(Photo by Violet Snow)
Caren Dashow, a.k.a. Yesiree the Public Notary, explains, “I’m offering legal incantations. I’m trying to get people to think about what they want, not what they don’t want. This rip in the universe has happened, and we have to take advantage of it, get people to formulate their vision.”
Originally from Boston, the 39-year-old, a certified notary public, has lived in New York for 16 years. “I’m proud of my city again,” she says. “I was losing hope, and now I’m thrilled.”
I agree to have my vision notarized. She asks for my ID and hands me a card on which to write a statement while she copies my name and driver’s license number in her ledger. Then I read my declaration aloud from the card, including an affirmation that I am who I say I am yes I am. At the end of my reading, I ring a bell, and she stamps my card with her notary seal. I love it.
A circle of people sit near a blackboard that says “People’s Think Tank. Current topic: Corporate personhood.” A woman holds out an iPhone, recording a man with dreadlocks, who speaks emphatically.
A fellow with a clipboard is taking a survey, asking a woman, “Have you made any friends here?”
“No,” she says.
“Would your family approve or disapprove of your being here?”
I miss her answer.
A man wrapped in blankets is sleeping in front of the Workshop and Teach-In Schedule. As I head deeper into the park, I see more and more tents. There’s an area with racks and bins of clothing — I notice lots of sweaters.
The western end is dominated by an energetic drum circle, a few people dancing. I walk up the south side of the park, where an open mic is underway, a cluster of audience watching a fiddler scrape out a fast-paced folk tune. He sings, “Wall Street gal gonna step out tonight / step out tonight / step out tonight…”
A wide hand-lettered sign reads “Protect Small Farmers / Bale Hay, Not Banks”.
There are a few cops scattered around the edges of the park. They look pretty relaxed.
A contingent from the Sudbury School in West Hurley arrives, including my friend Mor Pipman and her kids. They are here for the family sleepover at the parents’ and children’s area, which was sectioned off just today.
Maggie Fishman, a Brooklyn matron who is here without her pre-teen children, is sitting on the steps. “It’s amazing to see this public space emerging,” she says. It has doubled in size since the last time she was here, ten days ago.
Her husband, Yiftach Resheff, stops by daily on his way to and from work at a non-profit down the street. “It’s become more organized in terms of separating the different areas,” he remarks. “Yesterday the Wal-Mart employees were here demonstrating against Wal-Mart.”
“Today it’s Verizon,” says Fishman, and I notice the line of workers carrying glossy red Verizon posters along the north sidewalk.
At the back of the kitchen is a sign explaining the system for filtering dishwater, a series of plastic basins connected by hoses. One basin contains wood chips and gravel, while plants are growing in the last two basins. The resultant graywater is poured onto plants in the park.
The bearer of a sign reading “USA 2.0” explains to an onlooker, “New version — time to upgrade.”++
