I pulled into the Tyler State Park office parking lot half asleep and coffee in hand.  The sun danced on the golden fields rolling towards the silhouette tree line where the sun had launched from less than an hour before.  I tried imagining the type of people who work at a state park.  I pictured Brian, the park manager, with a fly-fishing vest, an untamed beard and old baseball cap.  I admit when thinking about the park staff, certain phrases like “tree hugger” and “hippie” came to mind.  I trodden gingerly through the grass on my way to the office, afraid I might step on rare indigenous specimen of plant.  I pictured the staff slowly shaking their heads at me in disappointment.  “City kids,” they would say, “no respect for nature.”

Ask me a question about Tyler State Park, I bet I know it.  I know about Mr. and Mrs. George Tyler, the lavishly rich and eccentric couple who purchased the land between 1919 and 1928.  I know about the world class Frisbee golf course that weaves through the park, at times crisscrossing with the 10.5 miles of paved roads used for bicycling.   All of this, along with numerous hiking trails, picnic areas and the longest covered bridge in Bucks County lies within the 1,711 acres of the park that wrap around the perimeter of Bucks County Community College.  You can figure all of this information out with a quick look at the parks website, but the website will not give you a backstage look to the personalities who run the park.

Enter Brian Flores, park manager and the self-proclaimed mayor of the Tyler State.  Brian kindly gave me the privilege of shadowing him for a day: allowing me to follow him around for a typical morning of work and nagging staff members with questions.  At the end of the day, Flores went the extra mile and took the time to drive me around the park, gracing me with an expert’s tour of the park.

I waited for Flores in the visitor’s center, circling the room and gazing at bugs in glass jars like an elementary kid on a field trip.  Within a few minutes, Flores strolled in sporting thick, modern glasses and clean-cut shirt and hair.  If he hadn’t told me he was the manager I would have taken him for a typical nine to five businessman from the city.  Brian walked me through the office building, stopping every few minutes to introduce me to the friendly full-time staff.  We walked up the stairs to meet the head Ranger at the park.  I noticed the mud running up the sides of Brian’s boots.

Brian told me about his education as a Parks and Recreation major, a pathway chosen after serving four years in the Navy.  Our conversation then drifted from Brian’s personal life to a discussion about kids living in the “concrete jungle.”  Up until this point Brian had answered my questions in a straightforward, mathematical sort of way but now his responses began sounding more poetic.

“It’s amazing how kids who grow up in the city never get to experience the serenity and peace of nature.”  Brian was now more animated than ever: his hands began circling as he is rubbed his thumb against his fingers like an Italian chef describing a meatball cooked to perfection.

“The outdoors are not manicured,” Brian added, “so many people have an unhealthy fear of the nature because they have never been educated about the outdoors.  It’s a fear of the unknown.”  For Brian, the park serves as a place where people can be slowly introduced to nature like a boy wearing little swimmers for his first time in water.  When their initial fears of the unknown are relieved they are able to experience the serenity and peace that nature can bring.

I meandered downstairs to allow Brian to complete some paperwork.  I quickly found other people to bother.  Cathy, 20, the veteran of the park was my first victim followed by Bonnie, the parks Environmental Interpretive Technician.

“That’s a mouthful,” was my response to Bonnie’s job title.

“It just means I can communicate with the raccoons,” she quickly explained.

“Oh,” I said.  “Really?”

Bonnie explained that she was in charge of the educational programs at the park.  Sometimes she travels to schools to give interactive lectures about various aspects of nature, but as often as possible Bonnie would prefer that school groups come to the park.  Instead of hearing about nature, they are able to immerse themselves in it. Like Brian, Bonnie believes that spending time in nature is vital to the wellbeing of a person.

“Our lives are incredibly broken down and scheduled,” Bonnie explained.  “Kids need to have the opportunity to manipulate their worlds.”  As a former teacher, this triggered a whole new sphere of my brain.  I thought about children in today’s society who do not have the opportunity to be creative and to learn experientially.  How can you do that when you go from filling in bubble sheets for seven hours, to being ordered around at soccer practice, to watching three hours of television?  We began discussing the importance of unstructured play for the wellbeing of a child.

Brian whizzed through the room to pick up some paper and overheard our conversation about unstructured play.  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Brian emphatically agreed.

Brian, Bonnie, Cathy and all the full-time staff love speaking about the trees and the various animals and insects that make up Tyler State Park.  Brian, on our drive through the park, spoke about fighting off the foreign plant species like the briars and “mile-a-minute” which suck up the life of the indigenous plants.  This knowledge and love for nature from a park staff was not surprising for me.  What did surprise was their love for the people who come to the park.

In a short morning at Tyler State all my preconceived notions of park staff proved false.  It turns out the folks that run the show at Tyler State Park would rather talk to people than hug trees.  They also, as it turns out, do not spend most of their time climbing trees, frolicking in the hay fields and smiling at the smoky the bear posters in their offices.  The staff people love the beauty and unpredictable wonders of nature, but their purpose for working at the park is much deeper and grand than a corny slogan like ‘save the trees.’

When I asked Brian to describe a perfect day at the park, he paused, nodded his head, and looked up toward the ceiling.  “A perfect day at the park would be getting out of the office and mingling with the people at the park,” says Brian.

Brian wasn’t the typical nine to five businessman that I imagined when I first met him.  And no, the park staff was not the tree hugging hippies that I daydreamed of while I was half asleep pulling into the office.  Brian lives in the residential housing at Tyler State and is able to call the park his backyard.  He is able to experience the serenity and peace of nature everyday, and wants other people to experience this joy as well.

I took Brian’s recommendation and went to the park the other day.  I walked around with no agenda, no schedule, and no purpose.  My shoes crunched the frozen mud through the horse trails on the west side of the park.  Off the trails, a long vine hung low to the ground between two trees and I decided it looked like a good swing.  Within seconds the vine snapped and I fell flat on my back.

 Lying on the ground with no other human being in sight, I looked up at the maze of branches and laughed.  The wind zipped through the trees and I realized that at any time I could be crushed with any of the large rotting branches from above. I was vulnerable to the uncontrollable forces of nature.  It was a bit of perspective that I normally float above amidst my busy schedule and anxious thoughts.  I stood up, brushed the leaves and snow off my back, and spun around to make sure no one was looking at me.  Relieved that no one was in sight, I hurried to my car, to my meeting, to practice, to the television, and to bed.