*Editor’s note: When I originally began this writing, the vernal equinox had embarked; the first day of Spring. How apt, given the nature of this story. Yes, these puns are intentional, and yes, there will be more.*
As previously mentioned, my life has been encompassed lately by frequenting the local dog park. While the term may conjure imagery of a dusty dirt lot (or on a nasty rainy day, a complete mud pit), ‘dog park’ is a thinly veiled term for an expansive use of Prospect Park during the early hours of the morning. Prospect Park is gorgeous, full of lush plants, grassy fields, surprisingly dense patches of forest, and a congregation of unique wildlife (human, and animal).
With spring in ascension, the flowers are beginning to rear their beautiful little heads. During this transitional purgatory period of winter into spring, I’m reminded of an old sentiment, if not ethos, that I tend to live by.
Prior to living in Ukraine, I flew there for a preliminary visit, to test the waters, so to speak. When I immediately exited the Lviv airport, two of my future compatriots standing beside a beat up Lada, I learned (and now know very well), that Eastern Europe is unlike anywhere else in the world. In a past life, the city of Lviv (located in Western Ukraine), and the surrounding territory, was once part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. The architecture of the city center reflects this, and is quite often juxtaposed against the dreary brutalism of the USSR.
Nevertheless, walking around the city center, attempting to converse with one of the brewery workers, Volodia, he let me in on a secret. As he pointed up, both of us now eyeing skyward, he leaned in close & whispered “If you are ever searching for something beautiful, all you have to do is look up.” addressing the whimsical statues and structures adorning the city. He followed up with “I live in the most beautiful city in the world”, said with stern confidence (These were uttered words I would hear later on in life).
Peering back on this moment with Volodia now, I felt as though I had been shared confidential wisdom, and accepted into the country. I would end up living in Ukraine for almost 3 years.
Despite being on different latitudes, the weather in Lviv was always eerily similar to Portland; with the exception of Lviv providing an actual winter. During the myriad of days of longing for home (Portland) or feeling oblique, upwards gazing always kept me grounded. Missing home was easily homogenized with contemplative existential states; a feeling as though if I stared for long enough & hard enough, I’ll somehow see through the architecture, into the past, as if waiting for a sign, for wisdom. Plus, who doesn’t love admiring historical architecture in a thriving city?
Since my departure from Ukraine, Volodia’s sentiment of ‘looking up’ has been clasped in the theoretical locket surrounding my heart. Now living in Brooklyn/NYC, amidst the hustle & bustle of an (obviously) much more expansive thriving city, one’s attention is strewn about in a multitude of directions like dried bread crumbs for pigeons. Audio and visual stimulations flood your senses constantly the minute you set foot on the sidewalk, causing a perceived vertigo. And while acclimation does eventually happen, I often wonder if your mind still processes the sensory overload subconsciously, but at the cost of numbing or filtering out potential highlights or non-threats. In these profuse moments, I find myself in the reprieve of Prospect Park; royalty amongst the pittance of nature Brooklyn has to offer.
Bird watchers, professional & amateur, are prolific during the winter, as the naked & leafless branches of the trees bear witness to a feast of prey for accessible viewing. From afar, one’s curiosity is piqued as a small crowd often gathers beneath a mighty timber, their necks craned upward, one hand shielding their eyes from the sky’s glare, the other with a finger pointing haphazardly in the direction of the elusive wildlife.
Of course, I often saunter over and join in, curious to what the commotion is all about. All who gaze upwards and onwards are imposed in a trance, the wildlife casting spells upon those who stare in the eyes of the mimicking medusa. More often than not, a red tailed hawk is the culprit, but still pretty neat and captivating. The hypnotism of the wildlife is often broken after a predestined period of consumption has passed, or the owner realizes their dog is somewhere out of sight. Regardless, in this spellbound state, the memory of walking with Volodia greets me like an old friend, as I’m reminded once again of the beauty in looking up.
The ‘viewing’ often gives me a chuckle, and I haven’t given the feeling much leverage until now. Living in a major metropolitan city, there’s something quite surreal & dystopian surrounding the excitement of seeing birds, or any other wildlife, for that matter. We’re often mesmerized by their sudden appearance, as though caught in a latency period of captivation and bewilderment - Fascinated with what they’re doing here, as though they feel out of place, juxtaposed by the city environment. We see these creatures as rarities, gods almost, gracing us with their presence - when they are vastly abundant when you venture outside the city.
Maybe I’m harping on or overthinking a friendly joyous occasion, but nonetheless, the notion does remind me to venture outside the city once and awhile. Though, I can confidently say the same privilege isn’t given to rats or cockroaches - the true original citizens of New York.
Side note: Prospect Park even had a bald eagle a few months back, which was met with astonishment & absolute chaos. As it swept over a part of the field I was frequenting, a local park goer shouted “IT’S HERE PEOPLE! THE EAGLE HAS LANDED!”. While I would like to consider myself a lover of all birds, anytime a bald eagle is referenced, I’m reminded of what their call actually sounds like. Queue disenchantment, a loss of innocence, and how the veracious call of the bald eagle is astonishingly analogous to the current state of the US. Oops, soapbox.
This past week, on an overcast Monday morning, Greta and I traversed the Long Meadow portion of Prospect Park, as we often do as part of our morning routine. Once Greta had played to her heart’s content, and the pleasantries between dog owners were exchanged, we made our way back home, carefully avoiding inordinate puddles for potential ‘swims’. As the muddy field expanded out before us, trees adorning either side, my eyes scanned the empty branches for signs of life - the spectacle conjuring up Volodia’s thoughts.
