Vancouver, WA

I found this place while riding the bus home from work. The bus is often a strange, chaotic place, filled to the brim with elderly, drugged-out, socially inept, and mentally deranged individuals, not to mention a few polite businessmen in nice suits. I think it proved a pleasant distraction when I glanced out the window and saw the little Eden at 23^rd and Bybee. All that I glimpsed at first was the little bridge, one of those rounded ones like you see in cartoons and movies but never really in real life; at least not around here. It humped over the little stream, which burbled and babbled and reflected the sun in broken sheets of gold. The grass was like golf-course-green, with those weird weeds growing near the water. Immediately, I took my phone out of my bra (most of my work pants don’t have pockets) and keyed in a Note that said simply “23^rd and Bybee,” a high-tech mental note to visit later, with the Thunderbird.

A good ToDo is not just about the destination, but also the journey. When I come home at night to tell my family my adventures, they are usually more focused on the journey than any destination I actually made it to. I have adventures every day; like I told you, I ride the bus.

So I go home and borrow my cousin’s Thunderbird, as my little Ford Tempo is at work with the Boyfriend, who doesn’t get home until midnight. I took Bybee street the whole way there from SE 82^nd, and I tell you, it’s beautiful. You have to sometimes leave it for a few blocks to come back to it later, as it’s not an important enough road to cut through those city blocks. The trip there is beautiful in itself; beautiful trees everywhere, blotting out the trashcans and port-a-potties with their color and brilliance.

I arrive. I park the car and pull my guitar (I call him Johnson) out of the back seat, and I sit by the water. A lapping little stream carries a certain rhythm. To me, it sounded like a Jack Johnson rhythm, so I played Flake until my hand cramped up. Bar chords do that to me. In a little while, while I relaxed and meditated and played some Cranberries and Tom Petty and KT Tunstall, a crowd began to form. Maybe I’m flattering myself, and what really began to form was a trio of small children who had likely never seen such a thing before and hence wondered if I was some sort of circus performer or perhaps a singer of children’s songs. Their eager eyes watched me hungrily, wanting to play, wanting to touch.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. Any minute now, one of those kids was going to ask if he could play, and then they’d pounce, and I’d be done for. I grabbed Johnson and got the hell out of there.

But seriously, the place is beautiful. You kind of have to park in this little lot by a public tennis court and walk across a winding road to get to it, so be careful and look both ways, and hold hands! I would recommend bringing some bread, because that pond is just full of duckies that aren’t afraid to come right in close for a look at you. You should really check it out.