My Park,
It was another typical Sunday morning. I treated myself to breakfast out, and an after breakfast cigar. Today I chose a bit of flavor for after morning coffee, a Salsa. I make it a point to visit different city parks for my Sunday smoking ritual. Today I chose “my park”. I grew up on the East Side of town. We had a small community park, with a ball diamond and a wading pool, but I’m talking about the “big” City Park near. It was a good 3-mile + bike ride, on the back streets we always promised Mom. But once there, it had a “major league” diamond, trails, an Olympic size pool, and lots of space with trees and lawn, a creek, picnic tables, swings, teeter-totters, and a merry-go-round, the run around and push kind. I arrive at “my park”, pull up and park my bike under my favorite tree, just like I’ve done for years. As I walk across the lawn to a nearby picnic table I close my Xikar across the cap of the Salsa. I sit on the table and check the draw and taste the wrapper, a sweet woody flavor. I toast the foot until it’s an even salt-and pepper color and hold it an inch above the pointed blue flame as I draw in to fire the foot. After a few easy draws, and the foot is glowing, I exhale through it gently, to expel hot air and gasses. I check the glow of the foot and see that it is even and warm, the lighting ritual complete and a cigar ready to be enjoyed.
I hear a ruckus in the tree overhead and watch as a couple of squirrels explode in a burst of falling leaves from a nest high in an old oak tree. There’s lots of loud squirrel barking and thrashing through the leafy nest as the two continue to settle their dispute. The two squirrels chase out of the tree to the ground, the defender stopping at the base of his tree. The intruder runs to the base of the next tree, but the defender isn’t having any of it, bristles and charges, barking, and wins back his ground. As the turmoil subsides, the sounds of leaves falling and bird’s singing returns my park to it’s idyllic tranquillity.
As I enjoy the first few draws of this morning’s smoke a walker goes by, carrying a coiled leash in his hands. About 25-30 yards behind him is a good looking brown and white spaniel, marking his way behind. The dog’s peppered muzzle belies some age, and this is apparently an old ritual, galloping to catch up with his friend, but stopping short to mark his way again. About an inch or so into this stick and the flavor is starting to kick in now. Full easy draw, plenty of smoke, with a sweet woody flavor with some spice. The cap is holding together well and the ash is solid and a light gray. This is a well-constructed smoke.
As I’m strolling across the lawn, kicking up leaves, wet with the morning dew, there are several dog walkers coming through this side of the park. A Sheltie has just arrived, an Australian Herder is coming across from the playground, and a couple of mixed on leashes are coming up from behind me. As they begin to converge one of the leashed dogs is released, by his elderly friend, to greet obvious acquaintances. There is the usual frenzy of greetings and sniffing. The Sheltie’s friend has a fetching ring, which he flings across the ground for him to chase. The freed mix, with leash trailing, familiar with the notion of fetching, and being the faster of the two, grabbed the ring and ran around with it showing off what he had done. The ring was retrieved by the freed mix’s friend and returned to the Sheltie’s friend, who immediately threw it in the direction of the Sheltie. Again the freed mix was the faster, but the Sheltie was there first, but more than willing to share his playing time with the freed mix, allowing him to catch the ring. They both went back to their friends and the group, the dogs with their friends, played fetch toward another part of my park together. About halfway through and this smoke is really coming to life, spicy flavors with hints of sweetness in the creamy smooth smoke.
I continue leaf kicking around the playground and start back towards my favorite tree. The smoke is really putting out some flavor now, spice, sweet wood, caramel like creaminess in the smoke, the ash is holding strong at 2 ½ inches, but I knock it off on the side of a beach tree. As I examine the exposed foundation of an old parks department building, neatly trimmed around and mowed, I hearing a gnawing sound to my right and see a squirrel, sitting on a limb, apparently staring right at me, while he cleans the husk from a walnut. I stand there and enjoy the moment and my cigar. The sun’s just right, his fur is glowing in the golden morning sun, it’s a “Kodak moment”, and me without my camera, but it’s a “Kodak moment” none-the-less.
I continue toward my favorite tree and the end of my Sunday morning smoke. I sit again on the table and watch the leaves falling. This park hasn’t really changed much since I used to ride my bike across its paths, or swim in the pool. In fact not much has changed, but things are different. My bike is still parked under my favorite tree, but now it has a twin-cam V-twin engine to move it around. I still come here to “remove” myself from the city, to think of other things, to recreate, but I do it differently. I spend the time here, and other places, to slow down, to recreate, but this one is “My Park”. I have to drop the end of the cigar from my lips, or blister my fingers. The last few draws were full of flavor, strong rich coffee, leathery and spices, and it never got harsh or bitter. A very satisfying end to my Sunday morning ritual. As I arrive under my favorite tree and throw a leg over the seat, I look across my park; I scan the ground, and trace the bushes along the creek. I look to the trees and gaze into the clear morning sky, I’ve been to “church”, and am richer and renewed for doing it. I break the silence with the heartbeat of my steed
