Springtime in the city.

Yesterday was the first day above 50° F in Minneapolis.  It was Saturday; I got up early and went out to breakfast, and then decided to take a walk, just to walk and enjoy the nice weather.

I started to drive to the lakes, where I normally go when I want to run outside, and then decided that the paths around the lakes would be insanely crowded.  So instead I turned north on Hennepin Avenue, in the busy district of Lowry Hill. I parked at the first place I found a meter-free spot, in front of an eyeglasses shop.  One-hour parking:  perfect. 

I jettisoned the books and notebooks out of my satchel, put on my coat (it was still breezy), locked the car, and started walking north.   

Unmistakable signs of spring made me smile:  bass thumping from a passing car with its windows open; a whiff of cigarette smoke from a coffee shop with outdoor tables; water pouring from hoses at the car wash on the corner.  And just the air of the city, outdoors, after weeks of being bundled up tight indoors.  Diesel exhaust, the splash of puddles, the soft thump of snow sliding off a roof.

+ + +

After a few blocks I would have been walking on the berm of a highway, so I crossed the street and diverted into a residential area.  I very quickly left the busy streets behind. 

This neighborhood has giant Victorian houses as well as giant more-modern ones.   I have driven through here a couple of times but never walked.

I find it pleasant to stroll through the quiet streets here, wondering how much the houses cost, admiring the landscaping.  Although the landscaping is not very attractive just now, having been buried in a foot of snow less than a week ago.

Eventually I came to a tiny city park, less than half a city block in size, surrounded on four sides with imposing, beautiful old houses, and two-hour street parking that had plenty of empty spaces.  I made a mental note that this would be a good spot to park the car, if we wanted to take an urban hike with the children.

The tiny park had crumbling brick paths crossing it at a diagonal and an attractively sculpted watercourse, or drainage ditch anyway.

 And one of these things.

 

Look:  snow on the ground, but no boots.  I'm wearing my comfortable walking flats, the ones that took me all over London in the fall.  And the leather coat I thrifted there.  I'm still dressed as if it were autumn.

  You can see the highway down below, between the big houses.   I passed very few people:  joggers, people walking dogs.  They smiled and said good morning. 

Current events are on my mind.  I reflected on the fact that I have no fear whatsoever that anyone in this neighborhood will perceive me as a threat, even though I am looking around as if I don't know which way to go, even though I am taking pictures of their houses.  No one is going to call the police.  And if the police were to cruise by, I would not need to alter my path.

 

 I came out of the neighborhood at the top of a hill, looking down.  A lovely spot for a cityscape.  There is the Basilica of St. Mary, to the left, where my 14yo was confirmed a couple of weeks ago.  The Irene Hixon Whitney Bridge, in pale blue that stands out and pale yellow that disappears into the trees, a truss that lets pedestrians cross from the Sculpture Garden to Loring Park on the other side of the highway.  The cityscape, crowned by the reflective IDS Center tower.  At the right, one squat corner of the Walker Art Center.

 

I walked down the hill and made a short loop through the Sculpture Garden.  Renovations were completed last year, but the new trees have not gotten very much bigger, and so it still looks denuded to me, compared to my memories of its old layout thick with shrubbery.  But its most iconic piece is still where it always has been.    

 

 I squinted into the sun and took a selfie.  See what I mean about the place looking barren?  After a few years, when the young trees have filled out a bit, it will be better.

 Come to think of it, it will probably look a lot better later this summer, once the landscapers have done their work.

 I finished my loop through the garden just as my phone rang the thirty-minute timer I'd set to remind me to turn around.  Back up the hill.

 

The Walker is the modern art museum.  I like it, but then I like art of all kinds.  

In the summer the hillside is crowded with people enjoying the weather.  Not today.  But it won't be long.

 

 

I took the long way around, wondering how much it costs to rent one of these apartments that are here in the middle of everything with a view of the skyline.

 

 

Or how much these houses cost, with the bones of Victorian mansions but retrofitted windows for soaking in a view that must have been very different when their foundations were laid.

 

 

I passed a man pulling bamboo stakes out of his yard, the kind you put up so you can see where your path is when the snow covers everything. 

"Thought it was never going to get here," he said.

"Oh, you're telling me," I agreed.

+ + +

As I walked back across the tiny brick park, I was struck suddenly by a deep happiness at living where I do.  The snow weighs heavily all spring, but the pavement is only made more so beautiful when it finally emerges.  

"Beautiful."  I know not everyone would think so.  But I do, I really, really do. 

I thought to myself:  I am not always very secure in my preferences.  I sometimes wonder if I say I like things only because I don't want to anger people, or because I have difficulty expressing myself in socially acceptable ways. 

But I know one thing:  I truly love living in the middle of the city.  I don't mind that it isn't a sprawling metropolis; Minneapolis is compact, easy to get to know intimately, but it still has (writ smallish) everything one could want out of an urban area.  I love that in a half hour's walk I can go from the parks and art museums, through the streets of the mansions of the wealthy, past a ring of more modest apartment blocks and homes; into a business district with ice cream shops and auto repair and cafes and pet groomers,  and that it's only a couple of miles from my own comfortable house full of kids.

 I just like the variety of it all, and the noise, and the crowds. 

 I went south of the car, crossed the street, came up north behind it. 

 Truly the first day of nice weather, almost a record for how late it is, the end of the third week of April.  In six months we'll be saying goodbye to it again.  I better enjoy it while I can.

Comments

[Jenny]

I love how you justified wearing a coat even though it was 50 degrees. Heh.

(Well, of course you had on a coat. It's still cold outside.)

[Penelope]

Hasn't this spring been wild!? (I'm in the upper midwest, too) ... So.Much.Snow in April! But now we have sun and it is warming into the 50’s and 60’s. Lovely walk! Thanks for sharing it :-)

[nomerlot]

Springtime in the city. Yesterday was the first day above 50° F in Minneapolis. It was Saturday; I got up early and went out to breakfast, and then decided to take a walk, just to walk and enjoy the nice weather.
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