Summer Preview

Yesterday we seemed to skip right over the rights of Spring into a boisterous Summer. I woke up to the sounds of trucks unloading farmers market fare from upstate NY and a violinist serenading apple munching shoppers. The sounds of rakes scraping barren gardens syncopated below, the sun having coaxed their owners into action.

By 11am I was out, and I was late. The corner of DeKalb and Cumberland was bustling. 3 or 4 different groups with a cause called on their neighbors to stand up and do something and, because this is Fort Greene, their neighbors obliged, or at least engaged in meaty debate before declining. After a few feel good errands I met a friend for a bagel in the park. I was ready, canvas bag brimming with the essentials - the Saturday portion of the Sunday Times, a water bottle, headphones, a fully charged iphone, my favorite sarong - large enough to share if need be, suntan lotion and my newest addition - my French homework. As I approached "The Hill" my heart beat in my chest like a dork, like a little girl all jonesed for her first day back to school thanks to a frilly new dress and some pink bobby socks.

If you live here or have passed through here, you know The Hill. The slight mound smack dab in the middle of the Fort Greene universe that gifts perfect people watching from all angles against the backdrop of the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges, "right in front of the tennis courts overlooking the soccer field" if you're directing someone to meet you there. The Hill. The site of some of my most serene and most hyped NY moments, a refuge and a meatmarket depending on the hour of the day and who just happens to be strolling through.

When I arrived, my spot was free. Right where the broad-branched tree ends and the sun-soaked grass begins, allowing for sunning and cooling down with just a slight inching of the blanket. I plopped down, surveying the usual suspects for that time of the day. Early rising singles with papers and coffee cups, dog walkers resting knees to chest holding firm to shortened leashes and impatient pets, and beaucoup de familles. The park is a beauty in the morning. Without too many distractions, it's a dedication to self and whoever you choose to be with in those sacred early hours.

But as the sun mounts, so do the din and the surprise encounters. By 1pm I'd read only one article in the paper and my French workbook still lay expectant. But I'd caught up with many of my Fort Greene families. I'd played Uno with little Oli, held 6 month old Theo and agreed that a Mommy friend should start cutting Luna's juice boxes with water to limit her sugar intake. I'd watched one adorable young family - Father French, Mother Japanese, girls 5 years and maybe 6 months - with considerable pleasure. They were the epitome of Fort Greene - Mom and Dad still stylish and doing their thing with their ribbon brimmed hats, fly shades and inventive layers, kiddies ethnically ambiguous and running free, all of them as perfectly art directed and assembled as the kimono patched blanket they lounged on. I made notes, for the future.

At around 3pm, just when I had started to feel domesticated before my time, the scene commenced. A friend and I smiled at each other upon the arrival of the newest "crop" - a bevvy of beauties fresh out of college, shorts so high they might as well not exist, hair curly and full, skin glistening, giggling and turning heads with every shift of the weight from left to right and back again, in a pack of 5 or 6. They settled in just below. A few feet above and almost a decade ahead we sat, reminiscing about our first Summers in the neighborhood, excited for these Ladies to have their go, voicing cautionary words of advice from afar, insisting that the berry gets sweeter with age (wink).

Around 4pm the sun began to move on, sending loungers darting from one patch of sun to the next, chasing the last rays. I looked down at a resigned French workbook and decided to pack it up, to go off in search of a fête. I didn't have to walk but 20 meters to find one. Two in fact. I spent the next hour giving in to what seemed like a blissfully interminable park day, bouncing to the beats of some young Caribbean hotties' speakers, meeting new friends, hugging old, trying out my French to the encouragement of a stranger smiling at me from afar, who in retrospect I realize was Célia of Les Nubians. Fort Greene, what a beautiful mélange you are.

Hunger pangs eventually shook me out of my park coma and a few hours later I found myself ending the day with an al fresco dinner at Saraghina in Bedstuy. Outside the glow and buzz of the park, I suddenly felt exhausted by it all. This was only March 20. Was I really ready for all the hype the Spring and Summertime bring? The constant catwalk, the day to night to day again, the very opposite of the quality tête-à-têtes I've so enjoyed this Winter?

I say "No" now, but we all get wrapped up in it without much effort. This community is a magnetic force. But if my day in the park reminded me of anything it's that this community is diverse, that I can tailor my days to my taste. And, when it gets to be too much, I can venture out. Life does exist beyond Fort Greene, quiet as it's kept.