Playing in the Park

The weather has taken a turn. It is cool-- not cold, at least not by my seasoned Midwestern standards-- but cool, nonetheless. I have abandoned short sleeves.

But it occurs to me as I am sitting in the park that this weather is not unlike how it feels in early Spring, and if I de-contextualize it-- forget that a few weeks ago the temperatures were in the Summery mid-70's-- it becomes rather pleasant. I am reminded of the course readings this week, how Sheryl St. Germain sees signs, albeit small ones, of Spring and the continuation of life and of renewal, even in the dead of an Iowa winter.

There are more families in the park today than usual, and I wonder if this thought has occurred to the parents, as well. Maybe, like me, they left their homes this morning to the sight of dewy perspiration-- thawed out frosts, perhaps-- on car windshields, and braced themselves against cold. Maybe, like me, they had resigned themselves to the idea this morning that the next several months of cold were upon us. And maybe, like me, as the day has warmed gradually, they have realized that the time they have to spend comfortably outside with children and other family members is increasingly limited.

Outside of a large den of trees, there is an open spot of grass just large enough for a father to throw a football back and forth with his son. The dad can throw a spiral, but the son cannot. Near to them, there is a strip of asphalt that leads out to the street, and they have positioned themselves in such a way to avoid the ball going there, and perhaps to avoid the kid running absentmindedly after it.

Not far from them there is a very young girl-- four or five years old, I'd guess-- gathering leaves, maybe some of the same leaves that I saw on my last visit. She may be related to them, but I cannot be sure. There are adults sitting on a few of the benches, some old enough to be grandparents. In this community, grandparents, aunts, uncles, older siblings and cousins all work communally to raise children in parks while parents work long hours at the Waterfront, or in Squirrel Hill, or deeper into the city.

Here, I am seeing the community engage with the park, and am struck again by its value. As I examine the park itself over time, I may begin to think about the larger questions surrounding park design and layout, how residents' access to park space can be hindered or improved, and the role that the park plays not just as community gathering space, but as community advocate and agent: a place that metaphorical gives lifeblood to the surrounding neighborhoods, and serves as a point of pride.

I realize, now, from my last observation of the maintenance worker, that he was doing his own small part to instill pride and to make the park something that can be showcased and shown off. It is ingenuous for me to judge him; certainly, he has a role. His leaf-blowing antics may distract me from my point of interest from time-to-time (the leaves themselves), but ultimately, he has as much right to this space as I do.