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Bethesda Fountain
When the weather is nice, I normally find myself walking across the park after class. I’ll make up some reason for the walk—maybe I’ll get a nice coffee at Zabar’s on the other side, or I had to get some book that was only sold in the Upper West Side—but in the back of my head I know that the reason for the walk is the Bethesda Fountain and Terrace. It’s hard—sometimes painful—if you’re in a rush and are unable to spend a little more than a minute in this amazing public space. Whenever this happens to me, I can’t help but feel like it somehow won’t be there again. It’s too good to be true.
You can enter the space from many different points. By far the most dazzling is when you enter from the south, Literary Walk, walk down the steps into the terrace that is decorated with tiles and arches. Normally you’ll find an opera singer or a jazz group playing in this area. Then you come to the clearance with the fountain, which is a rather circular space with a brick floor. There are plenty of seats in this area—either along the perimeter of the space, or the circumference of the fountain.
I can sit at the Bethesda Fountain for hours, which I have done for sure. You can really do anything here—mull over thoughts with friends, read, sunbathe, look at the lagoon, look at the tourists. I just realized that while this public space is pretty full of tourists, it very well may be the only time in New York City where they really don’t bother me. For me, it might have to do with the communal atmosphere that is so inviting—it seems to reject negativity or sour thoughts and feelings. It’s an incredibly powerful space.
New York City, specifically Manhattan where I currently reside, is full of public spaces that allow city inhabitants and visitors to freely roam and enjoy – or resent. These public spaces come in all forms like parks, squares, and just streets in general. Fortunately, at a young age I was taught to stay away from Times Square, a popular most hated (city residents) and most loved (tourists) area, at all costs. Thus, I have not had any truly nightmarish experiences there that would lead me to hate it, per say, but only to dislike it enough to avoid if possible. I have not lived in Manhattan long though, so the relationships I have with my more preferable public spaces are young.
My favorite so far is Central Park. Very predictable, I know, but its appeal is undeniable. Such a vast space offering all kinds of activities like concerts, hiking (to a degree), biking, sports, sledding, and many more makes Central Park a go-to when I need to unwind. With such close proximity to school, it is a great place to take lunch or a book and enjoy the relative quiet. The quiet is key. I have mentioned in another post that I am from the suburbs so I have grown accustomed to quiet places and being able to hear the birds in the morning and the crickets at night. So, Central Park is valuable to me in that if I get tired of seeing cars and buildings, or tired of trucks honking horns, it is an easy getaway to the confines of the Park, which do an satisfactory job of minimizing sight and sound pollution.
The isolation aspect is most likely why Central Park was made in the first place, but I think that it is sometimes taken for granted by everyone, including myself. This is because it is only until you truly explore it, that you find the best spots to relax and take a break. Just this weekend I found a mini waterfall, which I had no idea existed. My point is that Central Park has so much potential and is so reliable. If you are going there for adventure, you can find it. If you go to relax, there are plenty of places to relax. Or if you are going to play a pickup game of basketball there are always people to play with.
Having lived in Astoria my entire life, I’ve spent hundreds of hours in Astoria Park. When I was younger, I would go to the park almost daily, allowing me to recognize most of the other kids who slid down the dark purple and neon pink slides of Charybdis Playground. I’ve spent over ten Fourth of July’s at the Park, watching as the fireworks shot over the East River and illuminated the dark sky. I learned to play tennis at the park’s tennis courts. Every summer, I attend the carnival at the park. For four days in late June, the parking lot is transformed into a carnival with rides, games, food, and entertainment. For many Astoria natives, the carnival has become a signal for the start of summer.
I love Astoria Park because it’s a symbol of my neighborhood and all that I love about Astoria. The family-friendly atmosphere of Astoria Park is reflective of the neighborhood itself. Children play soccer on the grass near Hell Gate Bridge, while their parents watch from a nearby spot. Many of my friends and their siblings learned to swim in the park’s Olympic-sized pool. Dog owners walk their dogs along the peripheries of the park. There are movie showings on nice, summer nights. The “Movies on the Waterfront” include movies such as The Incredibles, Frozen, and The Princess Bride; perfect for the whole family.
