Prospect: A Year in the Park

Grand Army Pumpkins

It was perfect Halloween weather at the Greenmarket: dark, foreboding clouds but mild enough temperatures to permit costumed revelry.

Apple green stood out amid the harvest colors, in an Asian pear (and Daughter's top), and in Romanesco broccoli. We bought the pear (Daughter gets cravings for the hard, juicy things) but not the Romanesco (whose culinary uses are described here). I wonder if those are Fibonacci numbers in the vegetable's strange and lovely nubbins?

Costumes were in evidence: at left, a young lady dressed as, perhaps, candy corn. (Amazingly, there was also still some real corn; I bought 3 ears.)

At right, "hipsters."

And (as Little Edie says) "the best costume for today": Sister Mary Mackerel and her sidekick Bluefish at the Blue Moon fish stand. The folks here are always amazingly good sports, but today they outdid themselves.

GREENMARKET DOG OF THE DAY

This feathery friend is the gentle Olivia, who belongs to a breed new to me: the Italian Spinone. (At first, I thought her person was saying "Spumoni.") Olivia, hipster-like, has a scraggly little beard and emo-eyes, which she fixed on passers-by yearningly. She is training to be a therapy dog, but has failed her test several times--most recently, for being unable to resist giving kisses! That sounds like good therapy to me.

Balancing act

Five o'clock, the end of October, the Long Meadow. With daylight savings time almost over, I struggle to keep the melancholy of the season from overshadowing the golden radiance of it. Discovering this guy practicing his mad tightrope skills between two flaming trees did the job.

I was drawn to the mesmerizing elm grove, below, the one on a knob of land near the "dog beach."

The knoll is carpeted with leaves, and the mostly bare branches seem to wave overhead like a circle of dancers. See the guy on a bike at right, in a gray jacket? The two other cyclists had asked him how old Prospect Park was, and he was telling them a little of its history, with perfect accuracy and great zest.

One more shot of the elms, from the other side...towering over dog walkers, stroller moms, kids walking home from school. The moon was out, a little pale disc, but it's just out of frame.

Lord: It is time

Autumn Day

by Rainer Maria Rilke,
translated by Edward Snow

Lord: it is time. Your summer was superb.
Lay your shadows on the sundials,
and in the meadows let the winds go free.

Command the last fruits to be full;
give them only two more southern days,
urge them on to completion and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house will never build one now.
Whoever is alone now will long remain so,
will stay awake, read books, write long letters
and wander restless back and forth
along the tree-lined streets, as the leaves drift down.

 

(This morning I made two simultaneous felicitous discoveries: the above poem, from this book, and a perfectly delightful blogger and children's author named Sara Lewis Holmes, who is also a powerful poet in her own right. Her blog, Read, Write, Believe, retains all the freshness, invention and quirk of the blogosphere at its best; it's technically about "kid lit" but spangles out in all sorts of lovely digressions, including a fine blog carnival idea called "Poetry Friday." Sara is most welcome to walk in the park with me any day!)

Cast away transgressions

Thanks to a friend's generous invitation, I went along to Tashlich for the first time at the lake in Prospect Park. In this Rosh Hashanah ceremony, bread is cast upon a body of water (it should have fish in it, and the lake certainly does). This symbolizes the casting away of sins and the purification of the heart for a new year.

My friend's faith community, although called Conservative, was a relaxed and convivial throng, a mix of young families and a few "old hippies," as she lovingly described them. There was schmoozing after their young lady rabbi led us in prayer and song; some people tossed popcorn instead of bread because it's supposed to be better for the ducks. 

The rabbi and a few others blew the shofar, and its haunting call met the beats of the African drummer's grove floating across from the other side of the lake. The rabbi's pug added some enthusiastic barks. ("The Rabbi's Pug" should also be the name of a children's book.)

