Whenever I think "park," my mind conjures up dog-walkers, frisbee-flingers and sunbathers — none of which excite me or offer reason enough to enjoy a beautiful day at the mercy of crowds when work can be done and fun be had in a suitably sunny room indoors.
Congress Park was different, probably because Americade's crowds mixed with the usual denizens from Empire State College. But there was more; from the semi-circular sign at the park's gate, the archways beyond it, to the extraordinary efforts obviously made to preserve over the years the park's original stylings, Congress Park was downright classy.
As was the day.
Paul immediately became fixated with an enclosed merry-go-round just inside the gates, and Ed followed him. I didn't find it the most inspiring, and was a little embarrassed by Paul's walking right in the doors when it was fairly apparent that those without children belonged outside them. So I walked off on my own. As I understand it, Paul was shortly thereafter asked to take his place among the childless — in a manner of speaking. I wandered my way alone down a tree-lined path.
I heard bagpipes.
And made a beeline for them. Then I heard a well-manned cadence playing. The accompaniment was rhythmic and consonant but not a performance: the drums would stop and the bagpipes would continue. Then the bagpipes would gradually die away, as if large sections simply stopped playing while others kept on. Then all the music stopped, moments before the drums rattled again.
I kept walking, moving faster. I could see a sizable crowd across a street, loosely congregated around a pavilion. As I came closer and the music continued, I could make out small groups of bagpipers playing together — only amongst themselves. Each group was practicing its own song, blessed to harmony by their instruments being stuck in one key.
Finally among them, I knew what I was watching: a local bagpiper troop of thirty or so men and women of all ages, out practicing on a Saturday.
From the ruddy looks of some of them, the hobby was a traditional one.
People turned their heads to look as they came and went, but a number equal to the bagpipers, including myself, simply stopped to watch and listen to the musical conversation.
I moved in close to capture the fountain (seen in the picture above to the far right).
Ed and Paul weren't unimpressed by the bagpipers when they caught up with me; nor were they entranced, like I was. Ed moved off to a fish pool and I, taking in the melodious forest around me one last time, followed.
I recall the moment in which I took this photograph: seeing fish, thinking bagpipes.
It was at the pool that the three of us mutually and mutely communicated satisfaction with our park exploration, so we moved off and took a paved fairway that took us in the direction from where we'd come. A quick search in a botany book might identify the three large-leafed, silk-flowered trees, yet though I don't know what they were, their beauty was unarguable.
Clover. Pastoral, understated, delightful.
Ducks are drawn to Congress Park not only for its ponds but for its moat-encircled fortresses in which to raise young. I salute Mr. Mallard over there on the left of the second picture, apparently slipping out the back door for a pint.
The glories of carrying a camera when a simple-yet-stunning visual catches you, and that camera being digital so you can make sure, on the spot, that the third exposure succeeded.
Before leaving Congress Park and weaving our way through narrow, college-town streets to Ed's car, we rested in the shade of an incredibly broad tree. Neither one of the pictures I took describe its enormity.
We left Saratoga Springs as the afternoon began to wane, resting at Ed's for a bit before heading out in the evening for some sushi.