The park is also reflective of the cultural diversity of Astoria. Walking through the park during the summer, one can hear the sharp metallic sound of a bouzouki playing. Older Greek men gather and discuss politics, allowing the music to transport them back to their native country. It is also the location of many Bangladeshi picnics, in which Bangladeshi people from all around New York City and Long Island gather to play games, eat Bangladeshi foods, catch up, discuss Bangladeshi politics, and try to win raffle prizes. Columbian parades and other cultural events also take place at the park.
Astoria Park is the heart of Astoria in many ways. It is where the young and the old alike gather to relax and enjoy some greenery. The park offers many facilities and activities to enjoy. It is also the designated venue for many cultural events. Also, it’s impossible to get tired of the breathtaking view of the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge and Hell Gate Bridge overlooking the East River, especially after sunset.
About six years ago, when I was a freshman in high school, I often heard warnings from some of my teachers and peers to stay away from Fort Greene Park, the park right across the street from my high school. Apparently, people got stabbed there, or fights broke out, or people got mugged. It sounded like a terrifying place to be, so I avoided it.
My impressions of the park changed when sophomore year came, and I joined the track team. When the weather permits, my coach would have the team practice in the park. We would run on a path that goes through the middle of the park and around past a tennis court to were we started, and that’s when I realized that the park was actually a beautiful place, and not as dangerous as I thought it would was.
In almost every practice in the park, I noticed there seem to always be people walking their dogs, mothers with baby strollers, and children playing in the small, fenced playground. The people there didn’t look dangerous or scary. In fact, these groups of people – dog owners, mothers, and children – were the opposite of scary. And the park itself was very green with majestic trees and inviting grass. It was also hilly, which running through made for some interesting views. There was a beautiful large set of stairs near the middle of the park. That was where me and about 1,400 other students crammed on to take our senior class photo.
The park was very scenic and after I discovered how safe the park can be, I enjoyed every moment I spent there. In my remaining years of high school, I would occasionally hang out with my friends there. After our long day of school, we would lie down on the soft grass, eat what we bought (either cheese fries or chicken quesadillas), talk and watch the sky. Lying on the park always made me feel nice and peaceful. I made many great memories in the park. And I would be amused at how my views of the park changed so drastically. More recently, after studying gentrification in seminar 2, I know one of the reasons why the park may have gotten safer is because of the gentrification happening in the Fort Greene neighborhood, but that’s a different story. Regardless, Fort Greene Park is still my favorite public space.
Flushing Meadow Park is located in Corona, Queens. I have been going there with my family since I was a kid. This park is probably one of the largest in NYC. Robert Moses, along with all his other creations, cleaned up the ash-dumping site to construct the site of the 1939-1940 World’s Fair. One of the remaining buildings from that fair is the NYC Pavilion which now house the Queens Museum of Art. In preparation for the 1964-1965 World’s Fair, the Unisphere was built. Today it remains one of the most beautiful attractions of the park.
One of the main reasons this park is a success is its accessibility. The park is located adjacent to the expressway and offers ample free parking space. You can take the 7 train, a number of different buses, ride a bike, or walk to reach the park. It’s easy to get there; however, once you are at the park it feels like a completely separate area from the rest of Corona. There actually aren’t a lot of places to sit in the park. This is nice, however, because it keeps people moving along the trails or allows groups to lounge on the grass. I always loved to watch the informal soccer games people would set up on the grass on the weekends.
This is a park that thrives at bringing people together, whether it be in informal games or big events such as the annual Breast Cancer Walk. Also held at the park are Spanish-countries’ Independence Day festivals. This caters nicely towards the residents of Corona; a lot of them are of South and Central American origin. I have attended the Peruvian Independence Day celebration in July. Vendors came to sell Peruvian cuisine, traditional folk music was performed, and free Inca Kola merchandise was given out. The best part was that we got to celebrate with other people of our culture.
