On either side of summer, there are tulips in the spring emerging from slumber on side gardens, and in the fall, there are other wonders, such as dahlias that astound people with their perfection. They cause you to ask fundamental questions such as: How does nature itself end up producing such marvelous things?
Incredibly, most of the work in the park is done by volunteers from the community. People do it because they believe in beauty, community, and the mission. They simply will not let the dream die. There is too much tradition here to let it just languish from neglect and then die and be sold to the highest bidder. That could easily have happened.
I’m giving you this background so you can understand the implications of the following. I was just there. With winter settling in, I had supposed that all the action would be over. The roses are dead, the tulips already collected in bulbs and planted deep for the next spring, the annual garden ploughed up, and the perennials cut back.
I expected to see nothing.
Instead, there was something stunning. The volunteer staff had come to wrap pine garland around all the trellises. Each had ropes to tie these branches down in a decorative way. I drew in breath as I imagined people with ladders and bushels of branches and rope, climbing up and down hundreds of times to provide a seasonal touch.
The work of doing this is humble, laborious, unremunerated, and utterly unnecessary in utilitarian terms. It’s a pure act of civilizational defiance against entropy and despair.
Winters in New England are hard, even sad and dreary. The days grow short, and the weather keeps you indoors. The snow comes and introduces new challenges. You make it through the holidays thanks to parties and family, but then comes the hard part: two to three more months of suffering while waiting for spring.
The great question of these months is what to do to keep the spirits up, to make it through with your sense of hope alive. Those with funds bail for Florida beaches. Others head out to cabins to play board games and stoke fires. But most people just have to make do with what they have.
Back to the garden. It would be easy enough not to put up the garland. Who really needs it? The people who slog through the gardens in the winter would be just fine without all the fuss. The dead branches from roses are not unsightly. But, no, volunteers wanted to do something all year for this wonderful space.
And to be sure, there are certain visitors guaranteed to come in winter. There is a grassy area on a hill in the park. When it snows, it is perfect for sledding, which people do. They keep their wooden and plastic sleds around all year.
When the snow comes, rather than moping around about it, the men attach the plows to the trucks and head out at 4 a.m. to get the roads clean before business starts. The kids burst with excitement and beg to go sledding.
Elizabeth Park is not private. There are no fees to get in. It is part of the commons, which is to say that it belongs to everyone. It is safe and not degraded in any way. Any day of the year, people are there with kids and dogs and families. They are playing and doing photo shoots in the picturesque areas.
We live in times when many cities have pretty well given up on providing elevated experiences in the commons. The rich are retreating to tremendously expensive private clubs. They fly privately and live in walled estates. Cities are not safe in many places, and they are degraded. New York City gave up on public restrooms, and restaurants hide theirs, strictly reserved for paying customers only.
We have to face the reality, however, that a society without safe and beautiful common spaces that are well maintained and inspiring is not really civilization. This is why places such as Elizabeth Park are an inspiration. They offer hope.
This is especially true in winter, when it is hardest to care and difficult to find a way to leave a human mark of creativity. Somehow this year—I suspect that this is the first of many in which the garlands made an appearance—the community came together to keep even the hardest months livable and beautiful.
Above all else, the garden is the real challenge. The garland is the answer. Maybe too there will be lights. I shall wait and see.
The symbolism here is important. Three seasons offer fine weather, sun, leaves, and flowers to bring delight. It’s the winter that demands creativity. If we can make it through with our spirits and imagination intact, we have achieved something mighty.
Hence my theory: It’s in winter that civilization takes root.
If we can be civilized in winter, the rest is easy. Winter in this case also serves as a common metaphor for down times in general. It stands for darkness, disappointment, and difficulty. It’s the absence of obvious signs of love. It’s the termination, the material deprivation, the death. It’s the reminder of the grimmer aspects of the flow of life.
If we can do it in winter, the rest is easy. Even the attempt makes us stronger for the rest of the year. It’s the trial and test, one we must take and embrace with determination to overcome. So too in life.
Bless these volunteers who refuse to give up fighting the good fight against the tendency of everything to fall apart, against the temptation to despair, against the cold and other elements, and for the good life. It is to them that falls the obligation to rebuild.
