Whoa, Nellie

Child and I packed a picnic, and rode our bikes over to the shady fringes of Nellie's Lawn, where we worshiped summer and lay on our backs figuring out shapes in the clouds.

    

Two other bicycle babes were soaking up the sun.

Peering up into the shady branches over our heads, I wondered what trees bore these winged clusters and these purple berries. Then, regrettably, I peered deeper into the woods, spying something white and crumpled atop a log. Mostly, I was interested in some good tree fungus.

Got more than I bargained for; it seems that this grove is a popular trysting place, to judge from the condom wrappers scattered around, along with a rumpled sheet.

At left, Lifestyles brand, and in upper right, the heavily promoted "NYC" variety.

I wonder whether those who've been using this spot are aware that they are having a bit of rumpy-pumpy on sacred ground. Not 20 feet away stands a marker for the Battle of Brooklyn; here the vastly outnumbered Continental army suffered huge losses in the first major conflict of the American Revolution. Valley Grove House, indicated on the marker, was a tavern that stood in the heart of the carnage.  

A certain aging singer, whom I consider vastly overrated and whom I refuse to acknowledge as the "voice of my generation," is appearing in the park tonight. (As we passed the bandshell, folks were already staking out lawn spots, although they will be hearing and not seeing their idol; the stage has been hidden behind a tall fence so that benefit-ticket-price-paying patrons can get their money's worth.) Perhaps the old fellow could sing this song by Blind Lemon Jefferson, which he covered back in 1962, in honor of the martyred patriots whose bones lie beneath the condom wrappers.

Well there's one kind of favor I'll ask for you
Well there's one kind of favor I'll ask for you
There's just one kind of favor I'll ask for you
You can see that my grave is kept clean.

                                —Blind Lemon Jefferson

Comments

[Rob Lenihan]

Aging singer!?!? Why, whoever could you mean?

If you're talking about Tom Jones, madam, I'll have to ask you to put up your dukes!

He's the voice of my generation, but don't ask me why, why, why Delilah.

So before they come and break down the door--did you get that chick in the bikini's phone number?

I'm sure she and I could make beautiful music together...

[M. Thew]

The tree with the keys, or samaras, is an ash, green or white I can't tell from here. The one with the berries? Hmmm, I think that one's a black cherry.

[Brenda from Flatbush]

Hm, glad to see a diversity of responses here! [bopping RL over head for lascivious thoughts]

[amarilla]

Is Nellie's lawn named after Nellie Bly?

[Brenda from Flatbush]

Supposedly Nellie was a little girl or young woman who loved the area (some accounts say she had a favorite tree under which to read), and that she died and someone put up a little tribute to her, and the name stuck. This Nellie's precise identity seems lost in the mists of time, however, and it was not the adventuresome Ms. Blye.