I miss my garden. I even miss my little balcony garden. Back in early 2001, when I fell in love with the view from the 9th floor and bought, without a second thought, a condo in a downtown highrise, it was with the idea that I would sell in three years...or even less. After all, hadn't the previous condo (a flat in a unique post WWII building) appreciated 25% in less than two years? Alas, we know that I will likely be in Buttermilk Bottom for the rest of my life, or until the neighborhood has improved so much I won't want to move, or until, like the Irish Knuckle, I don't have the strength to live without an elevator.
While the wide sky view I enjoy is lovely, it's no compensation for a garden. So now I walk. I walk every morning from 6-7:30, literally greeting the dawn. And, thanks to a drunken promise made two months ago, I walk for the cure. My training for this fall's Susan G. Komen Walk for the Cure includes long walks (hours and miles) and during this time I have been priviledged to watch one of this city's prettiest Springs unfold beneath my feet and under my nose.