On a mid-autumn morning, I took a trip to the large park on Vaughn Road. Aside from a brief visit to the art museum, this was my first time at the park, and it was my first experience in any park in The South. Having previously driven through it, I knew not to expect much in the way of trees or plant variety, but walking the grounds I was still surprised at just how sparse the "nature" was here. I felt more like I was intruding on a golf course than observing nature.
I started gardening two years ago as part of my foray into self-sufficiency. My focus was primarily on growing edibles, but I soon discovered that many so-called "wild" plants, including natives, had a lot of medicinal uses. This led me to spend hours researching a lot of the local plants, which then led to my being able to recognize what used to all look like weeds to me.
All this to say that the median on Taylor Road has a wider variety of "natural" wildflower than does the park on Vaughn Road. The large expanse of land in the park seems ideal for allowing the local plant-life to do its thing, but instead it's all manicured grass.
There is, I'm told, a "Shakespeare Garden," but it was locked up the morning of my trip. When one questions what nature really is, I suppose the answer depends in part on what region it comes from. For me, nature is as wild and unkempt as is reasonable. For others, nature is a grassy lot as opposed to a paved lot.
As for me, I do my best to keep a piece of nature where I live, even if where I live is a small apartment on the edge of the city. I have a number of edibles in pots on my patio, plants that I mostly allow to do their own thing, and they help take the edge off of the impeccably groomed lawn beyond my domicile. It's my version of nature vs "their" version, I suppose.
The park did boast an abundance of wildlife, namely ducks of different varieties. Most of these types I had never seen, and my professor and I wondered if they had been brought in from other parts of the world, or if they had just settled in a spot where they could reliably find food off of generous visitors. These ducks inspired a poem--more for my son than for myself--, which I would like to share below:
Duck: you would taste wonderful in my curry,
Duck: your fat is good to fry with,
Duck: your feathers fill my pillow,
Duck: why you look like a chicken,
Duck: can you even fly?
Duck: your orange feet are stupid,
Duck: what are they even there for?
Duck: you don't need anymore crackers,
Duck: you are fat.
Duck: your voice is annoying, but it echoes,
Duck: I get skittish when you surround me,
Goose.