Field Note #1: Park Note
Clark Park.
Walking toward it, I already feel calmer - my breath becomes deeper, my pace slows, and I smile. The enormous trees reach out above my head, creating a little haven, a sanctuary for this neighborhood.
This is the center of West Philly, a hub for community and connection, a reminder that the strangers around you are people too. The farmers market is bustling and vendors line the edge of the park, half of them probably impromptu and unregistered, but nobody cares. The smell of roasting meat wafts through the trees, and for a moment I wish I wasn’t vegetarian.
I walk along the paths, past the small encampment near the statue, past the dozens of men playing chess on homemade boards, just pieces of plywood on top of crates, the wood peeling from the years of weather and use. Kids play on the same marble turtle that I did when i was little. Two different people ask if I’m registered to vote - I smile and say I’m not able to vote yet, but don’t worry, it can’t come soon enough.
The usual group of kids hitting each other with foam swords play across from an adult sword fighting class, practicing in the grass, their blades slicing the air. I grin, seeing the parallel.
The sunlight lands on the people seated at the tables, and everything feels okay.
Like maybe this is what life is about - walking through the park you grew up in, knowing it’s still beautiful and vibrant, a home for compassionate, unique people. A place to run into friends you haven’t seen in a while, a place to recover and be rejuvenated by nature and people-watching.
I take a seat in the grass, surrounded by a community of strangers, walking their dogs, playing volleyball, and buying cabbage. I am content.