On a sunny afternoon in Willard Park sunshine radiates off the grass. Leaves dance and shimmer in the cool autumn breeze. The rustling of the wind and the laughter of small school children play in my ears as I relax against an ancient redwood. The rough bark is surprisingly inviting and the shade it provides allows a perfect spot to do nothing but enjoy the scenery.
A squirrel scampers to the foot of another redwood tree a few feet to my left. It is gray and weather-beaten. Its coat is dull with tufts of hair missing, but the only thing it seems to notice is a seed in the dirt. The squirrel pauses briefly, stands on hind legs, peers at a golden retriever chasing after a ball, and sniffs grass-scented air before ambling up the redwood. It corkscrews around to the other side of the tree, and I am no longer able to see it.
Behind me I hear the clanking of cans and notice a man digging through the trash. We catch eyes and I notice his are hazel. He says hello and I respond the same. “Nice day,” he says.
“Yeah,” I respond.
“You know you can tell a lot about someone by the way they talk about the weather.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their feelings. You can tell a lot about how a man’s feelings by the way they talk about the weather.”
I pause to think about what he said for a second, and he resumes collecting cans from the trashcan and dropping them in his shopping cart. His gray sweatshirt has holes and dirt stains, and his scraggly long hair and beard are worn and camouflaged in his attire. “Well how are you feeling,” I ask.
He smiles and looks at me again. “Well, I suppose I have a sunny disposition.”
I catch myself squinting and pursing my lips thinking. “What’s the matter?” he asks. “You never heard an articulate bum before?” He chuckles a hearty laugh, and I giggle awkwardly. “You don’t have to feel bad. Most people assume the houseless people around Telegraph in Berkeley are wingnuts.” I smile at this. “I may be an angel, but look.” He points to his back. “No wings.” We both laugh and he resumes collecting cans.
Then something comes to me. “What do you mean by houseless?”
“What?”
“When you say houseless, does that mean the same thing as homeless? I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just a question.”
“I don’t mind at all, it’s a good question. The answer is no. I actually find the term homeless offensive. It’s kinda like the old corny saying ‘home is where your heart is.’ I may live outdoors, but I’m content. I like nature. I love the freedom my lifestyle affords me. If I’m hungry others give me food. I meet new people all the time, generous people, good-hearted people, genuine people. The friendships I have now are true friendships. We all go through the same hard times, the same bad weather, and the same sunny days out here. Wherever I go during the day, I know I can head back to Peoples Park and be with family; we all look out for each other. Berkeley is my home, the world is my home, and I’m content with that.”
“Isn’t it hard to get by without money? Is it hard not having a job?”
“Like I said, I get by. I have my friends, people give me food. What else do I need? The little money I make from these cans is enough to get whatever else I need. I had a job before. It’s just not for me. I can’t be cooped up in some office or grocery store hating my life with only enough free time to figure out what I’m gonna buy to give me a sense of accomplishment or something.”
I interrupted with, “What do you mean by sense of accomplishment?”
“It’s like this: you see those people over there? He pointed to some students sitting in a group on their computers. There was a middle-aged woman on her cell phone. What looked like her daughter was playing in the playground. “How about those cars?” He pointed to some sport utility vehicles. “All of these people have been fooled all their lives to think the only thing that matters is getting more and more possessions. They look at me like I’m the one with the problem. They pass laws to get people like me away from them. I make them uncomfortable. I’m not trying to judge them and say they are the ones with the problem, I’m just saying we have different views of the world. They think they are proving themselves by climbing the social ladder and getting more possessions. I think I have all the possessions I need.”
“What do you own?”
He paused for a second. “Look behind you.” I looked behind me.
“What am I supposed to see?”
“That tree behind you.”
“What about it?”
“I own it. The grass under your feet, I own that too. The forests, the streams, the lakes, the oceans—all mine. But you know what?”
I laughed. “What?”
“The difference between me and a lot of other people is one thing: I’m more than happy to share all of it with you and everyone else.”
“Well that’s very nice of you,” I responded.
He chuckled. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Well you know what?”
“What’s that young lady?”
I reached out my hand. “My name’s Kristina, and I’m very happy to share our possessions, as well.”
He shook my hand and said, “Karl with a K and it’s been a pleasure. But if you’ll excuse me I have some more foraging ahead of me.”
We both laughed at his comment and he headed down the street.
I looked around and noticed the students, the families, the cars speeding down Telegraph, and the businesses packed together. Then I looked below at a root of the redwood where I was resting. Next to the root rested a red seed. I picked it up, examined it, and planted it in my pocket thinking about what the old man in Willard Park told me that day my whole walk home.
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The fieldwork this post is engaged in is very hands-on. At first the description of the park reminds me of De Certeau’s Walking in the City; though she is not standing at a high point, she is still observing the park, the surroundings and the people from a distant point of view, like a voyeur. The moment the conversation begins, the story takes a new approach by actually “walking the city” and discovering new ideas that Karl tells us.
ReplyDeleteThe fact that there are no images allows the reader to use the vivid imagery to imagine the park, the squirrel, and the appearance of the people around her. The organization follows a story line; first the reader is introduced to the park, nature, and finally, the people. The mention of the kind of tree or the detailed explanation of the squirrel’s fur coat is somewhat scientific and reminds me of Latour’s Circulating Reference.
What makes this post different is that she is not only an observer as seen in other posts, but she is also a part of the observation. Without her input, the conversation portrayed would not be as lively and complete. Though the observation of the surroundings is detailed and gives the reader a good sense of the park, the conversation that flows is the dominant idea of the post. The conversation, although not like ordinary observations or texts, is thought-provoking. In a way its portrayal is challenging the reader to consider Karl’s words and take them into account when encountering other “houseless” people. The post has an effective impact; it draws the reader in through the use of compelling imagery as well as interesting conversation. It also allows for imagination. The field study done is very hands-on; it gives a clear insight into what one might encounter at the park, other than the obvious nature that one sees at first sight.