Besides offering a great deal of free space for all kinds of leisure activities, the park is home to a petting farm, a zoo, a tennis stadium, a baseball stadium, a science center, canoeing, and concerts. On the whole, I’m sure most people flock towards Citi Field and the U.S. Open. My personal favorite was always the petting zoo. Right in the middle of the park, you found yourself surround by sheep, goats, and even a llama. The place will always be popular with children at least. The NY Hall of Science is also popular for making science fun and accessible for kids. Overall, just a walk in this park is good for the spirit. On a typical autumn day, you can walk by the pond and watch the geese float. You can pass by the Unisphere as it glistens in the sunlight and families take photos at the edge. You can sit down in the shade while glimpsing the top of the rocket and listening to the bleating sheep. Flushing Meadow Parks is a public space that connects people and encourages interaction.
During the four years I had spent in Stuyvesant High School, Rockefeller Park, west of River Terrace and a part of Battery Park City, would be my solace in terms of distressing and relaxing: away from the academic environment. I would unwind surrounded by blossoming greenery, the picturesque landscape, and the beautiful view of the sunset glowing golden in the afternoon, glinting off glassy steel buildings. The breezy air spray with salty mist from the Hudson River, the sweeping fields of grass, the blossoming trees, and the manicured pots of flowers circling stone tables, benches, and copper statues contributed to the serene and light-hearted atmosphere, juxtaposing the tension-filled, pressure cooker institution I had recently graduated from.
On winter days, the frigid air, biting wind, overcast sky, and flocks of geese pausing from their flight south to rest on the brown, dry, grass would deter pedestrians from wandering into the park. On summery spring days, however, droves of students would be seen flocking into and out of the park: some gathering in clumps to chat over coffees, smoothies, deli sandwiches, and fries, others fanning out across the freshly mowed grass to play endless rounds of barefoot Frisbee or flag football. During the lingering summer days, families could be seen having picnics on the lawn or hosting barbecue parties by the grill next to large wooden picnic tables. Children would run to and fro from a massive jungle gym that was equipped with the normal slides and ladders as well as a sandbox, monkey bars, swings, and even a bicycle carousel. Children and their parents could also rent out rackets, chess games, Frisbees, hoppy balls, foam seesaws, pool sticks, and balls of various functions and sizes to play with in the plethora of sport courts or game tables.
The park’s location at the heart of Tribeca, with Wholefoods, Shake Shack, countless delis, fast food chains, and takeout restaurants bordering the area, has also been ideal for hungry teenagers exhausted from a long day of classes, gearing up for the long train ride home, or preparing for the long night of studying ahead. For entertainment, students, families, and employees working within Tribeca could always travel two to ten minutes from the park and experience new memories at the Regal movie theater, the Poet House, the local dog park, the ferries docked along the waterfront, the newly renovated Irish Hunger Memorial, the glass encased, palm tree’d mall court at the World Trade Center Financial Building, and the stylishly designed New York Public Library. Teardrop Park, a neighboring public space and a part of Battery Park City, is a hidden oasis containing an abundance of tall trees, shrubberies, a rock wall formation, a waterfall, a ravine, and a sand and water basin: providing a quiet, peaceful space and temporary relief from the blazing heat and sun on summer days. The area surrounding Rockefeller Park is not only ideal in aesthetics, but is convenient for students, employees, tourists, and residential families alike, catering to different needs and interests and creating a space of fun , happiness, and relaxation.
A well-known, frequented public space that captures the beauty and essence of New York is Fort Totten. A Civil War fortress built across the East River, Fort Totten is not only a quiet, peaceful refuge for city residents but also a site of historical events. Throughout the park are stretches of properties, including churches, which illustrate the unique architecture of the 1800s. A distinct part of Fort Totten that sets it apart from other parks are the cannons placed in front of several windows in the actual fort, acting as a reminder of America’s history.
