When my oldest children were small and my husband worked full time, I spent many evenings down at B. Forman Park. I watched the kids throw rocks in the lake, pushed them on the swings, and caught them at the bottom of the slides. Sometimes we were alone and sometimes the park was full. It can be a peaceful, lonely kind of place or bustling with activity.
Years back seagull strutted along the shore squawking at us in hopes that we might throw them a piece of bread. I don't see many gulls now but the "evidence" of Canada geese lies in the grass along the water's edge. The playground equipment, at least the swings and slides, has stood the test of time and has likely been there since the days of the dinosaur. Only the merry-go-round and springy animals are gone. I suppose these were deemed dangerous and hauled off to where ever old playground equipment goes. The beach, although changed by the action of the lake, remains covered with small round stones perfect for skipping or tossing into the water.
On the western edge of the park are private homes and cottages. Some of them look very much like what one might see along the Atlantic coast. Driftwood washes up on their beaches and they always have a perfect view of sailboats and sunsets. Spectacular thunderstorms dance over a dark lake on hot July nights. I think I would like to lie in bed, thunder rumbling, rain pelting the roof, and watch the lightening flash.