Little Owl art by Snowseasons/C. Arnold
On a recent night, returned from a large nearby park.
Sometimes at this time of year, breezes sweep over native grasses and surge over hills there — cooling faces gone seriously dewy in this warm Gulf Coast city. In those moments, it feels like both a miracle and the way things could be with less pavement. It also feels like hope.
As the sky darkens, subtly lit boardwalks and trails provide both sense of place and walkers’ hum of conversation. Granted, this isn’t a zócalo; I don’t often see people making new acquaintances on the trails. But it’s a splendid place to be on the land.
Not sure if I’ve mentioned, but these trails weren’t here when I was growing up. During the pandemic, new footpaths reached wetlands tucked into woods. Currently, a multi-year project is restoring 45 acres of native prairie — with the benefit of making the land more resilient during floods. All told, the wetlands, prairie, tree groves, and picnic areas here comprise 1500 acres, a little under twice as many as New York’s Central Park.
The way things are now — wide expanses of land, native plants, open trails and sufficient foot traffic and low lighting to create safety for both migrating birds and people — is a good example of what fundraising can accomplish. It’s inspiring to me.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Climbing Grasses to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.