Park and a Little Recreation
Found a park today that I'd never been to today. I was over at my folks' place, feeding their cat and taking care of some paperwork for them while they were out of town. That took about an hour and a half, most of which was spent with their cat either in my lap or grabbing my hand with her forepaws to ensure appropriate skritches, and when it was done, I found myself making a detour on the way home.
The Triangle's full of signs, you see. Little brown signs that mark the entrances to parks, or to wildlife viewing areas, or "Waterfowl impoundment areas", which always brings to mind traffic cops slapping a bright orange boot immobilization device onto a mallard, or possibly a great blue heron. And you drive past them a hundred times, and never follow them, and never give them a second thought. They're part of the landscape. They're white noise. They're invisible.
Except today - which, to be fair, was a beautiful day - I saw one. I'd seen it a few dozen times before, at least. A sign, lonely, stuck on the side of a major traffic artery, right by some office park and industrial stuff, and definitely looking way up there on the sad-and-lonely meter, noting the entrance to a park.
This time, I didn't drive past it. I made the turn, instead. And I drove past some office park stuff, and some warehouses, and some places that were maybe abandoned. I made a left turn, followed some more signs, and then, of course, missed the turn into the park. Fortunately, there was a warehouse of some kind just up the road whose driveway I could turn around in, and so I did.
The park was nice. Not many folks parked in the lot I pulled into, but that's to be expected. There was a lake, visible through the trees, and a lodge, and the usual message board with a map and posted activities and a map and all that sort of good stuff. I got out and walked down to the lake, skirting the chain that was up across the gravel road leading down that way. It was a trek of maybe a hundred feet. As I got closer to the water, I saw other folks on various points along the shore, heard a vociferously contested basketball game on one of the park's courts, saw water going over the top of a dam and downstream in a measured thin sheet. Remarkable features? There were none. It was a small urban park, tucked away in the northeast corner of a city, in a place where those who wanted or needed to find it, would. That was enough.
I stayed maybe five minutes. That was enough, too - to have been there, where I hadn't thought to be before. And then it was OK to go.
The Triangle's full of signs, you see. Little brown signs that mark the entrances to parks, or to wildlife viewing areas, or "Waterfowl impoundment areas", which always brings to mind traffic cops slapping a bright orange boot immobilization device onto a mallard, or possibly a great blue heron. And you drive past them a hundred times, and never follow them, and never give them a second thought. They're part of the landscape. They're white noise. They're invisible.
Except today - which, to be fair, was a beautiful day - I saw one. I'd seen it a few dozen times before, at least. A sign, lonely, stuck on the side of a major traffic artery, right by some office park and industrial stuff, and definitely looking way up there on the sad-and-lonely meter, noting the entrance to a park.
This time, I didn't drive past it. I made the turn, instead. And I drove past some office park stuff, and some warehouses, and some places that were maybe abandoned. I made a left turn, followed some more signs, and then, of course, missed the turn into the park. Fortunately, there was a warehouse of some kind just up the road whose driveway I could turn around in, and so I did.
The park was nice. Not many folks parked in the lot I pulled into, but that's to be expected. There was a lake, visible through the trees, and a lodge, and the usual message board with a map and posted activities and a map and all that sort of good stuff. I got out and walked down to the lake, skirting the chain that was up across the gravel road leading down that way. It was a trek of maybe a hundred feet. As I got closer to the water, I saw other folks on various points along the shore, heard a vociferously contested basketball game on one of the park's courts, saw water going over the top of a dam and downstream in a measured thin sheet. Remarkable features? There were none. It was a small urban park, tucked away in the northeast corner of a city, in a place where those who wanted or needed to find it, would. That was enough.
I stayed maybe five minutes. That was enough, too - to have been there, where I hadn't thought to be before. And then it was OK to go.
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