Where Gods Have Stood

A little background music for the journey:

"No, in the USA, people still get the call, or some of them, and they feel themselves being called to from the transcendent void, and they respond to it by building a model out of beer bottles of somewhere they've never visited, or by erecting a gigantic bat house in some part of the country that bats have traditionally declined to visit. Roadside attractions: people feel themselves pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent, and buy a hot dog, and walk around, feeling satisfied on a level they cannot truly describe, and profoundly dissatisfied on a level beneath that.”

― Neil Gaiman, American Gods

As a massive Neil Gaiman fan, my first introduction to the concept of the House on the Rock was through American Gods. The postulation that some people build because they must immediately resonated, as did the concept of the roadside attraction as an American temple of sorts. I devoured the vivid descriptions of this maze of rooms and its crowning jewel, the world's largest carousel. I immediately knew I would have to see it with my own eyes someday.

My obsession only grew with the advent of the American Gods TV show over a decade later. Now, I had rich visuals of a place I'd only dreamed of, including the infamous carousel that no one is allowed to ride. I renewed my vow to visit someday (the sort of promise we all make but don't always get to keep).

My move to the Midwest suddenly made the dream more accessible than ever. Still, moving during a pandemic meant travel was curtailed for over a year. I barely even knew my new hometown, the route to and from work my only routine drive.

Finally, things eased enough to start to travel again. My husband, although not as consumed by the House as I, was still intrigued and agreed to a weekend trip to Wisconsin.

It was a rainy day as we made our way down WI-23, which precluded stopping at the entrance for pictures. We made our way inside the Welcome Center through a light drizzle and claimed our tickets from the automated kiosk.

The first exhibit in the House is an ode to its creator, Alex Jordan, a man with a vision - to create a home that flowed with the contours of the valleys and rocks around it. Display after display highlighted the endless cycle of building and expansion that occurred over his lifetime, each display only building the anticipation to see these wonders in person.

The House is broken up into three sections connected by walkways and gardens. The first section is the original home, designed for living and lounging among the natural environment. The second and third sections, on the other hand, are a seemingly unending kaleidoscope of scenes and contraptions from Jordan's imagination paired with the wonders of his extensive collections. The man collected anything that struck his fancy. In his home/living museum, he laid out his extensive weaponry collection next to collections of children's toys and circus memorabilia. According to the opening exhibit, his goal with this layout was partly to shock and partly to ensure that any visitor could find something they enjoyed in each room.

Following the recommended order, we began with section one, the original home. The ceilings were low, with built in furniture designed for quiet comfort. The home wound around and through the scenery, up and down, each level winding back on itself. Many of the windows consisted of restored stained glass. Others were covered in blue glass to limit outdoor light, a measured decision made in order to highlight Jordan's large collection of Tiffany-style lamps.

The crowning jewel of the home is the Infinity Room, a triangular room that extends 218 feet out over the valley below. For much of its length, the room is unsupported, free-floating in space. It's fifteen stories to the valley floor below. This experience is not for anyone with a fear of heights, but the view is absolutely worth braving the trek, surrounded by greenery as far as the eye can see, the ground far below visible through a plexiglass shield.

Section two is where Jordan began to create tableaus and mechanical wonders intended to amaze the touring public. From the faux Streets of Yesterday to the musical wonders of massive calliopes and entire rooms of automated instruments, there's no possible way for the human mind and eye to catch everything on the first walkthrough. It's the sort of wonderland you return to again and again, finding something new with every visit.

The crown jewel of the entire section, though, is the carousel. For those unfamiliar with American Gods, the carousel plays an important role, serving as a gateway to another realm, much like a faerie circle. I gasped audibly at my first glimpse. Jordan not only set out to create the world's largest carousel, but also the most fanciful. There isn't a single horse on this carousel. Instead, Jordan had his crafters build a panoply of unique figures, partly from mythology and partly from a fever dream. Watching mermaids and centaurs of every kind fly by is utterly mesmerizing.

You would think the magic of the carousel would be the perfect end to this fantastical journey, but there's another entire section of the House after this. From a carousel built to display dolls, to a massive organ room like something out of steampunk, to tableaus of famous historical battles, there's still more to see.

By the time my husband and I finished our tour, I felt like I truly understood what Gaiman had meant. Passing through the House was a mystical experience, a religious pilgrimage equal to seeing the greatest cathedral. The House is a monument to imagination, creativity, a love of nature, and the perseverance of a man who continued his work to preserve and expand until his dying day. It is a feeling I will never forget, and I hope to have many more opportunities to visit and absorb the power of this unique place.