grateful for those who keep our parks clean, safe, and ready to use
From a concept that occurred to me during a simple trail walk four years ago to yesterday’s national celebration, I am thrilled with the attention and gratitude it brings from all over the country to all those who keep our parks and public spaces clean, safe, and ready to use. These unsung heroes deserve it!
It is these committed behind-the-scenes workers who ensure that when:
your family goes swimming, the lifeguards are well-trained and the water quality is optimal.
your grandchild visits the playground, you know it is maintained to all safety standards.
your loved one with a disability wants to camp, swim, paddle or fish, all facilities are well-marked, well-maintained and easily accessible.
you attend a public festival, all safety and security systems are capable and functioning.
your elderly parents look for enriching and companionable activities, they can always find them.
your children attend day camp, you are certain of their safe and appropriate physical, cognitive and social development.
you visit urban woodlands, gardens and greenspaces, the attractive assets are well-cared for and healthy.
your teens participate in youth sports, they thrive in the coaching, playing, and growing.
you want to bike to the park, grocery store, library or work, you are able to make those connections, free from all hazards.
I was privileged to attend one of those public celebrations, hear a local Proclamation honoring their staff, and present a commemorative plaque to my colleagues of the Carlisle Borough Parks and Recreation Department at their community pool.
But if you missed yesterday’s occasion, you don’t need to wait until the next third Friday in July. Next time you visit a park, consider it a tribute to your local park and recreation providers to just mention a little thanks to the programmer, manager, maintainer, landscaper, facilitator, lifeguard, coach, event organizer or caretaker.
Coronas are formed by an interference pattern of light diffracted through tiny water droplets in the atmosphere. At times, up to three coronas, each with its series of blue-green-red rings, may concentrically appear around the center reddish-brown ring, called the aureole.
When photographing them, it’s best to block the sun so it doesn’t overpower the exposure. I have purposely enhanced the vibrancy in these images to more easily see the rings. They were captured today at 11:53 am as a high bank of altostratus overspread my house. (Search Amazon for my book Kaleidoscope Sky for more on such spectacular optical phenomena.)
I had a weird dream, which is normal for me, but unusually long. It had many connected parts, but the remarkable thing was how detailed some of the apparently important observations were. I told Carol I would write it down. “Why? So you can terrorize people?”
Scene 1. Choir practice outside on what appeared to be an elevated bed-like grassy platform. People were standing, sitting and lounging to sing. Our new choir director gave us new music with the cover filled with mostly words of different sizes and type. Near the bottom it told of Carol and me when we had our music ministry. I didn’t really read it, but I noticed it used my rovingnature email address. “Carol Rupp” was displayed in large serif font all by itself. So this must have gone way back. “Did you know about this?” I asked the choir director. She didn’t answer me, but sort-of smiled.
Scene 2. There were stones and sticks on the front edge of the bed-platform that I raked off with my hands. A planted non-descript flower in a cup appeared and I moved it to a nearby flower bed. The flower came out of the inch-deep black soil in the cup, appearing to be a long tube of some sort, with no visible roots—odd—but I put it back in and then placed the cup on the ground. Lot of good that would do.
Scene 3. Lunch at a round table: Carol, me, a non-identified person. I was quiet because I was astounded and humbled that anyone would remember our work from years ago and publish it on the front of a piece of choral music. Then there was something that covered my head, I think.
Scene 4. Waiting in a classroom with carpeting and no windows for the teachers of the NRPA Directors school to arrive. We stood and applauded when they entered through the door at the front right corner of the room. Everybody was good-naturedly teasing someone who was standing next to me. She had long red hair that hung in front of her red face. I whispered that it would be alright.
Scene 5. Cows. A mischievous brown and white Hereford calf had gotten away so I and a few others went to find it. We found it at the edge of a pasture just inside a wood and wire gate. There were 2 other Holstein milk cows there whose udders were so full they were touching the ground. So they were led away. Someone asked me to fetch the calf, so I did, but to return to where we were going, we both had to crawl through a shallow white-painted plywood box, about the size of a conductor’s podium—about four feet wide, about 6 feet long and a foot high. The hole on the back side, which is where we entered, was bigger than that on the front side. There were partitions inside. But the exit hole to crawl through on the front side was much smaller. I don’t know how the calf got through, but I couldn’t even fit my head in it. Apparently important: the rough-cut hole was square with round corners (it looked like it had been cut by hand with a coping saw), but on the right side had a narrow slot cut into it, about 2 inches from the bottom, that curved up and to the right. Obviously for my fingers to fit into to help pull me through, even though I was still holding the red leash to the calf ahead of me. I finally pushed through, popping the (apparently important) 6-penny common nails holding the lid on to emerge on the front side. (In retrospect, I don’t know why we had to crawl through it when we could have just walked over it, but Rationality never accompanies me in my dreams.) Merge into:
Scene 6. My leash was no longer attached to the calf, but to a very long, rather large model train extending 30 feet or so long that was moving through a paved playground area, where older kids had come for recess. Apparently important: the leash was attached to the train with a nice new, shiny, medium-sized snap hook. That end of the now very-long leash was blue. A teacher came out and scolded the kids for doing that to me. Not that he (meaning me) minded, but the next person to emerge from the box with a calf on a leash might. And that would be rude.
On waking I told Carol everything I could remember. What does it all mean?
