Zaya and Mim ran first to the old equipment: a brief spin on the merry-go-around and one climb on the monkey bars.
They bemoaned the fact that the "exciting" slides were gone, the same steep slides that had been there forever.. (Their uncle tumbled over the side of one and bashed his face at the bottom of the other when he was three. Well I tried to be a good mother, but I was never able to keep up with him.)
It was meant to be a child's dream world, creative, and safe. My grandchildren soon introduced themselves to other children and began to rush from one activity to another:
Scaling walls and--rather anachronistically--a courthouse dome, and horseless carriages in the fiefdom.
A peep-hole and a portcullis,
stepping stones across the moat.
Great attractions for all the little children in town, and comfortable benches for parents and grandparents to sit and visit at the entrance. Perfect.
But the children soon saw something even better outside the new park: A wide expanse of damp sand over under the volleyball net.
Where they played...
for...the rest of the morning.