Tanner Springs park was designed to preserve a small patch of the native wetlands that once thrived here (long before the railyards, and even longer before galleries and condos and Pearl fashionistas.)
What fascinates me is the way the floating path resembles the city grid - a literal representation of the city imposed upon nature.
Old railroad ties make an interesting material for the fence. This recycled raw material reinforces the environmental theme, but at the same time, it memorializes the very industry that first devoured this land. It creates an interesting tension: Which past do we wish to preserve?
That tension is at the heart of what makes this park so creepy for me. Of course I support preservation, but is this really preservation? One small patch of land - the size of two Starbucks cafes? No way could such a small square of land save the wetlands. No way could it make a difference to the dwindling wildlife.
And speaking of wildlife, you won't find much here. The grass and plants grow in neat rows. Water pipes peek out from the murky creek. What you will find: benches and pebbled walkways, signs that warn visitors to stay off the grass, and neat stairs (no handicap ramps, by the way.) Several signs warn to keep dogs out of the park. One asks visitors to help preserve this sensitive habitat.
Interesting how the responsibility falls on us. Portland city planners have no problem building more conods and highrises. But we, the citizens, must keep our dogs out of the grass.
And doesn't that say it all?