With a lot on my plate today, I waited until well into the early evening to think about my New Place, and then, quite honestly, was less than enthused about having to go out in Friday evening traffic. I tossed around a couple of ideas in my head—I needed something that would also entertain Lola, who was bored from being inside most of the day while I was working—but couldn’t settle on anything.

Still undecided as I went to the car, I ran into a neighbor, complained to him about it, and then, as I got into the car, remembered a park on Girard Street that I had seen in the distance a few months ago on another New Place excursion. It had been in the news lately (not for good reasons, alas), but it was closer than some of my other options (in my pre-accident days, I could easily have walked there), so I decided to go.

With low expectations but resolve (let’s just get this done!), I found my way to Girard Street, parked, and wandered over to the park. Immediately, Lola got lots of friendly attention from a passer-by, and the park’s official signage specifically named “Exploring” as an allowed activity. My mood started to pick itself up off the sidewalk.

Then a couple spots of bright color, lots of children and activity caught my eye in a corner behind another fence.

Wandering over, I found a young woman and a herd of children who swarmed around Lola. Turns out that I had stumbled onto Girard Children’s Community Garden run by the nonprofit City Blossoms The woman explained that it was a community garden, and anyone could go in and work and harvest the crops.

Anyone but Lola, that is. But the woman offered to hold her while I explored this lovely secret garden, with its painted walkway stones, a purple utensil shed, and a giant xylophone-ish rainbow sculpture. Zinnia, herbs, tomatoes, and even a small strawberry garden, among other things, grew in the various corners of the lot. It was an utterly charming experience to be in this space that people obviously loved and cultivated in the middle of the city, in the middle of a crappy overwhelming day, in the middle of my bad-mood funk. I can only imagine the transformative magic that it held for children.

When I came back out, Lola was still ensconced in the middle of a clump of kids, about 12 hands patting her all over her head and back, happily munching on some grass that sprang up around the edge of the garden fence.

I guess we both had a pretty good time after all. This One New Place project teaches me the same lessons over and over again: Don’t stay in the funk. Go someplace new. The surprise will come. . .