Thursday, October 23, 2003

With the softest blue sky above and the lazy rustling of fallen leaves at my feet, I set out into West Park on Monday, a volunteer in defiance of a city edict against picking up litter. The garbage bag I carried was of the handle-tie, tall-kitchen variety.

In a recent Post-Gazette article, in which the city and unions are reported to be considering allowing volunteers to return to city parks, Public Works Director Guy Costa was quoted as saying that if there are volunteers "wanting to pick up litter, that's not going to happen."

Volunteers have been disallowed since the city laid off workers two months ago.

My challenge to authority in broad daylight took some audacity, I realize, because enforcers no doubt would keep daylight hours. But there is some honor in being arrested for a good cause. I was prepared to test the system. Besides, the park was strewn with litter.

This is my park, and your park if you're a city resident. "The city," as in the city government, is us. We are responsible for the city, for sweeping it, for doing it honor by connecting with it, attending to it, and we are responsible for sweeping it of those who don't honor it or attend to it. The people who are in power are in power because we let them be. They do not give us power. We already have it. They serve us. Even if they are able to serve us well, we still have the power to serve each other.

I was out to serve the collective "we," and to see if I would get in trouble for it.

It was quickly obvious that, of course, I would not get in trouble for sticking potato chip wrappers, cigarette boxes and empty whiskey bottles in my garbage bag. Things like litter control obviously are little concerns, low in the bureaucracy's ordering of priorities. When you're strapped, you let the so-called little things go, but the truth is, the Public Works Department has routinely ignored litter all over the city for years.

The danger is that these little things can get big. And when they get big, people's patterns shift. Someday, with this scenario, you would have only people who litter using the park.

All around Lake Elizabeth, the path was caked with the droppings of Canada geese. The geese were congregated on one end of the lake, flapping and quivering. They stepped gingerly, like night burglars who don't want to creak the floorboards. A small gaggle seemed to be protecting a crushed soda can. I parted them to get it. One drew back and went running. The men who hang out along the wall of the lake laughed. Silly goose.

A dog walker I know waved from a distance. A friend who works at a neighborhood restaurant approached, smiled and asked, "Are you doing this because you want to?"

I said yes. It was starting to be fun.

Near the National Aviary, a man sat at a picnic bench with earphones on. He was surrounded by litter -- coffee cups, snack wrappers, little squares of torn paper, cigarette boxes, crumpled paper towels, a Styrofoam plate. He moved his foot for me while he wagged his head to whatever he was listening to.

At the playground near Martin Luther King Elementary, a mother watched serenely as two children on swings whipped through the air, a little girl and a little boy, one going up as the other came down, up and down in slow-motion arcs of pumping legs, outstretched legs, a ponytail blowing like a flag.

Those who love autumn love it in large part for a day like Monday. The men around the lake lifted their faces to the sun. Neighbors passed me carrying grocery bags, smiling absently. The air was light. It moved a cool undercurrent ever so gently. The day pitched toward 70 degrees. The smell was of fallen leaves, a scent that accompanies us through life, as unchangeable as the aroma of freshly mown grass. And all children swing the same way, pumping and sailing, pumping and sailing.

The leaves are falling from trees that themselves will fall someday, old trees that are dying, that will have to be replaced by us, meaning the city.

Will we be inclined to spend the money for trees? Will our public servants allow volunteers to plant them? Costa says yes now, flowers and seedlings are OK, but ultimately, what are we doing allowing our city to disallow us the full reach of our care for our own public spaces?

After I had encircled the entire park, my bag was full. On the way back toward North Avenue, I spotted something green in a pile of leaves.

I reached in and pulled out a dollar bill. Now that's not enough if you're union, but it's a windfall to a volunteer.

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