Jones Park

Across the street from my house is a little park. Jones Park. It was named after the woman who originally owned the land, long, long ago. As the story goes (according to my wise and wonderful neighbour), when the depression hit, many Vancouver land owners couldn't pay their taxes. So the city appropriated their land, and then when the owners passed away, the city tore down their houses and turned their land into a park. And so the legend of Jones Park lives on.

My neighbour also tells me Mrs. Jones used to shoot at trespassing kids with a b.b. gun. I'm not big on guns (Paris and I watched Bowling for Columbine again a few weeks ago just to reinforce our views) and I have not been a big fan of b.b. guns ever since I was shot at and hit when I was a kid. (I still have the bruise... honest!) (Fingers crossed behind my back.)

However, there is something appealing in the idea of Mrs. Jones and her loaded spunk and barrel. There is also something appealing in the idea that her land is now a community park where kids from all over congregate to throw rocks, climb trees (I had to rescue Kje last week from his own tree climbing escapade), teeter and tooter, slide down and then climb back up, swing and twirl, chase and hide, play soccer and fly kites and catch their first kiss. I often think of crotchety Mrs. Jones playing with them, now that she can't do anything about those rotten, meddling, trespassing kids.

Here are my two favourite things in Jones Park (besides my picnic blanket that is).