Here's something embarrassing to admit. I, a self-proclaimed museum lover, had never been to the Academy of Natural Sciences in all of my three plus years of living in Philadelphia. I can't even plead ignorance, because a good friend of mine volunteers there and was a ready and willing guide. It was only when the news of the museum's sudden and dramatic closing started circling that I made the time--visiting this historic monument to the sciences was suddenly a priority.
Compared to the Smithsonian institutions the museum isn't very large, but it is in no way lacking. The grand building (which for some reason isn't marked historic??) opens up to an echoing entryway--to your right, the towering articulated remains of a tyrannosaurus stare down visitors, straight ahead lie carefully taxidermized displays of creatures great and small, and to the left, a gift shop! Best saved for last as a well-deserved reward.
My first reaction, deep in my gut, was annoyance. I was overwhelmingly frustrated with myself in that moment for not visiting sooner, visiting frequently, becoming a member, for not supporting this institution, one of the oldest places of science in Philadelphia (which in itself is one of the oldest urban centers in the nation). The dinosaurs were as impressive as any I've seen in New York or D.C.. They were painstakingly assembled (probably long before I was born), and their arrangement allows visitors to get up close, peer into their empty eye sockets and be awe-struck by the creatures that walked our world long before us.
When it came to the halls of taxidermy displays, showing animals in action in front of hand-painted scenery and carefully organized foliage, we played a game--"find the bird." In almost every display, even those of creatures of gargantuan proportions, we would find an almost hidden, understated little bird. Ecosystem appropriate for the scene at hand, there was not a feather out of place. They'd sit in treetops far above our heads, or be perched on the ground, their natural camouflage in full effect. Additionally, the academy is the only museum I've ever been to with an exhibit entirely dedicated to explaining the production and methodology to creating the displays--how the art is painted, how the taxidermy is done, and more. It felt like being let into an inside secret.
Speaking of secrets, what lies at the center of the top floor of the Academy had me cackling with glee. Live turtles, cockroaches, snakes, and more are carefully looked after here. Their caretakers monitor guests' interaction with the critters, introduce them, speak about them like old friends. It was the cherry on top of my visit. I entered the gift shop on my way out with the sadness that this would soon be taken not only from me, but from my city, and from the dozens of museum workers in their matching t-shirts eagerly answering questions and offering anecdotes. I know I'm not the only Philadelphian feeling this way, and I hope the universal outrage motivates the city to protect the academy and all it represents.
