Everyone
knows Central Park. If they have never
actually been there, they have seen television shows, photographs, movies or
read stories and novels involving it.
It’s a world treasure, with a physical location and a real past. Yet, even laden with myths from origins through
its varied and strange vagaries of history, and the real fables which have
occurred there, it is nevertheless astonishing to experience in real life.
Not so
obvious is how much it changes with the seasons. In autumn it can be incredibly sad, leaves
falling and people starting to wear warm clothes and late sun mists casting
nostalgia everywhere. In winter it is a
small and fragile space, with branches barely tracing webs over the looming
buildings walling in on all sides. In
spring, everything is flowers and hope and attention is focused on details of
the blooms and the first leaves and the signs of happiness to come. And in summer, such as mid June when I was
there, it is vast and crowded, with trees hiding the fact that it has
boundaries, a grand stretch where it is easy to get lost, as crowded with human
herds as the great plains in their bison-filled glory.
In June, the
hidden and isolated nooks of the grand design are at their finest. The ramble is truly a lonely wood, the row
boats on the green pond evoke Europe from the Bethesda fountain, the carousel
tunes ancient days. Model sail boats
skim the shallow pond where children climb on the Alice statue, rubbing the
bronze bright. There are statues and
water, and arches, the zoo, and views, and always the incredible flora,
including the magically preserved American Elms.
And, of
course, always people. Sun bathers on
every inch of grass, ballplayers of one kind or another on every field (for the
outdoor time is still new, and exciting, and not yet too hot), and babies, and
performers of all types. Photographers,
vendors, the striding rich and hoping-soon-to-be rich. Snatches of every language on the planet from
the tourists. You can become caught in a
trance as you walk, which might be dangerous because there is a need to be
aware of the joggers, and bicycles, and roller blades, and swarming children,
and _not least_ many examples of oblivious humanity lost in pursuit of inner
dreams.
The thing is
_ there is hope. Hope for people, hope
for our civilization, hope that in spite of the evils we imagine, things may
not crumble and the world may continue on well.
If countless folks can coexist so well, where such variety can be accommodated
in peace and joy, perhaps the future can
become more like this everywhere. It’s a
fragile, and probably naïve fantasy, but easily accommodated by this glorious
afternoon in June.
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I love the
fact that the perfect trees and the manicured flowers are maintained by
trained, paid, dedicated professionals.
I have nothing against home gardens _ I take care of my own turf and my
wife turns our patio into a floral wonderland each spring, but I am a person of
limited means and I appreciate the grand public displays. I also think such works are greatly enhanced
by the presence of other people, who make the setting special.
Parks are a
lovely barometer of community health.
Sadly neglected, overgrown, dark and dangerous public places are a sad
commentary on a culture in decline, unable to maintain its own past
standards. Crowded bricks and concrete
without a horizon are a desperate attempt to provide a minimum standard of
living to an impoverished city. But a
clean, well maintained, beautiful park _ moreover one that is open to all and
respected by all _ is a vibrant sign of health and dreams of the future.
Parks of
course have a wide variety, being now designated all the way from vast
impenetrable stretches of wilderness to tiny stamp-size resting places with a
bench overlooking almost anything. No
matter. They are far more interesting
and indicative of the civilization than any private hidden wealth. I think they are one of the best inventions
humanity has ever come up with.
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While
strolling Central Park one day
Dodging
bikes and runners all the way
I stopped to
gawk and stare
At the
people every where
Mostly
happy, very busy, on display.
I heard some
lilting foreign talk
(whistle)
And saw
peculiar dress and walk
(whistle)
A dog and woman
nicely dressed
Bumped me seeming
quite distressed
I mumbled
“sorry there” and moved
She tugged
her little pet which barked
June was all
in green
There was
too much to be seen
In New York
City visiting the Park.
http://www.centralpark.com/
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-http://www.centralpark.com/
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Unless you
are a billionaire, commercial ocean fisherman, forest ranger, or farmer, you
probably appreciate any parks to which you have access. They give you access to the common heritage
of humans, and in increasingly crowded conditions allow a space for dreaming,
beauty, and meditation. That is
especially if you are one of the less fortunate people in the world, or simply
in a less fortunate situation in your complicated life.
Parks cost
public money and time, and it is always a delicate balance how much should be
expended on them, by whom, and for whose benefit. A part (like a golf course) for only the
wealthy is of little general use to the community, although it may allow a kind
of envious gaze into an imagined Shangri-La from the perimeter. Vacant lots in the middle of blighted and
crime-ridden slums, without capital nor effective protection, may be called
parks but scarcely serve any such purpose.
Effective parks somehow combine the resources of the well off with the
needs of those less so, and promote mixing of the various social classes.
By that
standard, Central Park is remarkably successful. And, in fact, it is sometimes hard to see how
it could be a model for anything else, since its conditions are rather
unique. You should be grateful that it
is available to you to experience one kind of a vision of society.
“Park” can
mean many different things, although related by involving relatively open
space. Wilderness areas are wild and
generally inhospitable to casual use.
Natural parks are more amenable to tourists, with roads and trails and
lookout areas, but still retain the natural form and beauty. Historic parks are a mix, whose only common
denominator is that something famous _ such as a battle or discovery or birth _
happened there. Village parks are
generally either neatly manicured town squares, or well-maintained common
natural acreage. But the great city
parks _ such as those in Paris and New York _ are completely man-made,
involving design by talented specialists, the labor of thousands, great cost to
construct, and expensive ongoing resources.
