I grew up on Park Lane right across from Franklin Park's White Stadium, which has the "Golden Stairs to the Park" at the bottom of the deadend, leading down to Olmsted Street. They were beautiful slate and puddingstone stairs until they fell apart. The city finally replaced them, but with concrete lacking any of the romance of the originals.

So there are many memories of Franklin Park, which was essentially our playground. On snowy days off from school we'd cross country ski from our street into the park and ski down the big hill in the golf course, ending in a crash at the bottom.

We loved visiting the Bear Dens and pretending to lock each other in.

The Kite Festival was always a zany fun day.

The year the Bottle Bill was passed, my mother got a group of us kids to gather cans and bottles in the park. Then we brought them to the Boston Common and added them to a huge pile. The Bottle Bill was passed and we learned a great civic lesson.

On Thanksgiving Day, several of the families from our street would sneak into the stadium for a game of touch football in the chill while the turkey was roasting at home.

Now I live in Dorchester and mostly drive through Franklin Park, watching improvements from the road such as the new golf clubhouse.

Of course we went to the zoo a lot as kids and it's been nice to rediscover the park and zoo with my daughter.  Tonight I told her about the castles in the park and we'll go and hunt them down soon.

-Kirsten

I've always loved the zoo. I live in my imagination, but the fuel for a man's dreams must be found somewhere, and I found so much of mine at the Franklin Park zoo.
I remember seeing the gravity-defying roof of the Tropical Rainforest building as we approached. The dark tinted glass of the double-doored entrance, obscuring the curiosities inside---a barrier between the mundane world and the jungle.The earthy, animal smell, strong and real, as you crossed into that world.
And the animals.
Creatures you'd expect, like monkeys and snakes, side by side with the chimeric babirusa or the alien bush baby. All in a place that felt more like THEIR home: Dense, humid air, an overcast sky, and the cool mist from a waterfall on your face as you cross a wooden bridge over a rocky ravine.
The ability to travel less than a mile from my home in the 'hood, into another world, was one I didn't take for granted, even then. I loved the jungle, and it fed my imagination and love for animals, for nature, for Earth, in so many direct and indirect ways that I don't think it'd be an exaggeration to say that I'd be a different person were it not for the fires that were sparked in me on those afternoon adventures.

And now I have a four year old son, full of curiosity and wonder and a love of nature. Perhaps inherited, Perhaps instilled. But certainly nourished by the many trips we've already taken to the zoo. Because I know that there are men who live in their imagination. But for a man to dream, he needs fuel. And the Franklin Park Zoo has fueled the dreams of so many kids, because it reminds us that there are other worlds than ours, and that they are just around the corner........

-Jeff R. (mrjefrogers@gmail.com)

I was 14. It was my first summer job working at the Playhouse in the Park. Our job was to clean the park of debris to prepare it for the nights' events. I remember my supervisor at that time. He was a handsome 21 year old that I had a crush on. He gave me a quarter for a kiss. He shouldn't have - I know that now, but this was 35 years ago - and I know that a 21 year old, even today is still immature. I remember rolling the quarter between my thumb and index finger and watching the sun reflect off of it, over his shoulder. I was too shy to kiss him, so I kept the quarter and ran away.

Later that night Hugh Masekela came to play. It was the first performance I was allowed to stay and watch. It was magic - the night was warm and the air was charged with anticipation at this exotic performers appearance. Hordes of people came from all over the city to see this man and swarmed over the Playhouse grounds. For me, he was a great African musician and celebrity and I was awestruck. As the drumming began and the ancient rhythms arced out over the audience we were reconnected with our ancestors, through him, if only for a short time. Afterwards, we walked to our homes in the dark of the summer night, down the winding road, heads held high, proud - the night was alive with the message of our music, our laughter, our voices, our history, our roots, our connection with the Motherland.

--Julia Tripp, Playhouse audience member - once again

It was the first day that it snowed this year.  As soon as I got out of school I went to Franklin Park with my dad. When we got there only a few skiiers had been there. It looked like we were on the moon because there were no footprints and everything was white. We walked over to the tennis courts by the big field and tried to play tennis with snowballs and our hands. It didn't work very well. After that we shook some trees that were looking heavy with snow. I tried to shake one on my dad, but he dodged it. Snow was raining on us even though it wasn't snowing. On the way back we traced letters in the snow with our feet by shuffling toe to heel. When we got home we were so cold we had to sit under blankets and drink hot chocolate. I wish I could do that again.

--Max, age 9  

Deep in "The Wilderness" there's a huge field of Japanese Knotweed, the intractable invasive plant that is taking over sections of the park's woodlands. Today this field has been cut repeatedly so the knotweed is not very tall. But several years ago, when out for a Sunday afternoon hike with my two boys, we chanced upon a narrow path that had been created in the knotweed. With 12 ft high plants on either side the path was more like a tunnel than a woodland trail. My boys ran delightedly down it with me following close behind. We found a small clearing in the middle with two elderly gentlemen who spoke no English, sitting in lounge chairs enjoying a drink. They smiled and laughed at the discovery of their hiding place, even offering us their refreshments.

--Christine