I abandoned the great biannual sorting of the clothes this afternoon. I left boxes half emptied and a pile of sweaters sagging against a wall. I plopped Ian in the stroller and went for a walk.
Taking the kids for walks is one of the joys of parenting. Sorting sweaters just sucks.
In the city, we would walk five blocks to Fort Tryon Park and watch the gardeners maintain the heather garden. It was spectacular. Originally designed by Frederick Law Olmstead and over looking the Hudson, it is one of the gems of the city. The winding paths go on for miles keeping me amused for many afternoons.
When we moved out to the suburbs last summer, we missed it terribly. We looked around for a substitute park, but we disappointed by poorly designed public spaces. The nearest place is just a circular path around a man-made circular pond. The plants are generic and sturdy. No slopes or twists. Just a flat circle.
We asked around. Where did people go to walk to see beautiful things and to march their children about? No one had an answer.
We’re lucky enough to live in an old town with sidewalks, so I started walking around the surrounding streets with the child and stroller. Still disgruntled. Until I started looking at the lawns.
Each lawn was its own unique park. Some had orange woodchips and little tuffs of shrubs sticking through. Others had paved circular driveways with ornamental grass spilling out into the street. Some were very Martha with tasteful dwarf evergreens in alternating shades of green. One guy’s house had a potted plant on a tree stump with a couple of faded American flags sticking out.
Each lawn reflected the personality of the homeowner. I have this theory that the owner’s hair always bears a close resemblance to his shrubbery. Big bushes = hippy dude.
I had a great walk today studying the infinite variety of lawns and gardens in the four block circumference of our house. After a weekend of warm weather, the lawns were trimmed for the first time, and the tulips were coming up. Ian sat back in the stroller clutching a half deflated red ball. Marvelous day.
Apt. 11d 
I like your theory. My lawn is all crazy and overgrown, crowded with bushes, trees that I planted because they were native, lots of flowers with bright colors …. I look sort of like that too. I wear mostly the color red and my hair always looks like it needs a haircut.
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Frederick Law Olmstead, no?
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Lovely post, Laura. I love the times we’ve lived in older, close-in suburbs and neighborhoods, because generally what you find is sidewalks which take you pass dozens of laws, tended (or not tended) by different owners over years, sometimes generations. I love well-designed parks, but I think I love well-designed neighborhoods even more–you see how people have used trees, flowers, gardens, grass, dirt to creates little havens for themselves, haven which are also–because they run right up to the street, public in a way: a place to see passers-by, wave, let kids play, maybe even engage in conversation. Newer, further-out suburbs, with huge homes on tiny plots with the lawns behind the homes guarded by huge fences, lack that feeling and beauty.
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ack. Thanks, Ianqui.
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I love, love, love Fort Tryon park. My mom lives right there in Washington Heights, and when I visit, I take my dog for a walk up the stairs to the overlooks and gardens. So beautiful.
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