Also probably the best piece I've written concerning running so... take it or leave it. I'm turning it in.
I
spent the past 10 months of my life running furiously up and down Hobson Road and
Washington Street, unabashedly bloodying the sidewalks, j-walking without
looking both ways, and precipitating sweat with every step. In anger and
impatience, I have ripped leaves and branches from the very trees that
selflessly provide every passerby with shade, and I have definitely killed a
few innocent gnats either by accidental swallows or frustrated swats and slaps
(which made more contact with my own face than the bugs…). I would never regret
any of these exhilarating experiences, but my research for this assignment has
made me more conscious of where exactly in Pioneer Park I choose to dirty with
my well-practiced saliva spitting skills.
The
Park District boasts of a .66 mile trail on its website, but that little
stretch of paved road can barely represent 26 acres of overgrown weeds, open
fields, cuddly picnic tables, and the centerpiece of Naperville, the DuPage
River. A web of narrow, dirt paths sprawls across the small forests of Burr Oak
trees. Staying too long in one spot often results in rashes of bug bites, and
with some bad luck and aloofness, moving too quickly can result in serious head
injuries from low lying fallen tree trunks. The woodchips that I crush and the
pebbles over which I trip could lie atop the very remnants of Bailey Hobson’s
grist mill. Even though native species are just being reintroduced to the woods
as part of a restoration project, the centuries-old river still calmly brushes
by the banks for all amateur fishermen to enjoy.
The
river, as expected from almost any civilization, is the foundation of the
settlement. When Bailey Hobson established the first permanent home of
Naperville in Pioneer Park, he was not looking for legendary peacocks or for
black berry trees (although both were fringe benefits). In the 1830s, nothing
was more important than a consistent source of water and timber. Hobson found
both resources available and built a mill and an inn, thereby commencing the
written history of Naperville.
Most
of the days in which I pass through Pioneer Park, I spend less time than I
should admiring the vanilla sunset draped across the sky and the orange mist
sprinkled in the sun rays between the openings of the trees. The great majority
of my efforts are put into thinking about not thinking about the soreness in my
legs, catching my breath, ruminating the ways of the universe, and
psychoanalyzing mankind and whomever I happen to like at the time. But when I
do take a step out of myself and fall into the flow of the woods, I see the
graceful and stupid deer behind the bushes and feel the heat of the sun beat my
smelly, sweat-coated back just long enough, until another tree’s light,
drifting branches shield me again. I hear the cicadas’ drone and smell the
morning dew glistening on every blade of grass. No wonder Hobson chose to
settle here.
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