The Thrill In The Ville

 

Every city in the USA is looking for a financial boost to dispel the current depressed economic conditions. Danville, Kentucky is no different and many city councilors and business owners are hoping that the Thrill in the Ville II, the Vice Presidential debate between Democrat Joe Biden and Republican Paul Ryan this coming Thursday at Danville’s Centre College will do that for the town.

 

That a town of only 16,000 people even got the debate is a miracle, especially after Centre College also hosted the Vice Presidential debate in 2000 between Dick Cheney and Joe Lieberman. It’s rare that a city gets a second allocation seeing that many cities apply for the privilege to host a debate. But then, since the previous debate Centre College has raised $170 million to add on new classrooms and residence halls, renovate many of its 100 year old buildings, and added new athletic fields.

How many visitors will eventually rock up for the thriller is unknown, but TV crews seems to be everywhere (it has been reported that about 3,000 media people will be here for the event), Main Street has been beautified and is busier than normal, the college has been cordoned off by 8 feet high temporary fences, several streets have been closed off and the Norton Center for the Arts where the debate will take place, is a restricted zone patrolled by local and state police like Fort Knox. Their biggest fear: Car bombs and snipers. What has our election campaign in the US become? Luckily this kind of security is only erected for the VP and Presidential candidates.

 

 Centre College. Abe Lincoln reading a book in front of the college library.

A little bit of history

Centre College was founded by Presbyterian Church leaders and officially chartered by the Kentucky Legislature on January 21, 1819. The name reflects the College’s location in the geographic center of Kentucky. But the idea of a higher learning facility in Kentucky was already started in 1780 when the Virginia Assembly set aside 8,000 acres of land for this "seminary of learning." At that stage Kentucky was still part of the state of Virginia. Kentucky became a state in its own right in 1792. In 1783 a board of trustees met at Tom Crow's Station (the building is still standing today as a private home in Danville) to organize the school and instruction began at the Transylvania Seminary near Danville in 1785. The seminary was later moved to Lexington and is today known as Transylvania University. So a new Centre College was started in 1820.

Centre College, Danville, KY

Centre college has long been recognized as one of the best liberal arts colleges in America and among its alumni are 2 U.S. vice presidents (John Cabell Breckinridge-Class of 1838 and Adlai Ewing Stevenson-Class of 1859), a chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court (Frederick M. Vinson-Class of 1909 and Class of 1911-Law), a U.S. Chief Justice (John Marshall Harlan-Class of 1850), and at least 13 U.S. senators, 43 U.S. representatives, 11 state governors, and several moderators of the General Assemblies of the Presbyterian Church.

Danville, Kentucky

Lying just southwest of Lexington, KY, in pure Bluegrass Country, and on the eastern side of the historic triangle of Danville, Perryville and Harrodsburg, Danville has in the past been voted one of the best small towns in America by Time Magazine, while Progressive Farmer magazine has voted Boyle County as the 3rd best place to live in rural America, and in 2011 CNN/Money named it the 4th best place to retire in America.

 

Not bad for a small town where the cost of living is still low, but the quality of life is high.

September Morning

The September morning lies fat and cozy in the soft sun as it tries to break through scattered clouds, the last remnants of last night’s rains. The rustle of the large leaves of the Tulip Poplar at the back porch by the faintest of a breeze, the random and subdued murmurs of the sparrows, cardinals, Carolina wrens and many more song birds, and the overwhelming greenness of the sundrenched woods surrounding the house makes this a moment of solitude, appreciation and closeness with nature. But the long beautiful “silence” of nature was abruptly broken by the honking of a gaggle of Canadian geese.

 

“Time to go! Lunch time!” I am sure one of the geese must have proclaimed, (Mother Superior maybe?) while noisily rounding up the other 20 or so feathery Northerners.

 

While the noise level steadily increases, the honking geese wind themselves up like battery-operated toys and slowly the wiggling, kicking, paddling and screaming mass of meat and white, brown and black feathers rises majestically from the large pond and take to the sky. Funny thing about geese; they keep up their chatter in flight, always honking, directing the way ahead.

 

Trumpet vines with the geese's pond in the background. 

 

The mobile blob of sound is all-consuming, deafening and drowns out any other sound and activity as they clear the cedars, honeysuckles, trumpet vines, roses and wild grapes that line both sides of the fence, cross the stand of Prairie Switchgrass, pass the small patch of woods on the easternside of the house, and head north, across the farm toward Danville. Probably to the lake in Millennium Park where kids and adults alike feed then stale bread, peanuts, chips and other unsavory crumbs bad for their health. But these beggars aren’t choosers. Lunch is lunch.

 

The screaming of the geese, sounding like a bunch of wailing English foxhounds let loose at the start of a hunt, all excited with anticipation, slowly drifts beyond the horizon and the sudden silence is deafening. I’m waiting…waiting for the songbirds to restart their chatter and twitter, but nothing happens; no sounds emerge from the woods and the trees. The woods are speechless.

 

For a brief moment in time, on this soft and awaking September morn the geese controlled the attention of all the animals in the woods and surround, including myself. But the flock broke that long beautiful moment of being thoroughly emerged and mentally in step with nature and the woods. Suddenly the sun was brighter, harsher, and hotter; the humidity was rising, mental reminders of things to be done floods my mind’s eye, time to get going and, eventually, when a lonesome Blue Jay jeered, it ends the perfect moment of peacefulness.    

        

The tulip poplar has already lost a third of its leaves. Always first to do so and maybe a good thing because its big brown leaves that quickly rots to black are the least of autumn’s leave-display that resembles anything close to beauty. Some of the White Ash trees are showing the same intentions. Autumn is coming, but we’re not there yet. The hot and dry summer will probably hasten the process of autumn this year, although last weekend’s rain from Hurricane Isaac and the subsequent squalls of rainy days have returned a lime-greenish tint to the shrubs, lawn and trees. Maybe the rain will delay autumn’s brownness and the subsequent whiteness of winter.

 

In the meantime I will agree with Rachel Carson, the famed American conservationist and pioneer in the environmental movement when she said: “There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature.”