When I walk out the front of my building (facing north) I’m struck by the temperature drop that chills me until I can cross the edge of the building’s shadow. Now that I think about it, that shadow is a major factor on much of the “nature” in my life (I’m going to initially define nature as organisms except
homo sapiens, though I’d also like to reserve the right to alter that definition if I can successfully formulate a less human-damning one.). The shadow has determined which plants I can best cultivate in my north windows vs. windows to the south and west. My goosefoot and spider plants do well no matter where I place them, but have always excelled in that shadow and in the summers that wall becomes my personal Little Shop of Horrors. I have a jade plant that never grew an inch until I introduced it to the shadow; now the once quarter-sized leaves stretch to the size of…well, something bigger than a quarter, or any coin that I know of. The grass and landscaped plants in the courtyard have a different life from the rest of the yard. The grass is always sparse come spring, just like that northside grass in front of McGowan (before they placed that distinct strip of sod recently), damaged from days of snow cover that took forever to melt, just sitting there driving down the temperature of that already chilled shadow. Why can’t landscaping take advantage of grasses that are adapted to cooler and moister conditions (e.g. C3 plants)? I’m guessing that the heartier grasses must not be rated as attractive, because so far in life, the attraction and/or value of plants seems completely subjective and decided by someone in the past and talked into existence (like the “inherent” value of Chicago as touted by ye old boosters). Or maybe it's the soil issue because this soil was definitely brought in when the building was rehabbed; perhaps more sandy particles in the soil in this corner would help increase the drainage. Besides the wimpy grass that can’t handle the shadow, there also lilies doomed to a life of no reproduction, while their un-shadowed cohorts flower like crazy in their sunny luxury locales.
And speaking of landscaping, that’s the ticket in Lincoln Square. I’m glad that I noticed the return of songbirds this spring because I also noticed that we had about two weeks before the next spring creatures moved in like a modified seasonal succession. The crazy fast moving landscapers who strap on fossil-fueled equipment, wielding them like efficient extensions of their bodies, these lawn care cyborgs crawl all over the my block with the raspy, stuttering engine noises that are as common as the mourning dove tunes.
As I walk southbound towards Foster Ave., the landscaping becomes less and the gardens start to dominate. The trees were definitely employed in the promenade style and as refuge to border front doors!
Currently, one could make a drinking game out of tulip sightings and be well hung-over for the next two days. It reminds me of Candyland when I see an especially colorful bunch, but I think my favorite is the one that seems not to belong, like some cover story waiting to happen (A tulip grows in Chicago). 
The rogue tulip is short, only 5 inches off the ground and the edges of the petals & leaves are wrinkled as though the thing had a very rough time in development. The location is interesting as well because it’s near no other tulip in a piece of yard that maybe measures 2 – 3 feet in length, so the tulip is very close to the sidewalk. While it doesn’t appear to have been trampled, the tulip looks dusty and it occurs to me that all of the gardens I see are borders that literally hug the houses or separated plots within fences or some other protection from public territory. Have I ever seen a garden so close to a sidewalk, edging a lot line? Usually if a landscapes area is near to a sidewalk it comes with fences, or it contains species of more hearty character, like evergreen shrubs.
My neighborhood also employs plants to help decorate the utilitarian roundabouts meant to slow down traffic. 
The plants are a nice touch, though clearly less managed then the surrounding yards. I have never seen any person working on those plants and I wonder who maintains them or if they're left to maintain themselves. I can't recognize much…I tried to i.d. them, but even with a field guide I don't have much luck. The broad leaf shrub towards the center looks familiar, but the guide seems to be oriented for users who already know a plant's name (If I knew the name I wouldn't need the guide). I do recognize the tall species up front, with the straight black shoot and yellow eye spots - it's the caution plant, evolved to warn oncoming vehicles of the obstruction. As the worn curb illustrates, the strategy is only successful to a certain degree.
