
I don't know what angered me the most today. I decided once again to devote some time to a park in my hometown, and found that, once again, walking into a park in this community with a smile on my face and a sense of exploratory anticipation is just a bad idea from the start.
Maybe it was the piles and piles of discarded arbor vitaes that did it to me. A landscaper, or somebody who handles a lot of ornamental trees and shrubs, has obviously been using this public park as a dumping ground for unwanted yard plants. Strike one.
But perhaps it was the roofer who has been dumping piles of used asphalt shingles throughout the park, right alongside the trails. They're melting into the earth, slowly dissolving as the years pass. Strike two.
Then again, maybe it was the proliferation of used automobile tires that seem to sit in every patch of open water, in every brook. Or the traffic cones. Or the metal folding chairs. Or perhaps it was the places where I could stand in one spot and could between 50 and 100 beer cans. Or maybe it was the spot where the trail abruptly ends because an abutting property holder has decided to use the park as a place to dump his or her yard waste. Strike three.
Despite the blatant trampling of nature taking place here and the community leadership's obvious lack of respect for its parks, what is most frustrating is the untapped potential for interpretation of this place. The bedrock here puts on quite a show as one pokes around. A red-tailed hawk flew from a tree as I walked the main road in the misting rain. An old set of concrete pillars tell of at least one structure that used to stand in these woods. A chunk of striped skunk fur provided a perfect mystery. What was desperate or crazy enough to attack a skunk? Even the powerline that runs through the park has a story to tell. The park was dedicated in 1964, and the powerline built five years later, but on a plan that pre-dated the creation of the park.
One pile of rocks led me to do some thinking. They were of a different color, and in too big of a pile to be where they were naturally. As I could hear Route 3 rushing by I took a side trail to take a peek at the highway. Sure enough, the rocks in the pile matched a blasted corridor of the highway. The rocks in the pile even bore drilled holes where the dynamite would have been placed.
And finally, what of the story of the man for whom the park was named so long ago? The park doesn't give any indication of who he was. Walter James Gagnon was a Seaman First Class with the United States Naval Reserve, fighting in World War II, and residing permanently at 23 Clapp Avenue, just to the north of the park. He gave his life for his country on August 14, 1944, and is buried at Fort Bonifacio, Manila, Philippine Islands. He earned the Purple Heart with Oak Leaf Cluster (which means he was wounded twice as a result of enemy action, in his case the second wound being fatal).
If nothing else, shouldn't this park be a reflection of the community's reverence for one of its own who offered the ultimate sacrifice on their behalf? I'm sorry, Seaman Gagnon. You deserve much more than this.
Time: 52 minutes.
New species: Mushroom: amber jelly roll (4).
Stranger hellos: None.
What else is happening: signed some copies of my book on the North River for the South Shore Natural Science Center's gift shop; was interviewed by the Boston Globe and South Shore Living Magazine on different topics; wrote an article for the Hull Times; dinner with Michelle, my mother and sister; worked on the Captain's Guide magazines.