The Greensward Plan: a landscape built to look accidental
In 1858, the park's commissioners held a public design competition. The winning entry, called the Greensward Plan, came from Frederick Law Olmsted, a writer and farmer with no formal design training, and Calvert Vaux, an English-born architect. Their idea was radical in its simplicity: give ordinary New Yorkers, most of whom couldn't afford a trip to the countryside, a sequence of pastoral scenes that felt entirely natural.
None of it was natural. The site was rocky, swampy and cut up by ridges of bedrock. Crews blasted rock, drained wetlands, moved enormous quantities of soil and planted hundreds of thousands of trees and shrubs. Lakes that look as if they've always been there were dug by hand. Meadows that seem to roll on forever were graded to hide the buildings at their edges. It took well over a decade of work, and the park reached its current northern boundary at 110th Street after an extension in the 1860s.
The trick you walk over without noticing
Olmsted and Vaux's smartest idea is one most visitors never spot. The competition required roads to carry crosstown traffic through the park, which would have sliced it into pieces. Instead of running those roads across the surface, the designers sank four transverse roads below ground level, hidden in cuttings and screened by planting. Buses and taxis cross the park all day, and from the paths above you barely know they're there.
They applied the same thinking inside the park, separating carriage drives, bridle paths and footpaths so that each could flow without crossing the others. Where paths meet, one passes over or under the other on a bridge or arch, and Vaux designed dozens of them, each one different. Look out for cast-iron Bow Bridge over the Lake, one of the most photographed spots in the city.