In the spring of 2012, I began my internship with Friends of the Parks, a non-profit parks advocacy organization in Chicago. My role was site steward for what was then called the Dunning-Read Conservation Area (DRCA), now the Dunning Read Natural Area. The Dunning Read Natural Area is located on the grounds of the Chicago-Read Mental Health Center, about one block from my mom’s house where I had lived from the time I was fourteen until I bought my first house just a few miles away. During my internship, I spent most weekends there, helping to lead programs and habitat restoration efforts while drafting a site management plan.
From the files
Not long into my internship, I received an email from my manager, stating that a local beekeeper expressed interest in setting up hives on site. After a few back and forth emails, the beekeeper and I agreed to meet on-site to determine the best location for the hives. I met the beekeeper - Marcin - out back by the red shed on a pleasant sunny day. I took a liking to Marcin pretty much right away. He explained why setting up the hives at the base of a gentle south-facing slope would work best, but the site engineer vetoed that vote and recommended an area next to a large radio tower. Marcin maintained that the tower area was too shaded for the bees. A little more back and forth, and we determined that putting hives at the DRCA just wasn’t going to work out.
Later that summer, Marcin reached out once again and asked if he and his beekeeping crew could use the site to host their National Honey Bee Day festivities. I regretted that we were never able to accommodate his desire to install hives on site so I approved and helped set up the event. Marcin and his scrappy beekeeper crew came through that hot August day, with a tent, honey tastings, and some educational materials. For being in a crumbling, weedy parking lot of a mental health facility, the event went pretty well.
Marcin struck me as a down to earth kind of guy. He was a tall, bearish figure, sporting long hair tucked behind a bandanna and a chin goatee. These attributes belied his gentle and deliberate demeanor. If there was one thing I picked up from him early on, it was his fascination with honey bees and his willingness to educate others. A clear parallel existed between us - we both were really - and I mean REALLY - into things most people misunderstand and often fear. It’s an ethos rare as hen’s teeth. These are the kind of people you want to hang on to.
At some point, Marcin invited me to a community garden he and his crew had built on three empty lots at 1630-1634 Richmond Street in Humboldt Park. Upon entering the garden, my mind was blown. The garden was lush and full of fruits and vegetables growing in well-manicured plots. Everything was available to neighbors who needed fresh food but couldn’t find or afford it. There was a big stack of rain barrels catching water off of an adjacent apartment building (1638) and an ingenious watering system tapped into each garden plot. There was a mulched path for visitors to use and local artwork all over. There was even a wooden outhouse where one could piss into a biodegradable mixture of sawdust.
.JPG)
And of course, the bee hives. There were lots of hives here, some Marcin’s and some belonging to local members of his crew. It was an incredibly tranquil environment in the midst of a bustling neighborhood. This was Humble Parquito, a true up-and-coming place for community involvement, networking, and reflection.
Before I knew it, I became a regular here. The 2013 National Honey Bee Day festivities were held here, which attracted people from the neighborhood and beyond. Marcin organized bonfires during the summer/winter solstice and spring/fall equinox. Everyone would bring a plate to share, and while I’m a big-time introvert, I found good company here.
Sometimes it was hard to remind ourselves that the land Humble Parquito occupied was borrowed, and that at any moment, this thing that so many people created could be wiped clean, and fast. And that’s exactly what happened. In March of 2014, I received a text from Marcin notifying me that the lots had been sold to a developer. Humboldt Park had become the next Logan Square and thousands of suburban/out of state hipsters wanted to live there. The following eulogy was posted on the Humble Parquito Facebook page on March 14th, 2014:
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)…our time is coming to an end at 1630 North Richmond.”
A late night emergency meeting was held on an adjacent lot, across the alley at 1621 Humboldt Boulevard. Most of the Humble Parquito crew was there, in the darkness and battling the cold wind. There was a feeling of defeat amongst the attendees, yet Marcin had little time for sorrow. That night, a plan was proposed to relocate Humble Parquito to this new site. Feelings varied. Most were understandably attached to the “OG” Humble Parquito, and crushed to learn its fate. There was also the lingering concern that 1621 Humboldt might not last long either. Ultimately, all went home that night knowing that there might never be a Humble Parquito ever again.
I wasn’t present when Marcin and members of his crew were forced to clear the garden in preparation for development. It happened so fast. It could not have been an easy task, physically or mentally.
In 2014, three modern single-family homes were erected where Humble Parquito once flourished. The Humble Parquito crew half-heartedly maintained the new Humble Parquito at 1621 Humboldt for a few years until the eviction notice came through. The very last bonfire occurred there on December 21st, 2016 - winter solstice. In 2018, a large condominium was constructed there.
Losing Humble Parquito was a crushing loss. But one thing Marcin understood is that friendship transcends a place. Yes, Humble Parquito was an opportunity, a meeting place. But its demise couldn’t stop what it had created. Eventually, Marcin would leave the city and relocate to an exurban part of Elgin, in a small, old homestead awkwardly surrounded on three sides by large-scale new development. There, against a backdrop of drab tan condos and uninspired single family homes, he continues tending to his bees and gardening, seemingly unfazed by the greedy land grabbing and rapid suburban sprawl. And he still hosts bonfires, where his aging crew still regularly meets.
In a way, Humble Parquito lives on.
In loving memory of Christine DiMiceli
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