Central
Park, of course, is one of the latter.
Famously designed by Olmstead and Vaux, it was constructed from boulders
and marsh sparsely populated by the poor.
They did it in the grand European manner, with areas to remind city
dwellers of grand mansions, and lonely dells, and romantic interludes from
novels. It became a place to see and be
seen, a success from its opening in the late 1800’s. At this late date, with the trees grown fully
and the mosses creeping back on the rocks, no one can believe that the brooks
and ponds and waterfalls, and vistas are all planned and, in fact, use city
water for their effects, and a vast army of park workers, paid and volunteer,
to keep it in trim. It seems completely
natural, as all successful city parks due, such as the new ones here along the
Hudson and East River _ simple preserves with a couple of amenities thrown in.
And, because
Central Park is wholly artificial, it is also easy for it to slip into
ruin. This happened in the mid twentieth
century, when the city was going bankrupt and the well-off were fleeing to
suburban areas. At that time the park
was largely a place to avoid, and for those brave enough to risk the rampant
crime, what could be seen was sad and forlorn and shabby _ not romantic at
all. Fortunately, today New York (and
many large cities) are just roaring along, regaining their usual magnetism as
beacons of civilization for the most able, ambitious, and wealthy. And Central park came back with it and is now
one of the premiere places on the planet to visit and enjoy. There are probably some deeper morals and
meanings here, but sometimes it is enough to just be happy and appreciate all
the moment has to offer.
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The Falcon
and the Coyote
Coyote had
just arrived in the Big Apple, where he had heard the game was abundant and the
living was easy. It had been a hard and
frightening trip, down noisy hard trails which went over rivers and had some
nasty rocks rushing about. But this _ he
looked out of the bushes at a great glen in Central Park _ ah, this was indeed
the land of milk and honey. The rats and
squirrels and geese he had encountered so far with fearless _ and easy pickings
for dining anytime.
“You won’t
make it here,” squawked a harsh voice overhead.
Coyote
looked up at the bird perched jauntily overhead. “What do you know, crow?” he retorted.
“A falcon,
if you please. You can call me PM. That’s what the humans do, anyway. “
“You don’t
need all this game for yourself _ there’s plenty for both of us.”
“Oh, that’s
not the problem, “ replied PM. “It’s
those people. They’re everywhere. And they’re weird, unpredictable, and
dangerous _ at least to you.”
“But not to
a fine fellow like yourself, I suppose,” said Coyote sarcastically.
“Nope. They seem to be quite thrilled that I’m
around. I’m wildlife…”
“Well, so am
I.”
“Ah, but, “
continued PM, “I’m ACCEPTABLE wildlife.
They think I’m cute.”
“I’m cute
enough.”
“And, “
continued PM relentlessly, “they don’t think I’m going to eat their little pets
and carry off little children.”
“I had a
cousin who did that,” noted Coyote, “back in Jersey. I learned my lesson, thank you, and I never
would bother them.”
“You may
know that, and I may know that, “ PM lifted his plumage in a shrug, “ but I
somehow don’t think they will know that.
But look, you don’t have to take my word for it. I’ll show you.”
“OK, I
guess. What do you suggest?”
“We can find
a good hiding place, near a bunch of people, with an even safer hiding place we
can escape to, because you’re going to need that. Then I will show myself to the public, and
watch their reaction. Then you can do
the same. You’ll be convinced, believe
me.”
“Well, all
right,” agreed Coyote reluctantly.
They found a
nice thick thicket near a crowded bridge, filled with strollers and rollers and
baby carriages. PM flapped his wings
noisily, circled low overhead, and settled in plain sight on an exposed dead
branch. The commotion among the
onlookers was tremendous. People grabbed
pictures and cellphones and babies and pointed them at the falcon, laughing and
amazed. From across the fields others
were running closer to see. Everyone was
staring and congratulating each other on what they had seen. This went on for some time, and then PM flew
off, took a couple of great upward circles, and quietly and unobtrusively made
his way back to the thicket.
“Now you try
it,” he suggested.
So Coyote
proudly strutted out of the thicket and perched boldly on a ledge in full view
of everyone. Oh, there was excitement
alright, but a lot different than what had greeted the falcon. People grabbed children and ran away, big
dogs were growling and straining at the leash to get at him, everyone was edging back, phones were being
used frantically and sirens began to sound in the distance. It seemed a wise time to back off, so Coyote
dashed frantically through the twisty escape route to the predetermined save
point, panting and exhausted.
“Told you,”
rasped a voice overhead.
Coyote took
the point, and that evening headed back upstate, where the living was harder,
but less vicious. City parks are for
people, he thought to himself, and for the right kind of animals. There may be a moral in there somewhere for
everyone, a metaphor for who can thrive
in New York, but I’m certainly not going to point it out.
Parks,
particularly city parks, can be a good indicator of the wealth and health of a
civilization. They are an immense
initial and ongoing expenditure, with only casual connection between cost and
benefit. The best ones are just
ostentations displays of the surplus and wealth of the society. People in parks are often of all classes,
mixing indeterminately, enjoying life in their own ways, a lovely expression of
at least a little beauty appreciation and freedom.
Central Park
is one of the greatest, a fine example of all that could be, and an equal
example of no matter what things may seem, they contain surprising historic and
contemporary depth. Also, a manifest
object lesson in just how fragile even our finest achievements are
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