Media Intercept: Park

Friday, September 21, 2012

A Greeting of Flowers

“...these delicate flowers evoke that youthful fascination with

tiny things, and the broad spectacles it inspired...”

By Patrick J. Walsh

Flowers along the edge of the pond, orange and bright and fascinating, skitter in the plush breeze of the late afternoon. With their pear-shaped petals gathered tightly at the tips of green stems, they wave an elfin greeting, beckoning me backward in time.

Careful investigation reveals tiny spots of red on the little orange flowers, and the markings, along with the coloring and other characteristics, reveal the vibrant plants to be Jewelweed.

Precious Gem

Legend has it that Jewelweed came by its name as the result of its appearance under water, where a sort of optical illusion caused by the sudden displacement of air bubbles clinging to the surface of the flower causes the bright orange Jewelweed to appear silver, like a precious gem.

photo © Patrick J. Walsh

Careful investigation reveals the

vibrant plants to be Jewelweed.

As I stand and watch the gently waving stalks, and kneel alongside the water’s edge to better appreciate the lovely green and gold in its delicate array around a large stone, I am content to follow the feeling the flowers inspire. For this moment, it is enough to know that they are wildflowers of brilliant orange and sprightly green, and that they grow regardless of the name and class and character we assign to them.

Resplendent in their youthful green and adolescent orange, the flowers along the edge of the pond wave their shy greeting as the sun moves imperceptibly across the soft blue sky.

Today this spray of flowers at the water’s edge recalls in me the countless easy hours when I played as a youth in some small patch of sand.

Summer Days

In those long days of summer, amid a bare spot of sand and its surrounding fringe of grass, I projected a lifetime’s worth of wide-eyed adventures on the imagined occupants of tiny replica automobiles.

On this warm afternoon, these delicate flowers evoke that youthful fascination with tiny things, and the broad spectacles it inspired in the imagination of a well-loved child.

And in me, today, the splashes of winsome green and glorious orange, moved to wave slightly on the light meandering breeze of the afternoon, recall again the fascinations of youth, and the possibilities of the larger world...

[Note: This is an excerpt from a longer essay, “Flowers at the Water’s Edge,” which is part of my “Walk in the Park” series.]

The Walk in the Park series:

• Trails in the Woods

• The Men

• The Hawk

• The First Warm Day of Spring

• Encounter in Autumn

• A Walk Beneath the Dripline

• A Walk in the Park

Friday, September 14, 2012

Trails in the Woods (excerpt)

“What wise use we make of all that we take,

and mindful of whatever we leave behind...”

By Patrick J. Walsh

In the park where I walk each day, there are some 22 miles of officially recognized trails. Originally cut into what was then a far denser tract of woodland by the young workers of the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) during the Great Depression of the 1930s, the trail system has evolved into a complex network of interconnected paths that is populated daily by hikers and bicyclists.

Beyond the marked trails, there are also uncounted byways where individual visitors have wandered, trailing a butterfly, getting a closer look at a tree or shrub, or perhaps making headway toward some new spot that seemed to hold the promise of some different sort of happening.

Democracy of the Woods

Because they are built up and kept clear largely as the unintended side effect of visitors’ desire to explore beyond the well maintained, officially sanctioned trailways, the rough trails represent a sort of democracy of the woods. Individual trails are created by the passage of individuals and left unencumbered for the free use of others, and each path continues to exist in direct proportion to the degree to which others choose to make use of it.

...we are the curators of the environments we encounter...

on trails clearly marked, or barely discerned.

Encountering these trails in the woods, I am struck by the disturbance they've etched into the ground.

Leaves fallen long before, and having long rested on the woodland floor, are barely recognizable in the flaky dust left by the force of ponderous footfalls. Green shoots of weeds are bent in haphazard disarray, and the thin prickly arms of wild raspberry shoots are twisted away from the edges of the rough path cut through the undergrowth.

Here and there, a plastic bottle, a snack food wrapper, an aluminum can litters the scrub between the shaded interior of the wooded area and the point of entry that opens into the park proper.

For Good or Ill, an Impact

And I am confronted with the simple truth that we make an impact — for good or for ill, with wanton disregard or careful attention to necessity — wherever we walk.

While the very nature of human life requires that we enter the forest, and sail the sea, and explore in the air and beyond, we are the curators of the environments we encounter. What wise use we make of all that we take, and how mindful we are of whatever we leave behind, speaks as much of ourselves as it does of the progress we make, while we wander, on trails clearly marked, or barely discerned.