In a bittersweet post at Pith in the Wind, Betsy Phillips writes about how the parks in Nashville did their job during the flooding. And now many of them are home to what was lost in the storms.
I honestly hadn’t given much thought to the job so many of them did for us this month — giving a buffer between us and many of our creeks and rivers. It is terrible to go into a park, like Ted Rhodes, and see the silt still pooled in the low places on the tennis courts, which are peeling up like an old sunburn. The urge to hose things off and wipe them down and set things back to normal is overwhelming.
As is the realization that there could have been houses here. It could have been so much worse. And, of course, I say that knowing that, for many, it was. For a few, it was the worst. First water, and now dirt, are over them.
But Rhodes Park, with its wide expanses of grass, where children play soccer and football (and if you have ever seen them play, some of them are so tiny you almost can’t believe they don’t topple over under the weight of their helmets), is almost unrecognizable as a place people go to enjoy themselves right now.
Instead, it’s home of one of the large piles of stuff people used to think was valuable to them.
In many ways her post reminds of Shel Silverstein’s book, “The Giving Tree.”