The local news helicopter circled over the neighborhood this afternoon, and – since news coverage tends to go where there’s calamity, and since (Lord knows) there’s been plenty of that lately, and since my grandchildren are now loose in the ‘hood on their bikes – my mind ran the gamut of concerns: traffic accident, incident with a train on the tracks, crime, fire, road rage, escalating international tension (or worse), or . . . well, you know the litany.
The station’s live stream provided both explanation and comfort: the 168th St. Joe picnic in Crescent Hill is getting underway. Folks of all persuasions are gathering, once again, to participate in a beautiful community ritual to support the kids. Frosty beverages will be enjoyed, cake wheels will be spun, there’ll be stories told, and laughter, a few folks will walk home and come back tomorrow to try and find their cars, and the whole neighborhood will relax into a routine of doing something good together, for folks they may not even know. Because, under our crusty shells, it’s who we are. Thanks to everyone who puts in the hours of work to make this happen. Again. And thanks be to God.