The Boy of Jurgens Park

If you follow I-5 south from Portland, you will eventually run into the relatively small city known as Tualatin. In fact, you may not notice Tualatin at all. It's a rather small, upper-middle class town, with very little in it. However, it is surrounded by all the things a city could need. Restaurants, cinemas, grocery stores, etc. What you would miss at a cursory glance is the rather hidden Jurgens Park. Jurgens Park is what most would consider a normal park. It's close to the local middle school and has a baseball field, with a path going around it, and a small playground. In July, people gather to watch the fireworks that you can see shot off from Cook Park, which is just a few miles down the river, in the summer kids and their parents frequent the field and playground, and in December, people walk and drive by on their way to the local tree farm for their Christmas trees.
Now, you must be wondering why I would go to such lengths to tell you all about this rather unremarkable park in a rather unremarkable town. I tell you this because this park has a history. It has strings tying it into the ground deeper than most other parks you will find. This particular story starts quite a few years ago. There was a family that lived just a few blocks away from the park who would often bring their children down on nice days. The children loved spending time with each other and their parents, but the girl didn't enjoy the family's frequent visits to the park. Whenever they walked there, she would spend the time sitting on a swing reading. Her younger brother, though, loved everything about the park. When he was young, he loved the playground, and as he got older he began to love the field. Yes, he loved playing impromptu games of ball with other neighborhood boys, he loved running back and forth across the grass feeling the wind in his hair, but most of all he loved to lay in the middle of the field and watch the sky. He would spot shapes in the clouds, or simply admire the deep blue of the sky.
As the children grew up, the family visits to the park grew less and less frequent, until finally they stopped altogether. However, by this point to boy was old enough to go by himself and he would often be found there, in the middle of that field, just watching the sky. Right before the boy started high school, his grandmother became very ill, and the family packed up and left to be with her for the last few months of her life. The boy was never able to come back, though he often thought of Jurgens Park and his spot in the field where he would sit for hours on end simply enjoying the park and reflecting on whatever had happened to him recently. Eventually the boy graduated and went to college, but never earned his degree. One night as he was driving home for a visit and fell asleep at the wheel and was killed. Remembering how much he loved the park near his childhood home, the family decided to bury him in the nearby Winoma Cemetery.
Hearing this story you must still wonder what is so special about this rather unremarkable park. I will tell you that if you sit very quietly in that field, there is the distinct impression of another sitting right next to you, and if you run across the field and feel the wind in your hair, at the very edge of your vision you may just see the form of a boy running next to you. Whether or not you believe this, is up to you. But look closely next time you drive south on I-5 from Portland. And maybe, if you decide to stop there on a clear day, you will be lucky enough to see the boy of Jurgens Park.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A.N. Ok, I'm ignoring the fact that Jurgens Park is too new to have this history, but bare with me. I was bored in math and this came to mind. Enjoy! Please R&R!

~Morwen and her bouncy muse, Dae