Scooter Civet

 

An older photo I took of a Masked palm civet waiting patiently at

a red light; "How else am I supposed to get around this town?"

Park Furniture and Guerilla Gardening

Slowly, I ride my scooter through my neighbourhood. I'm on park patrol. Nonchalantly, I peer into a small green space. Circling the park, I want to observe unnoticed and verify if what I saw months earlier was what I actually saw.    

Slowly, I ride my scooter through my neighbourhood. I'm on park patrol. Nonchalantly, I peer into a small green space. Circling the park, I want to observe unnoticed and verify if what I saw months earlier was what I actually saw.   

I'm unsure specific rules exist for how and what is allowed on municipal land in Taiwan. Still, the Taiwanese people and government officials view public space differently than in the West. In Taiwan, public land is very communal and more. In the West, public property is to be used and left unaltered, and even then, you might get asked your purpose if you linger too late.

In Taiwan, public property gets used by individuals for their own purposes and no one minds. Bits and pieces of unused public land get filled with plants and creations. In addition, personal belongings find their way into city spaces.

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Along with larger parks in Taichung, Taiwan's second-largest metropolis, the city is dotted with countless smaller neighbourhood parkettes well under an acre and tucked into established neighbourhoods. It is the same across the island. These tiny fragments of land are essential and central to local communities. The parks are adopted and modified by area users like Jiangong Park near my house. It was this park I was investigating before my embarrassing crash.

They also have something seldom seen in North America. Occasionally, the locals haul their old leather or Chinese wooden sofas out into the park. Leather and wood hold up better to the wear and tear of typhoons. Now and again, the sofas are accompanied by their matching lounge chairs. People arrange them under protective roofs the municipalities built with the parks, or the sofas are placed under large shady trees.   

Park furniture is popular with seniors, but kids enjoy them too. Multiple generations living together is common in Taiwanese culture, so it is not surprising to see grandparents caring for grandchildren in parks.  

These intimate parks are like communal backyards and in continuous use. They provide a sense of connection with families and neighbours.  

Daybreak brings out the morning walkers, tai chi practitioners, and the callisthenics grandpas and grandmas. The Monday to Friday daytime users are primarily seniors, young mothers, and preschoolers.  In the early evening, the nine-to-five working crowd joins in. Later, seniors return for more socializing, exercise, and even scheduled dance practices. Portable stereos blare out rhythm for the activities morning and evening. Lastly, during the late evening, a few people slip out for a last smoke, and friends enjoy a beer together from the 7-11 before bed.   

At the back right corner of Jiangong Park, sofas surround a chunky wooden table under a large Chinese pavilion-style roof. On most pleasant afternoons, a group of retired neighbourhood men concentrate on a game of Chinese chess. Two play while the rest watch. One observer reclines smoking, flip-flops off, one leg folded, with a heel propped up on the sofa's edge. Others speculate on the best next move. A four-wheel electric mobility scooter sits on the grass next to an ancient bicycle. 

At the park’s opposite corner, next to a well-used community bulletin board, two large bar style umbrellas are permanently anchored over park benches. One umbrella gives shade to elderly Taiwanese watched over by their Indonesian caregivers. At the same time, the other umbrella keeps an entrepreneurial woman’s freshly picked vegetables cool for morning sale. Plastic stools of different colours and sizes offer extra seating between the benches. The park has the feeling of a huge, extended, outdoor living room.

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In another example of land use laissez-faire, people create lovely pocket flower gardens and small vegetable patches on unused pieces of city property.

People even plant next to the city's canals. The plots are left in peace, and city workers and authorities seem unconcerned.

Plants are placed directly into the ground, or if the space is paved, people use flowerpots, buckets, Styrofoam fish boxes or large, plastic bathtubs. But canal gardening is tricky.

 

papaya tree in a bathtub next to friends

The waterways have belly high safety fences, but people climb the stainless steel barriers or stepladder over and garden the soil to the edge. Taiwan's city canals are broad, and their banks are sheer and high. Scarcely a foot of water flows along many of the city's riverbeds 10 to 20 feet below, so canal-edge gardeners must be nimble.

Some canals have natural riverbeds, and some are entirely encased in concrete. Many of the city's central, more expansive canals with concrete beds have a deeper, main channel a few feet wide to keep water moving.

A 50-foot wide canal looks like overkill for such a modest water flow, but they have a purpose. A powerful typhoon or heavy rains can turn the trickle into a torrent. The quickly developing rapids can chew banks away and roll boulders downstream. Violent rain events can dramatically alter the watercourse of natural canal beds, and construction excavators are often in canals redirecting water flow.       

I've seen that narrow strip of soil along the canal filled with sweet potatoes, lettuce, and tomatoes all hovering close to the drop off point. Gourd vines loop along the terrain, double back from the edge and climb the safety fence. Banana plants and papaya trees grow freely in commandeered green zones. Fearless gardeners water, weed, and harvest, and no one thinks it is out of the ordinary.

 

sweet potatoes in the afternoon sun

vines weave through a canal fence

At the end of one tiny park, someone grew and pruned shrubs that became a topiary animal garden. The city maintenance crews simply cut the grass around the bushes, and the zoo continued complete with CDs for shiny animal eyes.

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It's Sunday afternoon, and I sit on a bench near the back of Jiangong Park. Kids swing from the jungle gym while their parents joke with family and neighbourhood friends. The parents and grandparents of those friends look on. It's heartwarming to see neighbourhood families who have known each other for years together. Those grandparents probably saw those new parents as toddlers and now watch another new generation enjoy the park.

The caregivers and elderly Taiwanese are out. Some people are on their phones strolling; while families picnic. The park can't be more than 50 metres by 50 metres, but it is filled with trees providing excellent canopy cover. Behind me, a mural painted wall runs the length of the park and blocks out sound. Across from the park and also to my right, cosy townhouses and low rise condos line the streets. To my left, across another small street, a farmer's bamboo stand runs the length of the park. Quiet surrounds us.

Closer on my left, I hear the click of Chinese chess pieces move across the board. I enjoy the friends' camaraderie. Someone wins, and gentle laughter rises. In Taiwan, it is common for elementary school friends to remain friends for life. I watch them for a while and smile. They are easy and relaxed in each other's company. One of the friends smiles back at me, offering me something. I crane my neck and see he is offering a cigarette. I smile but shake my head. He grins back. No offence taken. Later, when I pass, I thank him. He waves and gives me a wonderful, open smile.

In this friendly and quiet park, almost hidden in the chaotic city, there is comfort. And safety from lurking lampposts in the street.   

I think I'll stick to the park paths a little more.