CupCake Inc.

Jordan Jacupke

Ross Fuglsang

Comm 208

11 September 2012

Article #1: Description

Heartwell Park

In the small town of Hastings, Nebraska there’s a little park that has an interesting history. Its name could not be more fitting if it were written in a novel: Heartwell Park—right smack dab in the heart of town. It’s exactly one mile around. They say the angels looking down from Heaven know how to find it because of its figure eight shape. This is not your typical park with acres of open grass; this is a half block of pond and a half block of creek, with grass on each side and a road bisecting it in the middle. The pond is on the west side and drains on its east bank, down into the creek that runs farther east into the college campus. The entire park is lined with old houses, green front yards, open garages, and the occasional retired man doing yard work to stay busy. Everything seems so simple.

On a typical fall day I’ll sit on the wooden park benches, many of which are decades old—watching the geese and ducks gracefully cruising in the water like ice skaters. On either side of me there are more geese patiently sitting, almost like a mother watching her child playing in the sand on a beach, enjoying the cool air and soft grass under their feathers. Sometimes I’ll take along some bread to feed the ducks with. It’s like every piece of bread I throw is the last piece of bread on earth by the way the ducks react—it’s as if the only way to sustain life is through this bread, and patience holds no virtue here.

While being loud from the quacks and honks, it is peaceful and serene. There’s noise, but it’s mostly static—undistinguishable from one thing to another. I usually hear children playing across the way, or little boys casting their poles in hopes of catching whatever the pond has to offer. If I didn’t know better I would think they’re opening up a Christmas present they wanted more than anything, instead of pulling out a four-inch crappie. I hear people walking past me on the street behind me, I wouldn’t know they were there if it weren’t for their voices. Two women, talking about soccer practice ending pretty soon—and shortly the voices fade back into the static.

There are always people walking around the borders of the park, much like what would be seen on an 8-lane track, except these people are in no hurry. Things move slower within the confines of the park. There aren’t any hurries, worries, or matters that are so important they can’t wait. It is a sanctuary of sorts. I’ve seen wedding pictures taken here, prom pictures, etc. The scenery is a treat, between the sky-scraping Oak trees and pretty orange-brown color of the leaves. It’s a desirable place to take pictures, if for no other reason, just to remember its mesmerizing features. If you ever get the chance, mosey on out to one of the wooden bridges that cross the pond and lay down. At night, if you look up between the breaks in the canopy of trees you can see the stars—it truly is an amazing experience.