Central to the Park

Sometimes what we’re looking for is at the end of our nose, right in front of us, or right outside our front door. So the saying goes.

I travel to New York more than a few times a year and, no matter what the occasion; I always take a stroll through Central Park. It amazes me:  lush, natural, an island in a sea of sidewalks and skyscrapers; it is the perfect setting from movies to marriages. Even with mountains just beyond my front door in Marin I always think how lucky New Yorkers are for having Central Park.

Recently I was presenting the Let’s Go Chipper!(tm) series during the New York Green Expo and a father mentioned how living in NY keeps his kids from experiencing nature. He happily purchased every product we had on display to the delight of his four year old flipping through the pages of “Out to Sea with Sally,” a recent book release. I mentioned that he had one of the most amazing open spaces in the country and, in fact, Central Park launched the urban parks movement in the mid 1800’s. Oh, the things that make you go “huh.”

“Central Park is for the tourists,” he replied. Needless to say I was up on my soap box, momentarily, to confirm with this father:  his responsibility to his children included the importance of connecting them with nature. Then I looked down at his daughter and asked if she wanted to see some turtles. She said “yes.” Then I asked had she ever chased squirrels, climbed sparkly rocks, or chased clouds. A shy “no,” was her reply.  Her dad raised a brow and shrugged I was a “tree hugger” but I could tell he was a dad who adored his little daughter.

I mentioned that in less than a New York minute he could go to www.centralparknyc.org and see why Central Park is such a landmark in the big apple. But to his daughter I whispered, “Or you could just tug your daddy’s arm when you leave the building and head left just a few blocks.” She giggled, I smiled, and daddy was on his way.

 

What's this about life in a New York minute?

Vista Point

My girls love visiting family so it’s not a farfetched idea for us to pack up spontaneously and drive the six plus hours to Los Angeles or Orange County to visit grandparents, cousins, and friends. With over 36 relatives within 45 miles of each other, my girls are ready to go. Most people think we’re crazy to drive the 5 freeway because, to them, “there is nothing to see.”

But springtime delivered us a picture perfect drive and we found ourselves tuning into music that had us belting out show tunes, Dolly Parton, and a little bit of Hannah Montana. Even when we broke down to put in a movie, the girls couldn’t help being distracted by the vast fields with poppies that continued to bloom all the way up hills and mountains.

When the road did become flat and seemingly desolate we were given the quintessential meaning of springtime: babies! We saw calves and baby lambs running free, chasing each other, nursing and sometimes just nestled next to their mothers. It was amazing to see such playful life out on the land so many just drive by without stopping to take a look.

I realized that every few miles there was a sign reading “Vista Point”. I wondered how many people pulled off to take a look and I was grateful for the people who paved the road years ago and were thoughtful enough to realize this was land that should be viewed.

Most of us are more likely to pull off at one of the pop up convenience exits and grab a Happy Meal, fill up, and hit the road again. It’s ingrained in me since childhood that we stop for gas, and snack from the provisions packed.  With my two girls singing in the backseat munching on the goodies packed we decided a new tradition would be to pull to the top of a Vista Point and for once just stop to enjoy the view.

This Day Rocks!

Though spring is officially more than a month away, the early time change and a welcomed break in the rainy weather seemed to lighten everyone’s mood today. Even after a wrong turn and no Garmen to show me how to get home, I chose to just go with the road while my girls kept worrying out loud over our predicament. That is until we came upon the most incredible playground alongside a marsh we’d never explored.

With dog in tow we took the path for a while hoping to see some of the birds mentioned on the welcome sign. Accompanied by Mallards and Mud Hens in the water, with incredible shape-shifting marshmallow clouds above, we followed the meandering path until we reached the far end of the playground. The girls immediately raced to this incredible apparatus, worthy of an Outward Bound course, full of kids swinging and dangling trying to get to the center of what looked like a spider’s web. One child hollered out “Como estas hombres” and I laughed at Avery questioning if the three year old had just called her a boy.

Dropping to the ground, Callie dashed to a section of the playground that seemed to be calling her name. She was immediately joined by another girl and I smiled at her mother, also pondering the instant connection. The girls, undeterred by the language barrier, simultaneously started digging. Callie suddenly screamed and lifted up her arm; her hand clenched tight in a fist. She raced over to me and opened up her wet, sandy hands. “It’s the most beautiful rock in the world,” she exclaimed. Frankly, it looked like a snail that had been crushed and rolled in sand and I cautiously touched it hoping I was wrong. I was.

Callie sat with her rock marveling at the “specialness” of it. Setting it on my bag, she dashed back to her new friend and knelt down to resume scooping. I cleaned up the rock and the few more that Callie brought with pleas of keeping them all. I sat next to the family of rocks so thoughtfully lined up and smiled at what looked like my Pet Rock collection from a craze that took over the country when I was a child. How ironic: my younger self had stormed like so many other kids to the stores searching for the same treasures my daughter had just uncovered in the sand, and in the company of a new friend.

This great serendipitous moment was not lost on my girls who proclaimed: “this day rocked” as we walked the path back to the car where my phone sat blinking with a text message from my husband wondering if we had found our way home.