Indiana's Nicest Day (Registered Trademark)
A dozen ballerinas twirled across the sunlit stage. The shimmer of their white leotards balanced softly upon the notes of the piano that reached out to the hushed crowd. We had just crested the Newfield's hill and were greeted by the wonder of the Penrod Arts Fair. It lived up to it's billing as Indiana's Nicest Day.
Over 350 artists from around the United States annually descend on Indianapolis to showcase their talents and proclaim the close of summer. Their stalls traverse the Grand Allee of the former Lilly estate, each a celebration of creativity. Visual artists weren't the only artisans in attendance. A visit with the local meat and ale vendor provided us with a proper base for the afternoon.
We wandered, taking in the sights and sounds. Bright red poppies on canvas. Bach's Cello Suite No. 1. "I wouldn't sell my bike for all the money in the world." Children's face painting.
One of our favorite local artists, Justin Vining, was showing off his plein air views of Indy. We had gotten to know him through monthly First Friday soirees at the Harrison Center. We've visited his gallery so often that he actually recognizes us. This time we came to him with a request, a commission. We asked him to paint the street corner of 52nd and College, the site where Lori and I first kissed. His enthusiasm for the project swelled. "An honor," he called it. We joked about adding an orange traffic cone to add a level of realism. I asked if this should be a daytime or a nighttime scene and he promptly replied, "Let's set it for when the magic happened!" An 11:00pm setting it is!
We wandered, finding Gil, Emilie, and Gil's kids. The boys gave us high-fives while waiting to get their faces painted. We slipped off to grab papa bear a beverage and promptly ran in to Jen Zorn and her family. We chatted about the things neighbors chat about. Summer. Kids. Projects. This city is going to be much more difficult to leave than anticipated.
With the fest drawing to a close, Lori and I grabbed our bikes and rode over to the French Market, a proper street fest celebrating the 100th anniversary of the St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church. We jostled through the packed courtyard as a cover band belted out Bruno Mars to the neighborhood. Beverage in hand, we tracked down the beignet stand. A hot minute later and we were wiping powdered sugar off our faces.
The Gil crew joined shortly thereafter. I took that opportunity show his boys the joys of powdered sugar wrestling. With my purple jeans showing streaks of white sugar, we ran into Molly and Joe, another Butler neighborhood couple. This neighborhood, I am of it. I am in it. I am going to miss the hell out of it when we leave.
We wandered, the kids now on the playground. Lori and I kicked back the last sips of wine and joined a tour of the basilica. The guide was everything a tour guide should be: knowledgeable, friendly, asides with the occasional Catholic-vs-Protestant joke. The tour moved to the front of the nave. "Thanks for putting up with me and these tours," I whispered to Lori. She quickly replied, "I want to do this. Thank you taking me." I kissed her head.
With dusk approaching, we made our way to the bikes. High fives and hugs to the Gil crew before leaving ensured that face paint would be joining the collection of powdered sugar on my purple pants. On the way home, we swung by the pizza shop. With the box balanced perfectly on my handlebars, we rode into the sunset.
"Indiana's nicest day." No registered trademark required. Or as Indy's native son Kurt Vonnegut would say, "If this isn't nice, what is?"