Sad news. The tree I’ve decorated the past two Christmases died. By midsummer, it was basically just a pole in the ground. Once, the little park had two trees. Now it has none.
I either had to let my Christmas tree tradition die or find a new one in another park frequented by the homeless. I’ve spent the past few weeks riding my bike, staking out spots. I finally decided on Oppenheimer Park, still only a few blocks from my home. There’s a big, round cedar that caught my eye first. I walked over to take a closer look and it just didn’t speak to me. (Yes, I tried having a conversation. Tree huggers are tree talkers, too.) A Christmas cedar just didn’t seem right.
Only ten feet away was another tree I hadn’t even noticed on my pedal-by. Slimmer, shorter…but a pine. A Christmas tree! And, yes, a natural Charlie Brown sort of scraggly tree to take over from the prior one. It only required borrowing a six-foot ladder from my building rather than one of the taller ones that might wabble without a helper this year to hold it in place.
 |
| Passing by later in the day, every bench was taken by people in conversation. |
Oppenheimer Park is probably an even better park for a festive little tree. It’s frequented much more by homeless people and those living in supported housing. A few years ago, the park was a monthslong encampment with dozens of tents. Then, the City made everyone move along—a stressful change, no doubt—only to have tent dwellers resettle at another park in my area. For a while thereafter, the park had fencing all around it, locking everyone out who might re-pitch a tent along with anyone who wished to just sit on a bench and chat with someone else in the community.
 |
| I like to walk through rather than around the park. This message painted on the pavement always lifts me. |
It's been unfenced and open to all for at least two years now. The park is a favorite for sea gulls whom the homeless like to feed leftovers from donated meals. It’s also a place where the benches fill, lots of conversations happening. As destitute as much of my neighborhood appears, basic needs like connection and belonging are met in spaces such as this. I won’t idealize the place. The park still feels grim. There’s a children’s playground where I’ve never seen a child play. (The crows favor it.)
I’ll admit to being mildly concerned about problems arising if I decorated my Charlie Brown tree at Oppenheimer. I wasn’t concerned about the people who frequent the park. (Maybe someone would want to join in like last year.) I worried an overzealous police officer would Bah Humbug my stunt, asserting I needed a permit and advising that the City was unlikely to issue permits for rogue tree adornment. Gosh, maybe I’d even be ticketed, my attempt at token festiveness considered an act of vandalism.
I walked with the ladder and my bag of decorations before sunrise. The morning fog might have been fortuitous too. It wouldn’t be an all-out stealth decorating activity, but maybe the red garlands and silver balls wouldn’t be such giveaways with their gleam.
As I arrived at the park, the sea gulls were in their usual place, taking over the rarely used softball field. Four to six tents were set up in a cluster twenty-five feet away from the pine tree. On a nearby bench, two people slept huddled together, a tarp serving as a warmth-deprived blanket. One man sat on another bench, awake, seemingly content in his own thoughts, my presence not registering. No police officers or cars were in sight despite this area being frequently patrolled.
Decorating was easy. I only had to step to the third or fourth rung on the ladder to add ornaments to the upper reaches. Unfortunately, my star could not be suitably affixed to the top. The droop was too pronounced—sad instead of quirky. Fine. No star.
Traditions move. They adapt.
It took twenty minutes to adorn the tree, my gloves off to better handle and hook the ornaments. It’s worth noting that, by the time I was done, my fingertips were numb from the cold (2°C or 35°F). It wasn’t lost on me, the fact I had the luxury of going home and quickly warming up as I watched one man emerge from his tent to smoke a cigarette. Does that act offer any warmth?
The whole while, I kept wondering if it was my lack of decorating talent that made the tree seem sad. I told myself I could only do so much with what I had, like a dog groomer giving a makeover to 2022’s officially Ugliest Dog in some contest boycotted by everyone associated with the Westminster Kennel Club.
Still, a man hidden underneath a parka with a hoodie passed by, saying, “Ho ho ho.” No exclamation mark but a suitable endorsement. Five minutes later another man emerged from one of the tents, rising for the day. I heard him chuckle, then say, “That is so cool, man!” A thumbs up, too.
Yes! This is who the tree is for. It didn’t need to meet Martha Stewart’s approval. It didn’t need to become Instagram fodder. The intention was greater than the actual creation. Tent Guy got it and liked it. Mission accomplished.
And like every supposedly selfless act, his cheer gave me cheer. This is what I need for the holiday. Yes, I’m all set for Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment