The Concrete Vineyard by Cam Lang

Author:Cam Lang [Lang, Cam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780228832263
Publisher: Tellwell Talent
Published: 2021-03-14T00:59:14+00:00

Chapter 26

Planning, Politics and Numbered Companies

Saturday, July 8

I left the homestead park and continued running through a shaded, oak savannah, known as ‘Paradise Grove’. It was comfortable and enjoyable, densely wooded and underlain by tall, natural prairie grass. It opened up to the exposed, sun-splashed plain of Fort George, where I felt instantly vulnerable to the sun, so I dashed along the extensive cedar palisade of the fort and into a parking lot (which, unfortunately, was the landing spot for tour buses, and their noxious exhaust).

Sprinting away, I emerged on the sidewalk near the southern end of Old Town at the edge of the Heritage Conservation District. Off to my left sat the bustling red cube of the Shaw Festival theater and to my right, the vacant and lifeless old town hospital. Sitting on almost four acres, the hospital property nestled against the edge of the urban growth boundary. It was a prime location: Adjacent to a glorious military fort, atop a ridge overlooking the river, developers from near and afar had likely been standing over their maps for years, plotting, strategizing and even licking their chops. The hospital would surely close any day now. Apart from a few tenacious opponents, there probably wouldn’t be much of a fuss; people were becoming more and more desensitized to losing their institutional fabric.

I slowed to a stroll as I went up the main central boulevard, the Queen-Picton corridor. I was overwhelmed and impressed by the assemblage of ornamental flowers, shrubs, hanging baskets, and banners in my hometown, often called the ‘prettiest town in Canada’ by Communities in Bloom, the Canadian organization that fosters competition between Canadian communities to beautify their civic spaces.

As noon approached, theaters showing Shaw Festival productions prepared to swing open their matinee doors. Outdoor patios and cafes were overflowing and waiters in black bow ties and matching livery were leaping to and fro with trays of Niagara’s finest wines, serving those who fancied themselves just as fine. It was a place where even a king could feel important.

On the surface, it all appeared so wondrously splendid, but I sensed some trouble was lurking. Such flowerbeds are not to everyone’s taste, and I found them a little much sometimes. I thought of architect Frederick Law Olmsted, who conceptualized both the Biltmore Estate and the 1893 Chicago World Fair. During his final years, he mused, “There can be little fault found with simple, neat turf. Do not be afraid of plain, undecorated, smooth surfaces. Let us be thought over-much plain and simple, even bare, rather than gaudy, flashy, cheap and meretricious … let us manifest the taste of gentlemen.”

I sat on a bench and studied the fascinated guests, all stopping and snapping photos of the bright reds, yellows, purples, and pinks—flowers that were diligently pampered along the bustling public realm. In behind those flowers, however, was a concerning transition of the small, independent boutiques, art, novelty and vintage stores which were being replaced by eating and drinking establishments catering to garishly dressed tourists like those milling around me.

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