Green Means Go

Scheuerman's colleagues were appalled. Synthetic turf is the antithesis of Montgomery County's image of itself.

"I was very hostile to putting in turf," says Susan Hoffmann, marketing and special events manager for Silver Spring. "I thought it would look terrible, feel awful, be very uncomfortable."

The first day, in late August, she kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot as a test. The lawn felt fine, "soft" even. In coming days she noticed crowds showing up spontaneously to use the park. She and other officials began to appreciate the genius of Scheuerman's folly.

Why does fake grass work in this case? Many park users say they like real grass, but the real parks near their houses feel isolated -- far from the action and social connection of downtown.

Others say they can enjoy the plastic pasture only in the knowledge that it's a transitional phase before the planned ice rink.

Then some say real grass has its drawbacks. Ants. Grass stains. Some opine that toddlers -- for whom real and fake are tedious distinctions -- can frolic more easily on the ruglike surface.

Adding to its magnetic invitation, the green is subtly sloped and contoured. A perfectly flat ground would have felt too much like the floor of a basement.

One problem: The cigarette butts pile up. Maintenance workers -- who groom this lawn with giant vacuum cleaners -- need to get out there more often.

"If we want grass, we can stay over at Walter Reed; it's beautiful over there," says Army National Guard Lt. Frank Washburn, who lost part of his left foot in northern Iraq and is recuperating in the military hospital.

This evening he's sharing an ice cream with his girlfriend, Casey McCraith. They have their shoes off. They just ate dinner at Ruby Tuesday's. The plastic park is one of their favorite places to end an evening, surveying the downtown bustle on the other three corners of the intersection. "Sometimes it's nice to watch the commercial [activity] and not be in it," Washburn says.

Students from the Perpetual Motion Suzuki Strings, a music school, begin an impromptu concert. They collect $240 for Hurricane Katrina relief in a violin case.

Some kids kick a soccer ball. Two girls practice cheerleading moves. A family plays tag. A little boy is pushing a little girl who's sitting on his skateboard. McCraith gets a kiss from Washburn.

Old-fashioned street lamps come on, a sliver of new moon rises over Ellsworth.

Crystal Gomes trots after her daughter, Kennedy, 2, who is making a beeline into the green yonder. "This has just been an instant success," Gomes says.

Next fall, when it's time to peel off the "grass," county officials are hoping to recycle it on other vacant lots -- unless the plastic park turns out to be so beloved that protesters march with signs demanding: "Save our SoftLawn!"