When I lived in New York, I was a few blocks away from Prospect Park (Central Park but Brooklyn), which was an Olmsted masterwork of rolling lawns, wooded glades, and hidden waterfalls. If you took the right path you could even see an old Quaker cemetery, gated and tucked into the side of a hill. It was a place where people gathered en masse but you could also feel totally alone. Community, solitude, mystery—all could be encountered in a single casual stroll.
My current neighborhood park is mostly grass and trees, but this makes it no less majestic. What is it about parks? I get emotional thinking about them. They’re like the libraries of outside—a nice place anyone can go for free, rare respites from #capitalism or whatever else makes life hard.
Here are things I’ve seen at my local park: elaborate birthday parties, less elaborate birthday parties, non-birthday parties, barbecues, teenagers canoodling, runners, dogs of all shapes and sizes, bicycle riders, kite fliers, cross-fitters, slack-liners, picnics, baseball, basketball, football, and a local cat that occasionally stops by. I’ve lived in Los Angeles seven years this month, and I’ve visited this park in every season (literal and figurative). Rainy days. Sunny days. Those rare days in between.
When I was sad and single, I would run around the dirt track that traces the perimeter, passing a sign on the batting cage that reads “2.5 LAPS = 1.3 MILES.” I did four laps (=2.08 laps if my math is correct which it very well might not be) and that felt like enough. When I was pregnant, I lumbered for as long as I could while versions of my former self lapped me. When my daughter was first born I lumbered with her strapped to me (2 BODIES = 1 BEING). As she got older we could go up and lay a blanket down and she could eat the grass while I futilely tried to stop her, people passing us on the track at various paces.
The park has no hidden waterfall, but it does have two playgrounds—one for the big kids and one for the little kids. We have begun to explore the little kid playground, with varying degrees of interest and success. When I put her in a swing she cries (fun). She does not like the slide (cool). So far, the things she has like to do when there are: 1) try to climb her stroller and 2) crawl over to a disgusting patch right next to the playground where the rubber has mixed with the dirt and eat it.
However, this week something clicked. She realized there were other children there. She called to them. Babbled to them. Stared at them. Tried to touch their faces. Started to get the point of the park.
2.5 laps per mile, basically - if you want to walk or run. Oona knows there’s more to like than that!
She's got the hang of it now!