“Live in the sunshine, swim in the sea, drink the wild air.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ever since I heard there was an Emerson Avenue in Minneapolis, I wanted to live there. But it was not to be. Or was it?
Yesterday I was ready to sign a lease on the small apartment painted “agreeable gray.” It would do.
Strolling around the Emerson Avenue neighborhood last week I came across the most attractive apartment building I’d seen. A woman, who turned out to be the caretaker, was watering flowering plants out front. Astounded by the large lawn on the side of the building, I asked her if there were any available apartments.
“No, people don’t leave these apartments. My husband and I have lived here for twenty-eight years,” she said. “We raised our kids here.”
The place was a green oasis in the middle of a bustling city.
“Well, let me leave my phone number just in case,” I said.
“Just in case” happened yesterday: “This is Patti, the caretaker you spoke to on Emerson Avenue last week. We’ll have an apartment available on October 1.”
I went. I saw. I fell in love. Gorgeous hardwood floors, arts & crafts design that felt like my house in Maine, lots of south-facing windows with shelves for oodles of plants, a den/study overlooking my ocean blue Prius, and trees, trees, trees.
I couldn’t believe it. And it was the same price as the agreeable gray apartment. This one was perfect.
See what I mean? And the lawn. More plants and a small area for a vegetable garden next spring. And a community of ten apartments. Cookouts on the patio. A half-mile from Lake of the Isles.
See the benches to sit and talk with neighbors? I’ll be there.