The Garden of Eden

After all that fuss and waiting for me to write about my trip, I'm afraid the next few posts may be anticlimactic, assuming any anticipation was built up to begin with. At least there will be a break from all the whining.

For at least ten years I have wanted to visit Lucas, Kansas--ever since I bought a copy of Kansas Off the Beaten Path for a quarter at a garage sale. Lucas is the home to The Garden of Eden and the rest of the concrete menagerie built by eccentric Civil War veteran S.P. Dinsmoor. During that time I've read more snippets about the place in the Wichita Eagle and online and heard reports from a few people I know who have visited the place. Last year I discovered too late that Josh and I would practically be passing by Lucas on our way home from field school near Nicodemus. It was a little more out of the way this year, but I specifically planned my trip to include a detour to Lucas. I'm so glad I did.

Dinsmoor built his Cabin Home at the corner of 2nd and Kansas in Lucas in 1907. The house itself is unique in that it was built of post rock limestone cut in long "timbers" and notched and fitted together like logs. He added many interesting details to the inside of the home as well. Dinsmoor believed in minimizing waste and even invented new game table designs to use odd scraps leftover from the wood flooring. A man ahead of his time, or just another old idea some are beginning to recycle? All of the concrete, from the more traditional railing and decoration of the porch to the funky statuary, is the design and workmanship of S.P. Dinsmoor.
Many of the designs display ingenious innovation. The concrete flag prominently displayed out front, for example, swivels in the wind on a ball bearing base.
The strawberry bed and an additional flower bed were built in the shape of ziggurats for ease in maintenance and efficient watering. The arbor is made of concrete arches as well.
The hand mixed and molded concrete sculptures are more than ornamentation. They loudly proclaim the views of their maker on everything from biblical interpretation to the society of the time to politics. Rather than leave folks guessing about what his art meant or leaving it to the interpretations of others, Dinsmore wrote a booklet explaining the symbolism of each piece in detail.
The group below, entitled Labor Crucified, is one of my favorites. It features the four professions which Dinsmoor felt stole the most from the working man. (Dy is going to think I'm a socialist fer shur now, LOL. I swear I'm not!)
A lot of Dinsmoor's sociopolitical commentary was very interesting. Some of it I could understand and agree with and some not. His biblical interpretations and religious views were a bit out there but amusing nonetheless.
After paying $6 for the full tour I even got to meet the crazy old coot himself when the guide unlocked the door to the mausoleum out back where he's entombed in a glass case above his first wife's cement encased coffin. He's looking pretty good for a Civil War veteran, but the guide says the decay of the body has been expedited in the last few years by a crack in the glass.

The Dinsmore home alone would have made the extra time and gas worthwhile, and people from all over stop to visit on their way through the state. From the beginning or at least from very early on, Dinsmore intended for his home to be a tourist attraction. He wrote explanations of his work for his visitors, built an outdoor pavilion with picnic tables and benches in which to hold lectures, and planned for guests to pay to see him in his glass coffin after he died. You can learn more about The Garden of Eden and start planning for a visit of your own here.

The Garden of Eden isn't all there is to the tiny town of Lucas, population 427, however. It seems Dinsmore, who was once laughed at by his neighbors and whose plans the town fathers did not always approve of, has become somewhat of an inspiration to more recent generations of townsfolk. That's a story which requires more pictures and which I'll leave for another post, though.