A morning on the High Line

I was surprised by the flowers. I hadn't expected so many. I was dazzled and kneeled down numerous times to take photos and lean into them. The stark contrast between the old buildings and the bright colors fascinated me. At one point, I stood in front of a wall of green ivy, mesmerized by the leaves gently bopping up and down.

From the moment I learned about the High Line, an elevated park that extends along the west side of Manhattan (check out this fabulous video with Robert Hammond to learn the history behind it) I wanted to see it. So, on this particular warm and sticky Monday morning, I made my way through Chelsea and ascended some stairs to begin my stroll.

But in the midst of all the flowers and tourists, I unexpectedly thought of my grandmother. I lowered my camera and tried to imagine what it was like for her to grow up in New York (Brooklyn, to be exact). She had had a hard life here. She had had a hard life period. I wondered what she would think of this place. She had always had a knack for keeping plants alive and flourishing. Unlike me. Though I love plants, flowers and trees immensely, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

New York City can be rough, overwhelming and exhausting. It can also be incredibly beautiful - the people, the food, the noises, the smells, the city blocks, the flowers (the daffodils!), the parks… So much contrast. I think my grandmother would have liked this place.

(This post is dedicated to both of my grandmothers - Ola Mae Rains and Gene Clift, who passed away this year).