The spectrum of Brooklyn's Jewish communities was represented at water's edge. A gathering of very Orthodox folks brought at least three generations to the lake, their quiet reverie a contrast to the ebullience of my friend's group. Yet another tribe gathered on another little peninsula; I had a hunch they were from the Syrian community. Nearby, picnickers barbecued obliviously as the afternoon light mellowed.  The ritual felt curiously familiar and comfortable to my Catholic self; I've been doing symbolic things with bread and water, and lapsing into an ancient tongue on holy days, and seeking absolution for sins, all my life. Feels great, and even better outdoors.

Cast away from yourselves all your transgressions,

And create within yourselves a new heart and a new spirit.

                                                --Ezekiel 18:31

Walking for women

The morning was gray and rain-brushed, but as we passed Prospect Park on the way to the Greenmarket, we saw folks in T-shirts streaming out, and a lot of balloons in a color that could only be described as...teal. Turns out that's also short for "Tell Every Amazing Lady" about ovarian cancer, and this was the First Annual 5K TEAL Walk to raise money for the disease. These folks were a team walking for the late Lacey Gallagher, who died earlier this year at 48.

The words "ovarian cancer" strike fear in my heart, but this cancer is not necessarily a death sentence; just ask Judie (right), who was walking proudly as a two-year survivor (with a nifty teal face-painting job). It's not a "silent" killer, but its symptoms are subtle and nonspecific (like bloating or vague gastrointestinal complaints); being aware of them and getting early diagnosis can save your life. For more information, go here.

The images of smiling women on the backs of people's shirts bore witness to loss and love and a passion to make it count for something. 

Here's one walker's dedication after her 5K; we should all have girlfriends like this.

Philosopher hearts

As Daughter runs around Prospect Park with a track team, Mother pitches camp under an oak and lets the world unfold on the Long Meadow.

Little girl to father, left: "If you built a really big kite, you could attach yourself to it and fly into the air! I want to do that!"

The September sun gilds the grass tenderly; these pictures, frustratingly overexposed, don't capture the gold, or the tenderness.

Perhaps this artist did, despite the distraction of her lounging friends.

How can such sweetness be shot through with melancholy? Poets and dogs understand.

 

September's Baccalaureate
A combination is
Of Crickets--Crows--and Retrospects

And a dissembling Breeze

 

That hints without assuming—

An innuendo sear

That makes the Heart put up its Fun

And turn Philosopher.   

--Emily Dickinson

   

                        

Never can say goodbye

Happy birthday wherever you are, Michael Jackson! Today's memorial bash on the park's Nethermead, a Spike Lee joint, was a mellow and exuberant party by the time we got there at 4 p.m. or so. The light rain had ended, and a vast crowd grooved to Jackson hits spun by a superb DJ. 

    

However tragically he spun out of orbit, Michael clearly inspired a lot of love...and self-expression. The crowd was full of folks wearing their hearts on their sleeves, or chests. T-shirt tributes ranged from somber to sparkly.

        

 

Personal style homages ranged from the sublime...

to the ridiculous.

A lot of folks brought their little ones, who perched on shoulders to see the Jumbotron and the swaying crowd.

It reminded me of a Kinks concert we saw years ago:  at least two, if not three, generations all getting into the music.

Of course, a few were too young to appreciate "Beat It" or "Thriller" or even "Rockin' Robin." For lots more photos, see coverage by fellow blogger Brooklyn Vegan.

And, as always when there's free music in Brooklyn, there were Lone Dance Maniacs, for whom MIchael, a sui generis dance genius, is a fitting patron saint. I will spare you the old lady in purple tights and flowing gray hair who was performing her own private eurythmics. But the fellow below gets my "Don't Dream It...Be It" award of the day.

 

A walk to the mailbox

Since Prospect Park and I have been drifting apart a bit lately, I summoned the will to leave my car keys at home, and walked across the park to the Windsor Terrace post office to mail a package. I was rewarded with...

...the Bishop Ford High School football team, getting chewed out but good by Coach on the Parade Grounds. 

