A Tribute to Crappy, Little Parks (And Other Crappy, Little Things)

Today we walked to our neighborhood park. There was a mom’s group there, one of those groups that takes their kids to a different park or activity every week. “I think now we’ve been to every crappy, little park in the area,” one of the women complained to her friend.

Just as you can become a Connoisseur of Wines or Chocolate, you can become a Connoisseur of Fine Parks. And there are some pretty amazing parks within a 15 or 20 minute drive of my home, parks with splash pads and fancy climbing equipment, kid’s zip lines and real trains that you can ride for a few dollars.

Our crappy, little park has four swings and a modest playground. There is a poorly kept sand volleyball court and a few basketball hoops. And then some grass and trees.

A rather crappy picture I took at our park a few months ago. But my kids are smiling.

But even though I’ve been to Fine Parks, I love our crappy, little one. At a toddler’s pace, it takes us 5 or 10 minutes to walk there from our home. And we always walk–we never drive. My little daughters race across the grassy field toward the playground, thrilled at the adventure. It’s a neighborhood park, so there’s always a swing available. A canopy shades the playground, so even when the Arizona heat is stifling, we can still play as long as we go early enough in the morning. My girls run and make up pretend games among the grass and the trees, and build things in the sand of the volleyball court. Sometimes we visit our little park 3 or 4 times a week, and we can go for a short 10 minute visit. It is always a familiar, intimate, and fulfilling experience.

I can attend a world-class performance of an opera or ballet and never be satisfied with community theater again. After seeing the great works of art in great, metropolitan cities, we can find a local museum boring and mundane. We can undervalue our own attempts at singing, writing, photography, art, decorating, or any act of creation, simply because we know how our attempts compare to the best on youtube, instagram, and pinterest.

Or we can find joy and value in the little things. We need little parks that add greenery to our neighborhoods, that we can walk to instead of driving. We each need to create, to make something truly beautiful and valuable, without having any need to compare it to the world’s best things in its category. We need to find meaning and joy in the everyday, or we will be forever seeking something bigger and better, and never find happiness.

And that is why I love my crappy, little park.