I was obsessed with horses as a kid. I owned nearly forty Grand Champion horse figurines, read countless books on horses, both fiction and nonfiction, and pretended my bicycle was a horse on numerous occasions. The obsession took a slight hit in third grade when I fell off a pony and separated my elbow from my upper arm, necessitating surgery, but I've still always loved looking at horses. However, casual horse riding is an expensive gig, and I'm not an expensive gal. So what can replace the desire to ride a majestic horse? How about riding a majestic carousel? Okay, okay, not quite the same experience, but you can also ride dogs, chickens, pigs, and other vividly-colored wooden figurines. At least that's the case with Story City's antique carousel.
I have lived within an hour of Story City, Iowa for over fifteen years, but I had never visited the iconic carousel until this past summer when my family stopped there on our way home from vacation in the Wisconsin Dells. Sure, it was for research for my book Road Maps, but it ended up being one of our favorite family vacation moments for many reasons.
To begin, the carousel is beautiful. The oldest carousel in Iowa was originally built in 1913, purchased by Story City in 1938, and restored and moved to North Park in 1982. With twenty-six colorful figurines to choose from, you are going to want to ride multiple times, enjoying the three-minute ride on the back of different steeds. And it's only $1 a ride! I don't know of any other worthwhile, family-friendly entertainment that can beat that price. And this is not a toddler's paced ride. No, I was quite shocked at the ride's fast clip. Shocked, but exhilarated.
Another whimsical feature is the music coming from the 1936 Wurlitzer Military Band. The whole experience is a sensory transport back to a more innocent time, where children played outside and communities came together to enjoy the simple, yet fantastical joys of life.
I included Story City's carousel in my book not just because it is one of Iowa's best hidden gems, but because of the magic it represents. It makes you feel like a child again, and while I was writing about Logan Sterling's journey across Iowa with her father, I wanted to capture that everlasting feeling of being a little kid when with your parent, no matter how old or how strained the relationship. An unexpected tie to my dad also arose when I found out the carousel was built in Tonawanda, New York which is the town right across from Grand Island where I spent every summer as a child visiting my dad. It felt meant to be, and something about riding that carousel with my children rejuvenated my soul more than I ever thought possible.
So many joyous feelings and memories flooded me while riding the carousel. And while it might not be the same as riding a real horse, the experience was just as enjoyable and poignant. Please enjoy this excerpt of Road Maps, featuring Story City's antique carousel:
Nighttime has transformed the carousel into a magical wonder. Vintage light bulbs illuminate the interior, twinkles of light reflecting off the golden poles and glossy figures filling the space with whimsical nostalgia.
“Which one do you want?” Tom asks, his voice respectfully quiet in the shrine of childhood amazement.
I take in the options: dogs with outspread legs as if running through a field; toothy-grinned pigs rearing their heads up mischievously toward a potential rider; chickens that capture a realistic look of concern and hurry; and the classic horses, nostrils flared and mouths open with spirited abandon. I step up to a cream colored horse with a red saddle, sliding my hands over the smooth veneer, moving it up to trace the divots of the carved mane.
“Hop on!” Tom places his hand at the small of my back as I mount the horse. He then climbs atop the one next to me and signals to Rick to push the button, the carousel coasting to life.
The carousel moves around as the figures dip up and down, my stomach experiencing the slightest flip from the repetitive motion. We’re moving in a circle, resigned to a perpetual path of redundancy, but I feel truly free, as if I were riding an actual horse out in a field, the wind whipping my face and all worries leaving my body. The circus music manages to capture every happy memory from childhood and bottle it within the bright, jaunty notes pouring from the antique Wurlitzer organ, an attached drum pounding out the beat. My once-tight grip on the pole loosens as I relax into the motion, and my face is broken in half with my grin. I finally turn to take in Tom, expecting to see him looking forward, experiencing his own mid-life rejuvenation, but instead, he’s staring at me, his face mirroring my delight. He leans over the aisle and asks loudly, “So you like it?”
All I can do is nod vigorously, and I turn forward to close my eyes and enjoy the rest of the ride.
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