Although I have only visited once with a friend, it is by far my favorite place. It definitely was eerie at some points due to the seemingly abandoned houses, occasional tank and lack of people in the actual park, but the overall atmosphere was serene. My friend and I were able to find a sort of secret, isolated place where we could sit on the edge with the water several yards below and a gorgeous view of Throgs Neck Bridge. It’s also possible that we weren’t supposed to be there, considering how there were certain areas blocked off by guards, but thankfully, no one found out. What captured my heart was the famous, breathtakingly beautiful scenery of Long Island Sound. After skipping across the rocks as far out from shore as we could go, my friend and I sat talking and enjoying the view for several hours. It was the most peaceful experience I have ever had. It was a temporary escape from all my troubles and worries.
Oddly enough, as much as I have mentioned the serenity and peacefulness of the area, there were actually quite a number of people visiting as was indicated by the countless cars in the parking lot adjacent to the line of rocks. Most of the adults were either reading up on the park’s history or enjoying the scenery, while the kids mostly ran around or splashed water. There was even a woman reading a book! Everyone kept to themselves, remaining in solitude or within the groups with which they came, but interestingly enough, the groups did seem to congregate in certain parts of the rocks even though there was a large amount of space. As I sat amongst these strangers, I felt a sense of comfort and community. Despite the diverse groups of individuals ranging from fishers to groups of teenagers to couples, we were all there to enjoy the momentary tranquility and leisure brought about by the calm water crashing against the rocks before we would have to go back to our busy, hectic lives.
I went to Stuyvesant High School, in Manhattan, which is reasonably close to Battery Park, as well as a strip of green we mistakenly used to call Battery Park, which I now know is called the Nelson A. Rockefeller Park. However, neither of these parks are my favorite public spaces. My favorite public space isn’t some urban creation in the style of Herald Square, Times Square, or any other square. It was a mix of the two extremes, a little secluded paradise I never knew the name of until I looked it up for this paper; Teardrop Park.
Teardrop park is surrounded almost entirely by apartments and offices, which all open into the park. However, the park isn’t as crowded as you’d think; the vast majority of the population is parents with their children. According to a sign at the park, Teardrop touts the longest slide in Manhattan, which explains the crowds. I know this because I’ve probably read every sign there.
My relationship with the park began my second term of freshman year, when everyone in my budding friend group got put into different lunch periods. I endeavored to make new friends, tomorrow. Always tomorrow. One day, after grabbing lunch I popped in my headphones and decided to walk around the city, cause I always thought that part of the city was exceptionally beautiful. That’s how I found Teardrop Park.
From then on, all throughout my high school career, whenever I had one of “those days” I’d retire to my private playground. I would listen to music, read, study, or just watch people doing whatever.
The park lends itself to people watching. It’s very mazelike, probably not a single straight line in the whole place. The paths slope up and down, around a manmade waterfall, a grassy field, and the playground. There were shaded areas, sunny areas, and areas with cover if it was raining. There were business men, parents, children, and dogs. A lot of variety.
At the risk of sounding anticlimactic, that’s all. It wasn’t a very expansive space, maybe the size of a city block. It’s not some beautiful, natural wonder, but a park designed by a firm whose name I can’t remember, for the city. For most people it’s probably that place they walk their dog or take their kid after school. But I’ve probably spent dozens of hours there, and the place really grew on me. My sessions there were therapeutic, and for me at least, it was the perfect way to escape the stresses of high school, if only for a while. While that last sentence is a good one to end on, I have one more thing to point out. Despite being a block or two away from the school, I never saw another student there. I’ve always wondered why.
One public space that I like, yet also dislike, is Washington Square Park. I have lived on 8th Street and Mercer for two years now, so it’s not surprising that Washington Square Park is somewhere I visit regularly. My trips to the park are usually enjoyable and relaxing, especially during the day when the weather is nice. I find that the people there are young, trendy, and relatable to my current life as a college student in Manhattan. Many of the people I pass by are NYU students casually strolling to their next class, and so the atmosphere there doesn’t feel as fast paced or uncomfortably crowded as it would in many other public spaces in New York City. Walking to the park every Saturday to study or just sit outside when the weather is nice has become a tradition of my friends and mine for some time now that I’ve truly grown to love. During the summer, spring, and fall time I can sit for hours on one of the benches by the arch at the entrance of the park and feel pretty relaxed, regardless of the group tours or occasional rallies that sometimes accompany me. Even during the wintertime, my Saturday walks through the park give me a few hours of fresh air and a chance to be social with some of my friends classmates at NYU.
