Parks are cathedrals, especially now
Afew days ago, on a beautiful, late afternoon, I sat on a rocky bluff overlooking the North Meadow in Central Park. All across the lawns, normally used for baseball, softball and youth soccer at this time of year, people were alone or with one or two others, sitting, walking or walking dogs, on foot or in wheelchairs. Robins and cardinals made their evening calls from trees hazy green with new buds in the slanting light of the setting sun.
As I sat there, I was struck by two things: First, this was the same setting and experience of almost 20 years ago, when in the immediate aftermath of the attacks on the World Trade Center, New Yorkers were almost inexplicably drawn to Central Park and other parks.
I was also struck by the fact, that with no noise of traffic or construction, with no planes or helicopters overhead, you could hear human voices and bird song carrying across the lawns — punctuated every few minutes by the wail of an ambulance, presumably ferrying another desperately ill person to an overcrowded hospital emergency room.
As almost every other aspect of normal human life and interaction has shut down to promote social distancing and reduce rates infection from the COVID-19 virus pandemic, the parks of New York and many other cities have remained open. For people — large families, couples or those living alone — the nearly 24-7 sheltering in place is relieved by somewhat furtive forays for necessary food or medicine, but also by excursions to nearby parks, trails and natural spaces.
With the Wednesday announcement by Gov. Cuomo that all the city playgrounds would be closed to reduce the possibility of congregating, the large, open parks have become even more important than as outlets for children and families.
Parks and other natural spaces have never been so appreciated, or as heavily used as they are now. But some cities are shutting down parts or entireties of their park systems, even as most public health experts and epidemiologists have said it is safe, even beneficial, for people to get outdoors for exercise and mental health, as long as we safely distance ourselves and avoid group congregations or activities.
Every day since many began working from home, and states and cities placed restrictions on most activities and movements, I have visited a park. In New York City, we are blessed with large, landscaped parks, big enough for people to walk, run and sit, alone or with family, to breathe fresh air and get nurturing Vitamin D.
Many of these parks were conceived and executed by visionaries and builders such as Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux and Robert Moses in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Some are of more recent vintage. Across the country, other urban outdoor spaces are playing similar roles as places of respite and hope.
But not everyone has a nearby large park. According to my organization’s calculations, more than 100 million Americans — nearly a third of the nation’s population — lack access to a close-to-home park.
The people who conceived of America’s first great public park saw it as a place for working people to find fresh air, for residents from all walks of life to gather together in a great democratic space. They understood intuitively that these large, green landscaped spaces would function, as Olmsted suggested, as the “lungs of the city.” Over the last 160 years, these parks have also served, as they did immediately after 9/11, as “secular cathedrals,” places for people to commune with nature in times of great civic and cultural strife.
Now is the time to make sure our parks are kept open as much as public health concerns allow, that they are properly funded and cared for, and that we make bold plans for the future, to ensure that healing nature of public parks are available to all, for generations to come.
Benepe is senior vice president and director of national programs for The Trust for Public Land. He served for 11 years as New York City parks commissioner.