Being volcanically marooned in Philadelphia, and the heavy lifting of furniture into our daughter's new apartment being essentially completed, what better way to spend a day than an excursion into the city? Our original destination was the planetarium at the Franklin Institute (a little more on that later), but there are many distractions in the city, and many within the museum. In the complex of institutions around the leafy (and, at this time of year, gloriously blossom-laden) Logan Square (a geometrically inaccurate name, since it's a circle) is the Free Library of Philadelphia. I had never visited it before and so we wandered in - literally, as anyone can. It's an extraordinary and uplifting institution, a vast library that is totally open to the public, its banks of computers and bookshelves clearly equally popular and appreciated by folk of all ages. The rare book collection can be visited simply by ringing the bell on its door. I have simply never seen a library like it and felt privileged to visit - it represents everything that a library should be.
The Franklin Institute, the city's science museum, was teeming and noisy with families and kids - again, an uplifting sight. Visitors are greeted by a truly gigantic statue of the man himself (it occurred to me that this was Philadelphia's Big Ben), with a changing selection of his "wise sayings" projected on the walls; we followed his advice that "an investment in knowledge pays the best interest," even in "the prime of senility." It's a great and diverse museum - and I was delighted to find sand scattered, so to speak, throughout. The "changing earth" exhibit contained an interactive stream table which, though clearly in need of sand nourishment (and only a poor relation of Steve Gough's Emriver models) was clearly popular, hardly a kid passing it by without swirling some sand around (and presumably unwittingly transporting a few grains home).
A poster on the
wall nearby admirably stated the "When we know how rivers work, we can make them
work for us." The "when we know" wording grabs the attention.
Elsewhere, a fine display declares that "No rock is forever" and nearby the visitor is invited to tilt two exhibits, one vegetated sand, the other barren, to illustrate how "Plants hold the earth together." The section on earthquakes contains pottery pieces retrieved after the San Francisco earthquake and fire to which sand has been fused. In the addictively interactive "Sir Isaac's Loft" section of the museum (how can you not play with the exhibits?) is a sand pendulum, for which there seemed to be a constant queue of kids of all ages.
Eventually, it was time for our original destination, the planetarium show. Neither of us has been to a planetarium in years, but remember the childish excitement and magic of those visits. We had selected the classic "sky tonight" show, since that was what stuck in the memory, rather than the undoubtedly more dramatic offerings on black holes and so on. It was highly enjoyable - and informative - but somehow the magic wasn't quite there. And then I realised why: it was entirely digital. A major part of the old experience was that enormous, complex, mysterious piece of equipment that took centre stage - the projector. Like something from an alien civilisation, that piece of kit was awe-inspiring, and its presence sorely missed.
The famous London Planetarium, the site of my childhood excitement that inspired generations of kids, was closed several years ago - attached to Madame Tussaud's, it now is devoted to shows about celebrities. Ben Franklin must be turning in his grave.
[The image of the Zeiss planetarium projector is from the Montreal planetarium, reproduced under a GNU Free Documentation License. The photo of Big Ben - I have no idea why I didn't take my own - is reproduced under a Creative Commons License courtesy of mrkathika's photostream on flickr.com.]
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