While most of my experiences with Washington Square Park have been positive ones, I must admit that I strongly dislike the public space after dark. Any time past 8 o clock, I find that the crowd and type of people that sit and lurk there are not so young and trendy as they are during the day. Of course that could be said about any park, but Washington Square Park surprised me in that sense because there are still tons of people and lights even at night. The difference is, the people there tend to be quieter and the mood is creepier. While I look forward to walking through the park and sitting by the arch during the daytime, I feel extremely uncomfortable doing the same surrounded by drunk and high college kids, smoking pot, and just staring into the night. To say the least, there’s something eerie about the park at night, and I don’t intend to explore that further during the rest of my time living just down the block.
There is a rock in Central Park right next to the entrance of Heckscher Playground that I have deemed as “my own.” For obvious reasons, I cannot actually lay claim on it, but it is one of the best-structured rocks in Central Park. Since the rock is situated next to the public bathrooms and is not tall enough to oversee any particularly beautiful views, tourists do not frequent it often. One side of the rock is fairly smooth with a shallow slope, which makes it easy to climb up to or down the rock. However, making one’s way up mandates the most basic of agility skills, so my rock is not exactly open to all of the general public. In addition, the proximity of my rock to the playground means that any children and toddlers who dare to venture up the looming mountain (in their eyes, anyway) do not stay for long; there are more exciting adventures to be had within the play area.
Aside from the location and structure of the rock that make it convenient, the rock is quite the vantage point for people watching. Heckscher Playground is a five-minute walk from the entrance of the park at 59th Street West, which means that the path that my rock overlooks is often filled with foot traffic. Personally, I enjoy watching dog owners and dog walkers, simply because I prefer watching dogs to staring at humans. Even if there is nothing to look at, however, it is always serene just to sit on cool, hard ground several feet above everybody else. On a moderately cool day, there is something about just sitting there with a friend, or even alone, that makes the rock almost cozy to be on. My rock provides just enough solitude without being completely isolating, and offers a decent view of nature without being completely silent. All in all, I think that such a spot is perfect for a New Yorker like me.
I don’t enjoy jogging; I endure it. When I go running with my mom, she usually ends the excursion by pointing out “You look like someone who hates this, but knows that it’s good for them,” and that is a profoundly accurate observation. Running, jogging, even relatively quick walking is torturous to me; I get sweaty, I forget when and how to breathe, and my side invariably cramps up. I jog because it is a low maintenance way for me to be healthier.
I don’t mind jogging as much, however, when I get to do it along the East River. The path along the river, located a few blocks from the Brookdale dorms, is a beautiful trail. I marvel at how, though I’ve taken the same route every time for about a year now, I still haven’t grown bored with the view.
This path is a microcosm of the nature of New York City: constant and reliable in its broader makeup, but ever changing in its individual activities. Every time I go jogging, the atmosphere is different, the people in continuous motion: dogs are trotting alongside their owners, moms are pushing their twin babies in double strollers as they lightly jog along, children are pedaling their bicycles with fervor as they attempt to keep up with their fathers. When I allow myself the tranquility of foregoing my headphones during my jog, I can observe this community in motion as I breathe through my nose and stumble towards the Williamsburg Bridge.
Along the East River, the pace of New York City may also be slowed down, calmed to a stroll, and savored. When I can’t push forward to the beat of a Nicki Minaj song for a second more, I am able to better appreciate my surroundings and immerse myself in the process of reaching my goal, no matter my speed. I am especially more observant of those who walk alongside me, or breeze past me, the young women jogging in pairs and the older men pumping their arms in time with the music blasting from the iPods strapped to their biceps. Though there is no official coalition of people who run along the East River—at least, none that I’m aware of—there exists a sense of camaraderie among those who choose to spend their mornings or afternoons hustling their way down the rock-and-brick pathway. I imagine there too exists such an informal community of those who run along FDR Drive at night, but I personally do not belong to such a group because I don’t intend to run the risk of being murdered and having my body tossed into the river by jogging alone at night.
The thin screech of the old man’s violin cuts familiarly through the biting cold air, a cold metal blade on glassy ice—jarring, yet still somber and melancholy in the afternoon air—as I wonder for the umpteenth time if the notes emanating from his person resemble a song, or just resonate with the general atmosphere of the park around him. Always in the same corner, the same bend in the road immediately before (or after depending on whether one approaches from the East or West side) the dark, dank tunnel where we once set up a failed ambush of friends, and taught each other how to tie our shoes. I stare out at the old man, as he bends over to smile at a small child dropping a dollar into his black velvet-lined case. Sweet, courteous expressions of gratitude seem to pour from his mouth, each word tumbling from his lips as the child and her mother begin to walk away, a subtle change in the tune to acknowledge their departure. “No, it’s not just music. I think that time, it was ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”
Who would have thought, that an East Side-inclined person like myself would find my city solace in Central Park West? A place where I am at most ease with myself; a place where I can’t remember being without my best friends. A place where I can sit or lie down, and just stare at the white sky of an overcast winter’s day, pretending the haphazard black lines of the tree branches overhead resemble some great artwork yet undiscovered, while huddling in close with my friends beside me to make sure none of us freeze to death. A place where I can bury my worries in the snow as we sit on our favorite tire swing, or give the normal park swings another shot, the slippery ones, the ones that make us hope to god that this time we won’t slip off.
A park that offers a certain amount of the isolation, yet amidst one’s brethren of NYC; where one can be alone, yet hold the comfort of still being another piece of the New York City puzzle, of still being part of the city’s essential fabric. I don’t believe there to be many other places such as this one, that small chunk of park right around West 55th street, just next to Columbus Circle, where I can remember having a snowball stuffed right into my face, leaving the sweet taste of peace, serenity, and a touch of good fun on my tongue (strictly speaking though, it was just snow). Where I can remember feeding peanut brittle to stray squirrels while wondering how a squirrel’s digestive system will do with sugar. Where I can remember running at breakneck speed away from another snowball attack, while smiling both gleefully and sheepishly at passersby strangers, looking on with warmth, as opposed to the acrid judgment one might get on the elsewhere paved streets of NYC.
Truly, for me, Central Park is a place where strangers are no longer strangers, where a smile goes a long way in acknowledging the bright, adventurous spirits of the people around oneself, enjoying the same park they are in, yet ending up with this completely different story to tell.
“Mom, Mister Softee is outside.” The jingle is unmistakable and it is heard throughout the entire street. She goes outside to get me an ice cream cone, but makes me promise that I will eat my lunch before I have the dessert.
We lived across the street from the neighborhood playground for much of my childhood, which meant that I got ice cream on almost every summer day, as long as I behaved. I could go to the park and see my friends whenever I wanted to. In short, I was living every child’s dream.
Kelly Park was a staple of my childhood. I visited its blue and orange jungle gyms almost every day. It is where I met some of my closest childhood friends and made some of my favorite memories. Spring and summer were my favorite seasons because I knew that knew that I would be able to play in Kelly Park after school.
School ended at 3 PM and my friends and I were on the baseball diamond within ten minutes. For a few hours every day, I, the boy with a disability, was Mike Piazza and later Derek Jeter as I rounded the bases for a home run. My Dad convinced me to switch allegiances after the 2000 World Series, and I then saw my newly-beloved Yankees lose a year later. In Kelly Park, however, the Yankees always won because, with a little imagination, I was the greatest player that the game had ever seen.
Yet, as my health began to deteriorate, my perception of Kelly Park changed over the years. No longer was I able to run around with the other children. Instead, I could only talk to the men playing chess as they watched their own grandchildren on the slides. Kelly Park transformed from a place where I was able to see myself beyond a disability to one where my disability became painfully evident. Soon, my parents had to bribe me with Mister Softee ice cream in order to get me to go outside. As I grew older, their methods became less effective and I would opt to stay indoors and play video games.