Once I arrive at Foster and manage to cross the street I’m in River Park, which borders where the Chicago River and canal come together. There's a trail that stretches with the water until nearly Lawrence Avenue at the south and back up to Patterson to the north, and across several different parks. I never use the trail – it meanders more and takes too long for someone rushing to school, and also part of the trail is lowered and not visible from the street so I have to account for my serial killers, etc., who may find easy recreation down there. The trees in River Park seem nice and diverse at first
- until I start trying to identify them.
The maples aren’t difficult thanks to the leaf growth:
Silver maple?
Norway maple?
I only noticed one honey locust, so I guess the mayor hasn’t made it up this far northwest yet or the park is producing enough dappled light without the thorny trees. Although I'm not having great success with the tree id, I think I've identified the following:
Catalpa
mostly because it had last year's pods still underneath!
Crabapple?
I thought recognized a mulberry tree just because every summer this sidewalk becomes a treacherous trail of slick deep red mulberry slime. However, these leaves look simple and opposite and every source I checked only listed one mulberry with simple leaves (red mulberry) and they were alternate. Must be one of the HAM trees, so maybe it's an Ash. I'll have to keep working on this one.
I noticed that the park floral arrangements are housed in large, raised, triangular wood boxes. The rest of the plants are those lilies again, but only along the cemented paths. The rest of the grass is intermittently rubbed-out, which seems sufficiently correlated with the many soccer and volleyball areas. I appreciate the freedom to both enjoy managed landscape designs and the more barren recreational areas. The park has a nice usage balance. The corners of the parks and some residential blocks are great for floral decoration too. 
I actually saw a women tending to one of these and asked her if she worked for the city. She was a volunteer and belonged to the Ravenswood Garden Association, a group that tends to the public lands of these small islands of garden. I like to think that those little corner mini-forests house all types of animals. Those islands were very frustrating when I was searching for a lost cat last summer; so much of what is gardened in the neighborhood was potential refuge for a stray or wild animal.
The wild animals abound in this community, I always find myself in the company of a few avian species in this park: mallards, Canada geese, and sea gulls. I always pass them in the early mornings and it’s no doubt related to the mysterysomeone who comes and sprinkles bread chunks even earlier in the mornings. The bread is always very close to the sidewalk and these birds don’t flinch when I walk by. I’m not sure they even notice me. Unlike the gray squirrels who eat their bread while starring me down. And when they are in between mouthfuls they yell out, no doubt warning their family about the evil two legged monster passing through. Eat the bread squirrel, we both know you’ll be jumping in and out of trash cans later. And if anyone questioned the research showing that gray squirrels dominate in areas of dog populations, come visit my neighborhood. So far I’m still under half of a mile, and I’ve counted 16 dogs, only one of which was actually in the designated dog area. And in this dog run stands onerottweiler who is standing and watching what [I assume is] its owner, who is engaging in deep knee bends. Why do they come to the dog park to have the man exercise while the dog watches? It’s normally the other way around.
Whether one braves the entire river trail or sticks to the street level sidewalk, both paths end at the North Branch Pump Station at Lawrence and Francisco.
The trees up until the station are fine, 
but curiously enough, all the trees on the facility’s property look less than well
The splendor of the field is interrupted by dense steam that this apparatus emits. 
I don’t know enough about water treatment to know what that’s all about, but I see dogs rolling on it in a crazy intoxicated way. And that’s enough evidence for me to stay away since dogs have two main criteria for rolling: dead and fecal.
I also notice that as I walk past the facility, I can see the heavy traffic up ahead on
Lawrence but I can’t hear the traffic. What a bonus! I attempted to record how far I could walk before the noise infiltrates the serene surroundings. I make it to approximately 6 feet away from the curb. I wonder if that could possibly be an intentional design component. Before I cross
Lawrence I want to mention the Lawrence Youth Hall that sits across the street from the water treatment building. There’s an area of gardens with all the dead plants from last year’s growing season. I know that this hall serves a certain “disadvantaged” population of students and I wonder what role the garden plays. Is it to help civilize the kids like the old traditional park notions, or if it’s a life skill tool that attempts to connect them to their ecosystem like the program Amber Kim Dewey discussed in her mention of city farm? Are those two options any different?
