Memorial Park reverie

Sumter, S.C., 4/9/02, 9:30 am

I was sitting on my favorite bench under the big tulip tree in Sumter’s Memorial Park late Monday afternoon, a windy day in April filled with Constable clouds in a constantly changing sky. The fountain splashed water near a flowering crabapple. To the left of the bench were unusual white wisteria blooms, whose subtly sweet fragance I was soon to inhale as I began my walk along the sandy, circular path through the park.

I sat there in a kind of reverie, as I am prone to indulge while visiting this park in the small city where my mother grew up, and where I spent many happy summer and Christmas vacations.

We return here to visit as often as we can. A rare reunion occurred Monday of my brother, my sister from Edmonds, WA, and her two children, my mother and myself descending on my aunt’s house, my mother’s older sister who has lived here most of her 90 years. It is rare for all three of us siblings to be together.

My mother recalls Memorial Park from her childhood in the 1920s and ’30s, and says it always seemed like such a huge and grand expanse of park back then, and now it appears so small. Isn’t that the way it is when we think back to our childhoods? How everything seemed bigger, farther, grander in our imaginations and in our smaller versions of reality? Small, yes, but to me those 10 acres of trees and shrubs and open space in the middle of the town’s historic district are the perfect place to take nice, contemplative walks. It is a little green oasis.

As I was sitting there the other day, I was mesmerized by the beauty of spring all around me. In Charleston 100 miles to the southeast, the glorious season has ambled past its prime flowering, but in Sumter the azaleas and dogwoods are still in bloom. So it is like having a second spring to enjoy. I looked around at the big Victorian house at the edge of the park with the grand old porch and rocking chairs. The house is surrounded by azaleas and oaks. I held my gaze for awhile on the scene of the porch and azaleas and could picture myself there in the early decades of the last century. That what this place always does to me. It transports me back in time.

I can also picture a bandstand in the middle of the park, under the towering magnolia tree near the rose garden, and a Sunday summer afternoon band concert with Sousa music and pieces from earlier decades of the 19th century. Or, I can imagine that the bandstand once stood under the cluster of Southern red oak trees, probably 150 years old now, and severely damaged when the winds of Hurricane Hugo swept through 13 years ago, but now covered with new branches and crowns of leaves, sprouted from the trimmed and cut-off limbs of the old trees in the aftermath of the storm, and in the weeks-long clean-up. The new leaves on the trees are now at their most beautiful stage, pale green and fresh — the very essence of new life in spring.

After the family had all headed back to Charleston later that afternoon, I made my way to the park, savoring the quiet and solitude, but missing the brief reunion we always look forward to when J__ comes from Edmonds for a visit.

It’s warm today, going up to 80 degrees. I think I’ll take a another walk in the park before getting on the road and returning to Charleston. It’s been nice to get away for a while and relive other times and places.

There are places that seem to be an envelope of time, where it only takes quiet observation to pick your era. I hope you took the walk. Wonderful, as always.

AzureBloom

April 10, 2002

I so much appreciated the links, particularly the visualization of “Constable clouds” (they really are distinct formations, aren’t they?). How lucky you are to have had a second spring. Funny that you’ve had two and we’re still behind, here in the midwest! Beautiful descriptions, as always. Thanks so much.

That Oak tree is simply stunning…I’ve always loved weeping trees, willows and such. But the Oak always seems to fill the sky without being obnoxious or overpowering.

Love the links… (things always seem more authoritative when they include citations 😉 .) RYN: No, I don’t. Not a one. Credit card companies seek out college students as customers in the hopes that the young, irresponsible students will use the cards to excess, get themselves into debt, and have their inflated interest payments paid off by their parents. Conspiratorial, but true.

… Anyway, I haven’t needed a credit card for anything yet, and I never saw any reason to open myself up to that kind of risk.

I love your entries. I lost my big Bradford Pear Tree in my back yard to an ice storm this winter. It is just a twig now. Even big and old trees have a life span. Love,

Edelweis

What a peaceful and beautiful entry Oswego! And I liked the links very much. It’s amazing to see how these trees are fighting for their life after bad “Hugo” came along and tried to destroy them. I am full of wonder and respect for that and at the same time it’s teaching us about the power of nature. Why are so many people closing their eyes, and often try to destroy nature by themselves?

Enjoy J’s visit. Hope the “benjamin” is having a nice and joyful time now! Take care,

zhnee

April 11, 2002

Sumter sounds gorgeous in the Spring. Here, the trees are just beginning to “dress out.” We’ve had much rain and it is happening so quickly. ryn: Dad crosses my lines quite often and I find myself backing up and moving them. But there are just some lines that are mine and I will not move. I don’t understand why one who gave so little expects (no – demands) so much.

Soft Paws

It is always such a wonderful feeling to gather together with family and then relish old memories and to make new ones. It almost has the feeling of time halting and nothing moves to fast. In the collective memories of family is a special joy. Once again, a most beautiful and moving entry, my friend!

Such beautiful writing!!

Willy & Wilma

April 12, 2002

Just checking out FEEOD

How did I miss this entry? Lovely, as always Oswego.

Oh, Oswego–you don’t know how long I’ve waited for a valued reader to offer something other than the standard how nice or that was beautiful. If criticism had to come, friend, trust me–I’m glad it came from you. My only wish is that your criticism had been about something else: writing craft, errors in logic, or something of the sort. Something helpful.

And I’m sure you have your reasons for saying the things you said, just as I have my reasons for doing the things that provoked your notes. I feel like I should defend my position with reasons, yet I know it’s fruitless; we obviously have varying opinions on the subject. Sharing your diary with a loved one might not be your cup of tea, but it suits me right to the core. Addy and I share

everything. I can’t for the life of me find any harm in that. And, come on–we don’t do it because it’s cute. For us, it’s just another method of communication, sometimes more immediate than conversation could ever hope to be. There, I’ve done it; spouted off reasons when I said I wouldn’t. Take care of you.

As for the railroad–you’re absolutely right. I wouldn’t trade what I saw for anything, not even for all the prettiness of the inner city and the highways. There is a certain beauty in what I saw along those tracks that simply can’t be overlooked, true; but there was also a certain sadness, just as there is a certain sadness in the train’s whistle–the sound of flailing hope. On another

day I might have perceived all of this in an entirely different way. That’s the hidden beauty of a diary, though, isn’t it? We get to take the less-travelled road through our own lives, view things under the various lenses of mood. Like I said, I wouldn’t trade those visions for anything. Perhaps the translation from mind to “paper” was flawed. . . .

RYN: No apologies. As I said, if criticism must come, I’d rather it come from you. And I’m working on another entry which just begs for criticism, I’m sure. *laughs* Good night.

forever in motion

April 26, 2002

I read this awhile ago, but got intrigued following the links, plus the long chain of notes above, so apparently I didn’t leave a note. I’m here and will try to be more responsible about noting from now on. Reading forward…