I bring this up because perception is key. We must ensure that, not only is the physical environment accessible for people with disabilities, but that the societal perception surrounding disability evolves as well. A young child with a disability should not walk into a public playground and feel isolated. He or she should feel welcomed by their peers in an accessible and inclusive environment that allows for all kids to roam free. I commend the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation for working towards creating more accessible playgrounds for kids with disabilities. However, this must be accompanied with changing attitudes about how we interact with people with disabilities in the built environment and ensuring that these individuals feel included in the activities going on around them. I want every young person with a disability to enjoy going to the park, as I once did, and to have the opportunity to explore their inner child alongside their peers.
I begin my run. I time myself, sure to check my distance and pacing every so often. After jogging for two blocks and out of my quiet neighborhood, I speed my jogging pace to a run, entering into Alley Pond Park. Summer sweat rolls down the sides of my face as I take in the smells of both freshly cut grass and the surrounding unkempt forestry. As I pass through these paths that have seemingly become second nature to me, I mentally make continual checkpoints to reach, taking note of landmarks and always learning new things about the park. An area embodying simplistic serenity during its morning hours to runners, yet home to the brewing adrenaline of Little League Stars and their proud mothers, Alley Pond Park’s multifaceted identity has become a critical asset to my adolescence.
Home to the tallest trees in all of New York City, Alley Pond Park has been a long-time fan favorite. Inhabited by Little League baseball players, young children, power-walking middle-aged locals, and runners bikers alike, Alley Pond’s audience is wide and numerous.
There are multiple entrances of Alley Pond Park throughout Bayside, with the main entrance leading from Union Turnpike and 234th Street. This route, most used by visitors, the “safer crowd,” and those who did not live in the neighborhood, showed a red-brick tunnel, and a concrete path leading to the park’s different areas – such as the baseball fields, the handball courts, the tennis courts, its playground, and its beloved biking trails. However, it was a not-so-secret tradition among the neighborhood’s runners to enter into the trails directly by climbing through the trees of the park’s side entrances.
I didn’t always know this ‘unspoken rule,’ however. Living across the street from Alley Pond Park for the majority of my life, I never took advantage of exploring what Alley Pond Park had offered me. However, when I was thirteen and granted the freedom of a 6:00 pm curfew, I began to explore the trails with my best friend and neighbor. As an aspiring high school track star, I went for more runs on my own, searching for different areas that the park’s trails led to. While those dreams fell short, Alley Pond remains a gentle reminder of home, community, and childhood. In indispensably contributing to the neighbor’s culture, Alley Pond Park’s serenity and inherent excitement alike has created a definite space of overwhelming power.
Forest Park is a gem within Queens that very few will ever uncover. The tall oak trees and narrow dirt paths are reminiscent of hiking trails that can be found upstate, yet while climbing over thick roots and tree trunks, you can suddenly become aware of the low rumble that is rush hour traffic on Woodhaven Boulevard acting as background noise. One can peruse through the bushes and off the trails for hours before finding their way out of the park and into a completely different neighborhood then the one they started in. The park is not only a welcoming and natural haven for New York City residents yearning to reconnect with nature, it is also meeting point for many people who live in the surrounding communities.
Forest Park features over 580 acres of land between the neighborhoods of Forest Hills, Kew Gardens, Glendale, and Woodhaven. The entry from Forest Park Road going towards Metropolitan Avenue was once a road that was accessible to cars, but now, it serves as a biking, running, and jogging path for pedestrians. Mounted police officers can be found along the road’s duration. As they sit upon their handsome horses, they make those of us a bit closer to the ground feel a bit safer. When walking along this path, one may become aware of nearly hidden trails jutting off the sides of the road. They are rarely labeled, but a break in the trees or a clearing in the bushes is an invitation to travel through the thick of the forest. Once off of the paved road and onto the dirt and leaf lined forest floor, you feel transported out of New York City and into an oak tree filled sanctuary. It seems as though you are surrounded with nothing but trees and little creatures, yet major roads and highways border this park.
