Every day King Merry, who rules over thU
demesne, holds court. Maidens In white, and small
boys in knickers, bigger boys who face life in reality
on other days and bigger girls who forget domestic
cares all may be- found there. These courtiers begulW
the lord of the region by happy laughter and snatchea
of song, races over the meadow, of adventurous ex
cursions along the bank of the brook that gurgles
and laughs In tune with the spirit extant, aa it rushes,
all unknowingly, toward the river; which will swallow
its pureness and its sweetness, and its breath of wide'
pastures and peaceful vcener
It was In such a scene aa this that Mr. Stay At
home and his retinue ound themselves. The seat of
the lord of the realm echoed with happy shouts and
laughter, and the clatter of the utensils of the feast.
Mr. and Mrs. Stay Athome and the little seekers
of a day off joined the crowds. The youngsters chaaed
a ball across the grasses. Mrs. Stay Athome. whose'
principal thoughts on the ordinary day were of a new
frock for thia boy or that girl, was surprised to find
herself discussing with interest, and perhaps not with
the tongue of an artist, the various hues of the sunset
"I saw a picture once; it was on a magazine sup
plement of one of the Sunday paper; where the
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sunset looked just like that And there was a big
white cloud behind ? hlch the overgrown spectacle
waa going to hide and to sleep. It makes me sleepy
to see the sun like that. Down on the farm when I
was young that meant it waa nearly milking time.
And then snppei" it waa not dinner in those day
and then to bed. I wish I were back there."
"Let me see. What is your name?" asked the
woman with whom she bad been talking.
"Mrs. Stay Athome. My husband has an office
downtown, where he sells lot. Not lota of lots, but
just lota."
"I am Mrs. Jones. My husband Is a gas man."
"Time to go home, dear," said 8tay Athome, who
came up just then. He was smiling and his cigar
tasted mighty good.
One of the Junior 8tay Athomes earns running up
Just then. He was dragging a portly gentleman by
the thumb, and declaring excitedly of the wonders of
the frog they Just had discovered down In the brook.
The fat man with the red face was Just as much in
terested as the youngster or perhaps it was in the
youngster he was interested.
"Who was that man you were talking to out there
under that tree, and who walked with you over to the
spring where you sat down and talked for a long
time?" asked Mrs. Stay Athome of her spouse, after
they had settled on a street car.
"That was Smith, the outcher. Fine chap, though
he does sell meat," answered the man.
"And who was that who found the frog for the
baby?" again she asked.
"That was Metz, the baker. Took enough Interest
la the kid to be human, too. Did not know be could
do it." he observed, and then continued: '
"Who was that woman you were talking with?"
"That was Mrs. Jones, and the man with her was
her husband. He ia a gas man. Nice, quiet, sensible
man, too, and seemed to be enjoying himself so much
out there in the open park."
"The gas man?" the husband almost shouted.
"Listen, don't you see? 'The butcher, the baker and
the candle-stick maker'."
They both laughed, carefree. And in chorus.
"The park makes people different."
It had been a fine day off, and In the days after
ward when hubby felt that Sunday grouch coming on,
and the thoughts of railroad vacation folders mads
him discontented with his lot, he would say:
"Come on, wifey. Let's, spend the day at Elm
wood" or whatever park chanced to occur to him.