Friday, January 25th 2013

I left the house this morning with the intention to go to class, answer a few emails, and mail a letter home. In the middle of class, I lost focus on what my professor was saying. Outside the old, heavy windows of the hot, dry classroom snow was falling. Lightly at first. Enough to leave a thin layer on the sidewalks and the bushes in front of the window. At 10:20, when I was free from sitting in the classroom the rest of the afternoon, I grabbed my bag and headed out into the snow.

My first thought was, "I'll go home and bundle up and drink a cup of coffee." Instead I walked down Maryland, past my house and on my way to Baum Grove. I was giddy to see what it looked like with the fresh snow. The walk to Baum was filled with bumper to bumper traffic on fifth and slush that collects on the corner of the streets. It was messy, and noisy, and the snow flew into my face and stuck on the lenses of my glasses. I was thankful when I couldn’t hear the horns honking or tires rolling over the sloppy slush and I saw the army of trees surrounding the park.

Baum Grove was blanketed in white and as I got closer I realized it was untouched. My tracks on the path leading to the small garden would be the first. Underneath my boots the clean snow sounded that familiar crunch that makes me miss home terribly. Those infamous Minnesota negative temperature nights where it would lightly snow. I’d shuck on my boots, winter coat, and a pink, purple hat that resembled a dragon’s tail and venture out into the silence of the falling snow. For a while I'd walk along the clean slate of snow making smily faces or peace signs and that crunch would sound. 

When I reached the benches around the garden, I brush off the thin layer of snow with my mitten and sat down huddling my elbows into my sides and looked up. A mix of grey and white in several shades mirrored that of the ground below. Every branch of the trees housed piles of snow and only the tips of the still green grass poked above the layer of snow. Baum looked sprinkled with powdered sugar and perhaps if I stayed too long I’d develop a sweet tooth for the delicious way the snow makes everything look magical.

On the other side of the park, near a small crab tree were a flock of birds hopping around in the snow. Every few seconds the birds would lower their heads to the ground and peck at the grass. Through the curtain of snow I noticed the burnt orange breasts and almost blue hue of the top feathers. Robins. Another type of bird joined them as well. It had a long, slender beak with white spotted bellies and leaner bodies than the Robins. I couldn’t identify the birds, but their colors stood out in the white snow beneath their feet.

One robin in particular kept flying from the snow to a branch in the tree and back again. Every time a bird would invade the robin’s space he would fly out of the tree and chase off the intruder and then fly back into the tree. He did this seven times before the flock flew away.

I sat for a while longer on the bench staring at the spot the robin had been guarding. It was odd enough to see robin’s in January, but to see one protecting a place or object that wasn’t his nest was peculiar. After several frozen minutes I decided I was beginning to resemble a snow man and gathered my bag. Before I left the parklet behind, I snuck up to the crab tree and tried to find out what robin was keeping safe. In the minutes I had been sitting on the bench, collecting snow, the footprints of the birds were gone and a new sheet of snow covered that little treasure the robin was protecting.

Saturday, January 19th, 2013

     I sit away from the main area of Baum Grove Parklet so I can observe the small landscape and blend into the nature that sits in the middle of a neighborhood in Shadyside.  I’m trying to blend into the vines that crawl up the side of the apartment building that faces the entire park. For a moment I’m stunned that in January, I’m able to sit on green grass in just my polar fleece. This Pittsburgh weather is unlike any other climate I’ve lived in. Where are the snow banks that transform the flat landscape into small mountains? Where are the snowflakes that fall in clumps the size of quarters and the wind that blows so cold every breath brings on an undiagnosed round of asthma? It is January and I am sitting in green grass with the sun warming my cheeks and hands observing the smallest park I’ve ever witnessed.

     It’s hard to tell that behind the trees there is a neighborhood. The trunks of the trees are not thick. Not nearly as thick as some of the Elm trees I’ve seen growing along the boulevard back home in Minneapolis. However the lining of this park makes up in abundance of trees rather than the size of the bark. Above the trunks the branches tangle between one another as if holding hands or joining arms to keep the houses, buildings, street signs, and city out. The trees only seem to let in the clear sky and sunshine that are rare in the steel city.When the wind does blow that branches collide making several cracks and creaks.
     I’m so mesmerized by the trees that I almost forget I’m still sitting in a park next to a green garbage can. I’m surprised to find that the grass around me is clear of candy wrappers or cigarette butts. I oddly seem to be the only piece of material, besides the garbage can, that is occupying the grass. I am also the only human being that has been in the park for the past twenty minutes.

     I find it odd that no one else has entered the park or was here when I arrived shortly after noon. No one is sitting on the benches that circle a small garden in the center of the park. Not one dog being walked along the pathway from one end of the park to the other. There are no children zig-zagging between the trees or attempting to climb the one maple that has branches low enough to grab a hold of. Why is no one taking advantage of the beautiful weather and the green space available right in the city? 

 I can hypothesize and imagine all the possible scenarios as to why no one in the neighborhood is experiencing the parklet. For now I'll just hope that sometime in the days I'm not here, sitting in the grass with the trees to guard me, someone will venture to this park.