 A very young rider being reassured before cantering off around the lake.

 

Turtles basking on the lake, which has turned very green.

 

The Vanderbilt Playground, totally torn up for renovation. The scene of my forays with the toddler Child has been erased, although I feel little nostalgia: Child was never a great fan of playgrounds in those years, and I mostly recall a lot of forced cheer as I attempted to stuff her into swings or entice her onto the climbing gym.

And finally, unaware of the rich symbolism they evoked, a plump and vigilant hawk, poised hungrily above a rather gormless-looking dove.

                

I'll have to get over to the Post Office more often.

Run for a good guy

If you love running in Prospect Park, you can do 5K for a fantastic cause this Tuesday, Aug. 25, at 7 p.m., starting in the parking lot by Bartel Pritchard Circle (opposite the Pavilion Theater). Greg, a young man on staff at JackRabbit, the amazing sports store in Park Slope, is in the fight of his life against testicular cancer, and the $20 entry fee goes towards his mounting expenses. Register here. (Race volunteers are also needed.) The folks at JackRabbit explain:

Before the diagnosis he was training to run his first Ultramarathon, a 50 miler. Now, between the disease and the chemo, he struggles to climb the stairs to his apartment. His dream of joining the FDNY has been put on hold while he focuses all of his energy on getting better.

Greg is 22 years old, and has worked at JackRabbit since he arrived in NYC almost two years ago. As an assistant manager first in the Union Sq store and now in the Brooklyn store, Greg has helped thousands of people start running, get faster, and reach their goals. This is our opportunity to give back for all the support he’s given us over the years.

I'm not sure if Greg is the sweet and smart guy who fitted my daughter for her first running shoes this summer (and eased her fears of joining her new high school's track team). But he sounds like a helluva kid, facing an unimaginable challenge with the courage that leads young men to become, oh, ultramarathoners and firemen. Please get out there and run for Greg.

Image: GLiving.com

Back in the High Line again

Guest Park Special!

Last fall, we checked out the wild West Side's gestating new park called the High Line. The part we toured then still isn't open to the public, but now this part is, from  Gansevoort Street in the Meatpacking District (or "Pricey Bistro District") up to 20th Street in Chelsea. We walked it yesterday, and it's a delight.

The concept: Take the rusting elevated freight line that germinated into a long, green, aerial vacant lot along Manhattan's western edge, and turn it into a secluded oasis with killer views and river breezes. Keep the odd vibe of a post-industrial Eden, but add eco-friendly amenities and trendy design. Last Sunday, it was all gloriously vindicated by happy crowds who waited in a long line to ascend to this garden in the sky. There's even a sunbathing deck for pallid Manhattanites to bask in (although some eco-pamphleteers claimed that the rainforest wood used there is non-sustainable--gasp!)

The garden is a calculated evocation of the original urban-meadow takeover, but using posh perennials (like this echinacea) and ornamental grasses amid the cracks and tracks, with some patches of woodland. On a building overlooking the line, an incredibly determined mullein showed them how it's done.

Speaking of views from the High Line, it doesn't get much more iconic than this: the Empire State Building and a water tower.

 

 And speaking of water towers, the High Line (on Target's dime) threw one hell of a street fair down in the Meatpacking District to celebrate the park's opening, starting with this "water tower" full of free fresh lemonade, served up by buff kids in cute T-shirts. I avoid typical "sausage and tube socks" street fairs like the plague, but how can you argue with...

 

fire-eaters and stilt-walkers, plus...

      

balloon animals elevated to the level of performance art! (These "megamites" are created by a guy named Jason Hackenwerth, who gets his very loyal friends, like this guy, to help blow them up and wear them in public.)

STREET FAIR DOGS OF THE DAY

Happiness: Your bloggeuse admires a dachshund and a Chinese Crested and gets the whole pile of puppies just handed to her! The Crested looks like Paris Hilton and feels like UltraSuede. The dachsi was just happy to get his silky ears rubbed.