The spell was immediately broken by an inquiry from an external voice. “Were you looking to see if the flowers were in bloom?” Turning around, the sound originated from an elderly woman in a comically large winter parka, who had stopped a few feet away from us. Beside her was an elderly, though extremely sweet, yellow lab with a big ol’ smile across its face, tongue daintily hanging out. As the two dogs greeted each other through the common dog gesture of butt sniffing, I recognized the woman immediately; she’s a local here in Park Slope/Prospect Park, as are many of the characters one comes to encounter in a place such as NYC.
Anytime I’ve passed interactions between herself and others, I’ve observed how she knows every. single. person. - and they know her! Those people she may not know, a friendship is created within seconds. Her effortless personability is endearing and something to be admired. A living legend, for sure.The only encounter with her prior had been her remarking how Greta was ‘so skinny’ and ‘she must be so hungry!’ as she was divvying out treats to circling dogs. The interaction was, at best, off putting, and a bit impersonal. Now, all was about to change.
Confusion must have flushed across my face, as she launched into a whole explanation about the tree. “Oh, maybe you don’t know! You were looking at it like we’ve talked about it before. It’s a very nondescript tree - dogs pee all over it, and you would pass the tree without even knowing how beautiful it truly is! Do you know what kind of tree it is?” Acknowledging I was in the presence of this legend, I mustered up some confidence while peering up at, yes, a definite nondescript tree. Telling her I had no idea, she explained it was a tulip poplar, one of few in the park. “But do you know what makes them so special? The flowers themselves.”
Pulling out her phone, she scrolls back through her photo timeline, explaining how the buds & the flower conclean themselves in plain sight during the spring, as the color is a green indistinguishable to the poplar’s leaves. A smirk runs across her face as she finds a photo of the flower “See how beautiful it is? You wouldn’t have known if I never stopped you!” She’s full of pride.
“Now, everytime you pass this tree - I’m assuming you walk here quite often, yes? I’ve seen you before - remember to look up! For the flowers, they appear to be hiding, but don’t worry, they are coming!”
Tulip Poplar flower (Thx Wikipedia)
Before we walked our separate ways, she handed Greta a treat, remarking, once again, how hungry she must be. As I thanked her for revealing the poplar, she said “Yes, of course! I want to tell the whole world about this tree! Just promise you’ll remember to look up!” I laughed and promise her, without a doubt, I would.
The exchange left me experiencing a tinge of deja vu. Volodia’s sentiment had traveled through the Noosphere (layperson’s explanation: a theoretical highway where human thoughts travel through the air) and landed years later in Brooklyn within the mind of this woman. With the duration of my winter occupancy of the park spent searching for wildlife in the trees, my own mind would soon be transitioning to spring. Soon, my eyes would be searching for the camouflaged petals of the tulip poplar, along with the bounty of other delicious blooms. The season of spring can be represented in so many cliche ways, but the words ‘new beginnings’ have always been endearing in my mind.
Signs of life
Walking home, mulling over the exchange and related emotions, a faint sensation of elation ran across my body. Within this interaction between the Park Slope legend and myself, was an initiation into the neighborhood. While the notion may be superfluous to some, I had been pining for some sort of neighborhood ‘acceptance’, since moving into Park Slope.
While the ultimate reason for occupying the park on such ‘rigorous’ occasions is dog walking, there lay a secret motivation to feel ‘seen’. A few weeks prior, the primary coffee shop I frequent *finally* remembered my order upon walking in, after daily attendance for the past couple months. Pretty cool. At their core, these interactions seamlessly transition to a welcome feeling & connection. They’re a fun and divine simple pleasure, necessary in life.
A few days later, we strolled past the tulip poplar, once again searching for buds of life. While there was no formation quite yet, we instead found our living legend explaining the mystery of the tree to an unsuspecting group. Their initiation had begun.
During these moments, these encounters, these interactions, the commotion and chaos of the city are muffled. At the end of the day, one can easily say nature, and the community one finds themselves in, really does have a profound effect on mental health and well-being. All you have to do is look up.
3 Great Bands To Dive Into (Via Bandcamp!)
Sugar Horse - The Live Long After (Doom metal from the UK)
Maria Elena - Es De Fantasía (Jazz flamenco)
Restorations - Restorations (Philly rockers blend a lot of great elements & genres together)
3 Good Things Lately
- Recently started a voice over class, after being peer pressured (joking) long enough by those around me be lost in the reverie of my voice. Defintely will be helpful with some projects down the pipeline!
- Saw the band Cheekface at the Bowery Ballroom last Friday. One of my favorite concerts in the last couple years.
Cheekface teaching us to cha cha real smooth
- The amount of emotions I traveled through while reading this printer
I feel like I would have to sleep with my eyes open if I took this home
Google Map Reviews
Enjoying this segment and have found many more:
Album Covers
Sometimes I get into a groove of turning images into album covers for fun. Greta was my muse this session, and I leaned heavy into the emotive dread & existentialism:
All For Now
See you soon, and don’t forget to look up from time to time. You might see something beautiful. Cornelius
PS: While compiling/writing this post, I enjoyed the companionship of the band Fleet Foxes (more specifically, Crack-Up (my definitive spring album)), this opinion piece on changing our perspective on climate change from doom to a slower pace of community living, and the word ‘eunoia’ (a feeling of goodwill).