Tales from near home

My circuit with Gord poodle is predictable.

We walk up Cliff Street. Gord pees on the same fence, and on a stump where a golden lab trapped indoors barks at him, wishing he were outside. On lucky days, Beth goes with us.

Soon we come to the spot where the fence is cut into an impromptu gate with one stretched link resting over a post. Gord pauses, recognizing the familiar route. I pause just past. On the left, a small, handmade sign, brightly colored with some flowers, hangs on a bush.

Sign rests in a little grove of trees and grass. A peaceful place next to what was once a bustling expressway protecting the city from its river.

“In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”

We pause in a reverent moment before crossing the remains of the Robert Moses Parkway. The west lanes have been shut down as a bike path for so long the bike path markings have faded to the point they look like hieroglyphs.

Sooner rather than later this whole road will be taken out by the State. It will be a big project, probably $100 million or more. People from DeVeaux love it. People from Lewiston worry it could somehow cause more traffic and besides, it is change. Most of them never come “up the hill.” It is beneath them. Beneath them to come uphill. Yeah, I said it.

We continue onward, some days taking the path left, where State Parks thoughtfully stocks a poop bag dispenser, some days on the right where a more direct route rests to the gorge top.

We turn left at the fence along the river, walking south. He likes to wander a bit into the brush and drop a deuce in a place so discreet collection is often impossible even if I have a freshly scarfed poop bag in my pocket.

Further ahead, the railings twist downhill above the lower Whirlpool Rapids with a sudden slope Gord thinks best taken running at the end of his leash, pulling me.
He has forced me to scramble to keep up more than once but these days I shorten the leash and tell him we will walk together. He complies.

At the Whirlpool stairs is a garbage can. Left goes down, 400 steps to the river. About a third of the time, at the head of the stairs, tired hikers cross the trail and sit on a low step.

More stairs are there, (we call them the Vanderbilt stairs because they connect the dinner side of Vanderbilt Avenue to the Whirlpool stairs) at another place where Moses’ dream disconnected the city from its river. The “dinner side” is where the bigger houses are, the McMansions of a century ago when this neighborhood was filled with the elite, doctors, lawyers and professionals. Today, it’s teachers, firefighters and police with a few people like us mixed in. We live on the east side of Lewiston Road. The blocks called the “supper” side. Mnemonically, "dinner" has an "N" for nice, "supper" has a "p" for poor.

A couple years ago, Gord pulled me down those Vanderbilt stairs on ice. I stumbled, rolled, crashed, bruised both shoulders, both knees, banged my head and broke both bones in my left wrist. It healed OK but I might not have stayed with physical therapy as long as I should.

We plod ahead toward the playground at Whirlpool State Park. There always seem to be families from India or Pakistan there with kids playing.

The bathroom at the park is finally completed. It’s the same as the new facilities near the visitor center, unisex. There are no urinals. Every stall is fully enclosed.

The sinks have motion activated soap, water and hand dryers all in the sink. The first time I brought a guest to the new bathrooms at the main park he emerged in a state of confusion.

“I didn’t know what was going on. Where am I supposed to go?” This is the world we now live in.

We continue past the playground through the grove of oak trees, by the picnic shelter, toward the horrible parkway. A sign tells us sky blue aster, an endangered flower, grows here. We head uphill into DeVeaux Woods. A tulip tree and some locusts rest to the right. An oriole often calls (or is it a robin?).

We march on past the Schoellkopf orphanage where work is being completed to fix masonry and seal the roof. Sooner or later, the state will offer an RFP. Watch for the Delaware North boutique hotel to open in 2030.

The spectacular stone building, once a Niagara University dorm, before that an orphanage is certainly irreplaceable at any price. Spending $1.8 million of state dollars to get it ready for redevelopment is a wise investment even if the contract goes to the employer of Gov. Hochul's husband.

I just hope the new facility has a coffee shop and decent restaurant. Other than spectacular nature, DeVeaux is not a walkable community. It lacks a bar, restaurant, coffee shop, ice cream stand or convenience store. DeVeaux Mini Mart is a clutter mess of haircare products, junk food and cheap alcohol.

I still can’t get over how stupid the visitor center is. The Delaware North concession stand has been open for a year but there is little else, no interpretive displays, nothing to promote the city, just glass and fancy fixtures and LEDs. Some designer had a thing for them. A sign says displays are coming. Just don’t ask when. It’s hopeful, like the Brownfield Redevelopment sign with Gov. David Paterson’s name on it near the old Globe Metallurgical on Highland Avenue.

Onward we head, left past the beautiful brick bathroom built of bricks salvaged from a barn that should have been saved. It could have been a brewery or coffee shop. Instead we got a $1 million bathroom.

DeVeaux Woods has the nicest dog park we have ever visited. Often, we will be joined by no one. Other times, there are a few pups around. There is an entrance area with a water fountain, an outside run, a big dog area and a small dog area.

Some days we greet River and Aurora, huskies who like to run laps, just not as fast as Gord or Milo, a lab mix.

Other days, it’s a terrier mix, Ben, half Gord’s size but capable of leaping over his back in a single bound. A dream frisbee dog. I returned home a half-dozen times and reported to Beth Gord played with Ben again, and how watchful and careful Ben’s owner was. I jokingly called her Yoko because every older Japanese woman is Yoko to a Beatles fan.

After this went on for far too long, we had an incident. Ben got overly aggressive and nipped at Gord. His owner intervened.

“That’s it. You are in big trouble. You are grounded.”

She pulled him aside and took him to the small dog area. I looked at her.
“I’ve been seeing you here for months with Ben and I just realized I don’t know your name. What is it?”

She looked at me and said “Yoko.”

All I could do is laugh.

As we turn to leave, I offer Gord water at the dog fountain. He doesn’t like it but will sip a bit.

Heading back toward home, we walk past the playground. Inevitably, a child will ask if it is OK to pet Gord. I tell them it’s OK but Gord doesn’t much care because squirrel.

The playground at DeVeaux Woods is spectacular with a rubber surface, swings, a merry-go-round and more. It is always full of kids.

There’s a ball diamond across the way as well. It’s hard not to stop for a bit and watch a few batters, as well as attentive coaches teaching skills and life, usually dads but with the occasional mom mixed in as well.

We head out the entrance past the new sign. It looks really nice. For $120,000, it better be. But hey, they used more of those salvaged bricks and the bottom panel is replaceable in case Kathy Hochul is no longer governor.

We walk a few blocks home and call it a day. At the porch, Gord sits patiently waiting for admission. I unfasten his harness and leash without letting him in. He doesn’t want to run. He heads inside, drinks a bunch of water from his dish and collapses on the rug by the fireplace.