Small or large, urban parks are even more a part of our daily lives in the summer. But what makes up their soul? Which one occupies a special place in our hearts and in our routine? For this series, The Duty goes through some of them, sometimes accompanied by readers who wanted to share their story.
Some people take a bench or a tree into their hearts, a patch of parkland that becomes a refuge for their thoughts. For Pascal Blanchet, it is the fountain in Baldwin Park that has become, over time, “his fountain”. A small source of water, both intoxicating and soothing, located in the heart of the park’s diagonals and the oblique passages that life forces us to take, which encourages us, by the constancy of its flow, to settle down.
“A fountain empties and fills at the same time… like my thoughts. I come here to clear my mind at the end of the day,” explains the 59-year-old, sitting on one of the benches that line the watering hole., imbued with simplicity. A sobriety that does not make it the poor relation of Montreal fountains, insists this author of youth TV series who has lived, for thirty years, a stone’s throw from Baldwin Park, on the Plateau-Mont-Royal.
Placed too low, the fountain in Laurier Park has little interest in his eyes, just like the one in La Fontaine Park, imperious by the force of its rectilinear jet. “Here, it’s very constant, very even.” It’s also miles away from the flamboyance of the fountain in the Desjardins complex. Or from the agitation of the jets that intoxicate the children in Jean-Duceppe Park.
So small, simple, but comforting? “I think that everyone in the neighbourhood, everyone who passes by here, has a connection with the fountain.” Located in the northern section of the park, quieter and more intimate than the portion of the green space between Rachel and Sherbrooke streets, this modest pool of water is surrounded by mature trees that form a sort of dome above it. A screen of greenery that protects — at least symbolically — the fountain and its share of admirers. While it, in return, masks the noise of cars from them.
Still and in motion
For Pascal, the strength and attractiveness of this beguiling source of water most likely reside in its duality. “It is still, but it moves at the same time.” A dual state, similar to that of a candle, which reminds him of a concentration exercise he used to do when he was in theater. “We had to stare at a candle, it was a form of mindfulness meditation. I think there is something of that in the fountain… but without the risk of setting it on fire,” he says, recounting an episode where flames had taken over his dresser.
When it gets dark, the fountain is illuminated, Pascal continues, with his easy words. “We see from afar the light moving to the rhythm of the water and creating reflections under the leaves.” A play of lights that captivates and seduces. “It’s not an eclipse, it’s not the northern lights, but it creates a small movement that encourages contemplation and reflection.”
When September comes around, Pascal comes to enjoy the autumn colours around the fountain. “This is actually my yard,” he says. “I don’t really have access to greenery with my micro-balcony. Having a park like this, close by, is very precious.” In winter, a “very ugly” wooden box is placed on the infrastructure to protect its pipes. Snow and ice take over the place, but Pascal still comes to sit there from time to time, dreaming of summer. And when spring returns and the fountain is back in service, “it’s a small event, I text my friend and tell him: come, the fountain is back!”
Like many city dwellers, Pascal has seen his love for his neighbourhood park grow during the pandemic. “My connection to Baldwin Park has become even more precious.” Sometimes, during the long months of social distancing, he would meet up with friends by the fountain, coffee in hand. Other times, it was picnics. “On Saturday nights, the park was full. It was beautiful to see this crowd gathered in small groups.”
Memories
And tirelessly, this place has witnessed significant events in his life. When his mother died during the pandemic, it was at the fountain that Pascal, among other things, came to seek courage. “It’s a good place to think.” And when his stepfather was staying in the rehabilitation center located directly in the park, near Rachel Street, Pascal often hurriedly crossed the diagonals of this green space to go and join him. “His TV [qu’il regardait sur une tablette]it was very important to him. But sometimes, it would give way. He would call me and then… I would arrive,” he says, pointing to the path he was taking quickly. “This park is associated with all that.”
Even though the man with the relaxed appearance likes to say, with a teasing eye, that the fountain in Baldwin Park is “his” fountain, he knows full well that he shares it with others. Like with those dog walkers who let their four-legged friends drink there. Or with those schoolchildren who amuse themselves, day after day, by throwing branches into the water. Not to mention that homeless man who, winter and summer, wears a lined coat on his back. “He stares at the fountain, just like me!”
And there was also this old lady who, for years, jealously watched over the fountain. Despite her difficult gait, she picked up everything that was lying around the pool of water and tirelessly lectured those who threw branches at it, the screenwriter recalls. For some time now, the “unofficial guardian of the fountain” has no longer been there. But Pascal – who else? – would like to replace her or at least tell her story, a bit like today and certainly even more so, to those ready to be cajoled in turn.