Painful Progress

It only took a second to topple the trees where my kids learned to climb. From my kitchen window, I watched the bulldozer turn its claw on them and years of laughter, derring-do, fear and fun crashed to the ground in a jumbled blur of green leaves. 

I grabbed my chest, surprised by the immediacy of my grief. 

Desmond once parked his imaginary motorcycle in the shade of the weedy Catalpa trees on the corner of Del Ray and Commonwealth Avenues. Esme used the giant leaves as umbrellas on rainy days and parasols on blistering summer afternoons. Josephine exulted when she climbed as high as her big sister. And Tobias launched surprise attacks from behind the cover of the lanky limbs. 

In my children's eyes, the small collection of thin branches were giant trees where adventures unfolded. But really, they were "runners" growing from the shaved stumps of the original trees cut down before we moved in in 2008. 

Years ago, city officials declared the empty lot a pocket park and hashed out fancy plans with beautiful plantings, park benches, meditative walkways and a small playground. When the economy stalled, the park plans were shelved. They're back on track now and construction started today. 

Undoubtedly, it will be perfect. But we loved the imperfection. 

The children excitedly waited all year for the overgrown mulberry bushes that crowded the sidewalk to grow heavy with ripened fruit. 

They tripped along the rutted field as they ran relay races. 

They played hide-and-seek when the grass grew too tall and strung magical clover chains from the weeds. 

They learned to climb trees. 

This afternoon, when Esme gets off the bus, the first thing she'll see is turned-up earth where just yesterday she hid herself inside a "mulberry house" to scout berries. Or maybe she'll focus instead on the broken chunks of concrete and the bare Catalpa limbs. 

I'll try to help her imagine the new park, envision the games we'll play and the adventures we'll have once it's complete. But if she cries, if her sister and brothers do as well, I'll put my arms around them and cry too.

Dana blogs at Feast After Famine.