Can Prospect Park change my life?

Here's the deal: I hereby commit to walking or cycling in Brooklyn's magnificent Prospect Park every day for a year, with as few exceptions as humanly possible, and then showing or telling you at least one cool thing I encountered, through this new blog.

Yeah, so what's the big deal? Lots of people go to the park every day, right? But I don't. I look at it outside my windows, and then I slink around my big ol' house, screen-suck at my computer for work or play, take naps, overeat, watch TV, garden, or chug around Brooklyn in the car doing errands. The few times I visit this pastoral treasure on my doorstep, I enter a sort of urban Narnia where just about anything can happen, even the lifting of anxiety and depression, my little demons. And I swear I will come more often (and, being already a bloggeuse, will tell the world of its wonders)--and then I skulk back inside, for more months of turpitude. An entire life could easily pass this way.

And so I invite the blogosphere: Come to Prospect Park with me every day. Unimaginable marvels await us, if I can only get my butt out of this house. Drag me there, like a restless and annoying playmate who says, even on rainy days, But you promised! After a year, we'll see if I am any less avoidant, mopey, somnolent and irritable; we'll assess whether I can walk up a flight of subway stairs without gasping for breath at the tender age of 50; we'll find out whether a daily encounter with the masterpiece of Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux is better than Effexor.

Be proud of me: I started today, New Year's Day (until a few minutes ago, anyway). My copper-haired god-daughter, a bit punchy from our last-night's revels, looked up at the park's 1904 Peristyle, and giggled, "You know, I really am tired--for a minute, I thought that was the Lincoln Memorial."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To get to the park, we crossed through the rebuilt playground on the "Parade Grounds," a grid of athletic fields on the park's southern perimeter. The playground is named in honor of Dillon Stewart, a fallen NYPD officer from our precinct. In summer, this globe fountain must be fun.

The geese have taken over a baseball diamond in loathsome numbers; next, they'll be muscling in on the tennis bubble (background). (My friend suggests a neatly Dickensian solution for these pests: Feed them to prisoners.)

It was only a brief walk, but long enough to encounter these balloons reminding us that the party's over. But the walk in the park has just begun.

Comments

[Xris (Flatbush Gardener)]

I'm with you, Brenda! Sending you some link love soon.

[Peregrine]

What an inspiration.
I look forward to following your blog and hope it gets me into the park more than I do now.

[entangled]

Great idea! I surfed over from Xris' blog, and I'll add you to my reading list.

[Rob]

I admire your commitment. From 1992 through 1995 I birded in Prospect Park nearly everyday ... and sometimes in pretty nasty weather. When I was surrounded by Prospect Park's diverse landscapes I felt peaceful and gained a new awareness of urban nature. That all changed starting in 1996. I no longer go into the park during the early morning because it makes me anxious and irritated. I am harassed by hundreds of off-leash dogs and their selfish owners. They are everywhere; the meadows, the forests and the water. Imagine the effect on the poor wildlife. I realize this isn't the appropriate forum for this issue, but if you go before 9AM, be careful. I wish you luck and lots of good birding.

[Tom Long]

My wife and I treat Prospect Park like our back yard. I am a southern country boy and my wife is a city girl and we live in Prospect Heights. This part of brooklyn is a place where we can meet in the middle.