There are always people present on Forest Park Road as long the weather conditions are not extreme. You can be certain to sight the older gentlemen shuffling along with their running buddies or young mothers pushing their carriages. The park has gotten a bad reputation over the years for being the site of some malicious activities. Part of the reason that criminals use this space to do their dubious deeds is because of the privacy that one can find within this park. Unlike Central Park, which is dotted with various fields and large paved roads, most of Forest Park is purely wooded area that is sometimes cut across by a small road.
Over the years, it is obvious that improvements have been implemented to guard the safety of park-goers, such as the mounted police officers on roads and trails and parked police cars on the boarders of the park. It is essential that this park become safer without losing the lushness of its tree canopy or the secluded feeling of its trails because there is truly no other place like it within New York City.
As a child who grew up traveling in and out of the city, I have used a fair share of public spaces including the city sidewalks, the subway system, and the iconic parks. However, as a college student, the public space I have most sentiment about is the area outside of the west Building of Hunter College.
On the corner of 68th Street and Lexington Avenue, the space is home to a subway entrance and therefore lots of foot traffic. For me, this subway entrance to the six train is convenient and practical. The stairs leading down to the train are wide and gradual. It is easy for commuters, students, workers, and tourists alike, to split the stairs for those going into the station and those coming out of the station. On a good day, commuters abide by the social contract and stay to the right of the stairs in either direction. However, all too often, there is that student or tourist who is unaware of the social contract, that comes down the wrong side of the stairs forcing you to change direction in the flow of commuters. Not only does this person put me at risk of falling, but increases my chances of bumping into someone. Thankfully, the staircase is wide and open, allowing for these encounters to be a nuisance more so than an actual hazard.
Around the perimeter of the subway entrance, there is seating. The benches are built against the walls of the subway entrance allowing people to sit with the subway entrance as a brace for their backs. Although I have never used this seating area, it is a hot commodity. I have seen people, especially during the summer, prop themselves up on the bench with their lunch, a book, or a computer and get to work. The 68th street bench is significantly lower than the other two sides. For many, this is not a problem. People sit there anyway, as it serves as an exclusive view to a busy sidewalk. However, I would prefer one of the other benches, seeing that getting up from such a low bench could strain my back and in all honesty would be very awkward.
The bench facing Lexington Avenue is particularly special in that it is elevated above the sidewalk such that for shorter people, their feet dangle. Because of this elevation, many people find it comfortable to fold their feet becoming one with the subway station. The view of Lexington Avenue is clear, despite when the buses pile up, allowing the sitters to have a great view of all the traffic and commuter interaction.
Other circular benches accompany the 67th street bench. For me, these circular benches are too close together. It is awkward to see complete strangers face each other while eating or enjoying conversation with friends, while looking at a face they do not know. I guess this is the reason I do not sit here. I love to embrace the city but I avoid at all costs the awkward interaction of speaking to people I do not know or people who are just creepy.
In front of the subway entrance, there is a huge, black structure that is an art form in itself. For me, it is a conversation piece that aesthetically breaks up the monotony of the buildings. Unfortunately, it propagates conversation in the middle of foot traffic. It divides the space such that people do not know where to stand to have conversation or forces people to stand in plain sight for the friend that is looking for them. To my annoyance, this diverts the foot traffic and slows down my commute. Moreover, this propagates even more people’s tendency to have conversation right in front of the subway entrance. This is probably one of the most frustrating things about this public space. There are many other places that would serve a conversation well but to every commuter’s irritation, these conversations are the reason for missing the train by those five crucial seconds.
Finally, there is the area under the west building toward 67th street. This area is great for people like me who like to admire the chaos but not be in the way. There are stairs and a bench that are attached to the west building. For students, this is a great spot to wait for a friend, take a phone call, or have lunch. Unfortunately, smokers also use this area as their personal smoke spot. Although, there is a clear sign stating the area is a “no-smoke” zone, smokers disregard it. Also, this area is under the west building and as a result is not well lit. For those who want to read or finish an assignment, it is not ideal for this reason.
Nevertheless, this public space is one that I use often as a means of getting to school or the six train. I appreciate its uses and design that makes it a popular sitting, studying, and snacking area.