Anyway, crossing Lawrence means crossing a bridge in order to get to a place where the traffic naturally slows down enough to provide crossing opportunities. I notice first that the metal of the bridge is decorated , that the treatment center looks much more regal from the back, and that the lowered position of the river and trail not only provides natural refuge for the homeless population that uses this space, but also provides a perfect place to fish.
The bridge is lined with blooming crabapple trees
that further hide homeless men as they steal from the Salvation Army drop-off box, an event I'm sorry I noticed during this walk. I’m sure these men feel the sting of the large building that was recently knocked down, leaving nothing but one huge section of nothing but rubble. I’m happy to cross
Lawrence and get away from this beautiful nature façade brimming with some of the worst that urban habitats have to offer.
Across the street is a giant factory – Summit Industries – and in three years of living in this area I’ve never identified what they do. I’ve also not searched very hard because until you Google something, have you really even tried? But the reason I mention the factory is that instead of hating it as a big break in a really beautiful landscape, I notice that the people inside like to throw food out the windows that face the river. I know it’s officially frowned upon to feed wild animals, but like the earlier park bread, this food attracts some of the usual characters in mallards, Canada geese, sometimes seagulls (although I should mention that their presence is usually related to stormy weather that I assume drives them inland), 
and sometimes even what I think are muskrats! I’ve seen a turtle once here too, however I have to attribute these latter sightings to the fallen tree that seems to offer good shelter and sun bathing spots (turtle). I like the feeding despite the potentially harmful consequences because I like encountering all this animal behavior. I know in a few weeks I’ll be seeing little yellow chicks added to the scene and I wonder how it is that I see more wildlife here in Chicago then I did back home in rural Ohio. Am I just noticing and appreciating it more since nature is so harshly contrasted in an urban environment? I’d to think it has something to do with the lack of time I spend in a car since moving to Chicago. I definitely feel that being able to leave my car behind is a luxury, especially when it results in seeing these animals do their thing on a daily basis.
One past the factory it’s a sharp turn south on Manor for two more blocks of nicely manicured lawns before I arrive at the Francisco Brown line stop. The turn results in a dramatic change in scenery and in fact, it's so dramatic that people have worn a trail cutting the turn even shorter.
The shortcut is a welcome reprieve from the loud traffic noise. Again I notice the traffic noise buffer effect. Here it’s more pronounced and I wonder if it’s (1.) due to the large amount of trees or (2.) the departure from the city’s famous grid layout. These blocks have an added charm effect by the local diagonal streets that dead end within a couple of blocks but make easy paths throughout the neighborhood. I think this is the heart of Ravenswood/Albany Park now. Immediately after the turn onto Manor there is a park. Arthur J. LaPointe park is the name, thouth unrecognized by the Chicago Park District. It’s really one lot next to the first house on the block, but apparently the yard belongs to the city and is officially deemed to be a park.
I Like to think that Mr. LaPointe once owned this lot and that it now preserves his name. I also wonder if he's buried under one of the few mounds of flowers. New this year in the LaPointe Park, is the community garden. I think this garden will fit in
nicely here. Ther are plenty of flowers – again mostly those candyland tulips – and even the fences are high, wooden, and appear to be for the benefit of passer-by as much as for the property owner!
My favorite house has an abundance of birdhouses. The cafés that border the train tracks offer outdoor seating as soon as our weather allows. Water bowls and treats are unofficially compulsory here to further our collective choice to live with nature.
I’m okay with urban existence because I feel much more connected to the different microhabitats that I encounter on a neighborhood scale. However, I’m painfully aware of the fact that my Chicago is north Chicago. I’m not sure what else to say after that because it’s a sad thought to know the city can’t offer this just as consistently in the south and west sides.
