Nature Lover
Most every day, except for the ones when I try finding ways to shave 5 seconds off my commute, I walk along the side of the Public Garden. It’s a pretty good perk, really, as it’s a beautiful park. Occasionally, I’ve driven to work, and the ideal walking line from the parking lot I choose to work takes me through the Garden.
The Public Garden is a pretty famous place. Even people who’ve never been to Boston have probably heard about the duck pond. I’m sure you read Make Way for Ducklings when you were a kid. Okay, maybe I’m not sure, but you sure should have!
The Public Garden is home of swan boat rides, duckies and squirrels, playing children, no cycling, and plenty of very old trees. It’s a comforting place. I dare you to walk through the Garden with a scowl on your face. You couldn’t keep it in place for more than three steps. You’d crack a smile at the first sight of a family picnic, and be grinning by the time you reached a line of ducklings following their momma duck to the pond.
The Public Garden and it’s next door neighbor, the Boston Common, are the heart of Boston. They make the city a home. They make the city feel alive.
Anyway, most every day, I walk by the Garden. I generally walk slower during that part of my commute. I am easily distracted by pretty things and cute things. Trees and ducklings with such close proximity give me pause.
The sidewalk outside of the Garden gates is laid out in brick. Occasional bricks are missing, making it kind of an adventure to walk along without turning an ankle, but I’m okay with that. Every so many feet (maybe 12?) a purposeful gap in the bricks lets the trunk of an old tree out of the lumpy soil below.
Maybe on your walk into work, you nod greeting to the security guard. Then you make brief acknowledging eye contact with people in passing as you walk the hallway to your cubicle (or office, if you’re cool). You say, “Hello,” to the guy who sits by the entrance to your cube-land (or office area, again, if you’re cool). And then you sit at your desk and start your day.
For me, my nod greeting is to the guy who hands me the Metro (Boston’s free newspaper). Eye contact is out of the question on the T, but once I emerge and start walking along the side of the park, I acknowledge the trees. My hello is to the security guard, oddly enough, and I ride the elevator up to my office as generally the first one in.
This morning, something was awry. One of my tall green and brown friends was missing. Or, rather, the green parts were missing, along with a rather large portion of the brown. He was a stump. His life was sliced away, leaving concentric circles two feet wide standing alone up from the upset soil. My heart sank as I approached.
I sighed, frowned, and muttered, “Oh no!” My pace slowed, as I surveyed the damage. His roots had obviously been upset, leaving a mess of soil and lumps of wood, so dangerous that they had been surrounded with bright yellow caution tape.
As I went past, I saw the problem. Something had knocked into him. I originally suspected the evil wind had dislodged him from the over-soaked ground, but my theory was just a hopeful one to shoo the real reason to the back of my mind.
My friend the tree had been hit by a car.
I do so hope that they will plant a new tree in his place. He will struggle as a sapling under the weight of the responsibility of greeting morning commuters. He will bend with the wind and sag with the weight of the first winter snow. But his sheer will will keep him growing, aspiring to the heights of his neighbors.