The weather in the city last Wednesday reached an end-of-winter high of 60. Hello, New York -- the winter has thawed! While the four seasons are a delightful change from the California sunshine I grew up with, the springtime could not come any sooner in my book. I long to sprawl out on a blanket in the park, have a meal with a light breeze in my hair, and enjoy the smell of barbecue, all while working on my tan. Unfortunately, though, while my room-mate and I have the luxury of two floors and two full baths, we do not have access to our backyard. Our uncovered front porch, however, currently displays two lawn chairs and a grill that failed to garner our attention during the past winter months. Another solid point -- the front porch is in view of anyone who cares to notice; it is an open invitation for others to be introduced into our lives.

While urban life promotes anything short of an open book -- you ride the rails, you walk your dog, you drag your dirty laundry to the cleaners -- there are still some stories I would like to keep to a select few. I moved into my current neighborhood in Queens a few months ago and enjoy the quiet walk home from the subway station. My block is lined with red brick (mostly multiple-family) homes, all with front porches facing the street. Little is hidden behind the waist-high iron gates that fence off properties, so if you're placing aluminum cans into the garbage bin during the late evening, I'll see you on my way home. While I'm one to encourage socializing and support community involvement, I flounder on displaying aspects of my life -- say, openly discussing peoples' preference to not sort their trash -- to neighbors and passersby.

I've given much thought to devoting some part of my life to living in a pocket neighborhood. The contemporary projects of Ross Chapin Architects based in Washington particularly catch my eye. Through the design and placement of implied boundaries, public/private space, and communal greens, pocket neighborhoods incorporate aspects of sustainability while fostering neighborly relations. Smaller homes on smaller plots of land increase the density of houses in a single-family zone and are meant to distract away from "placeless sprawl." You'll know everyone in your neighborhood, but still be able to define your personal space. Not to mention, the abodes are colorful, quaint and offer the perfect canvas to practice my shabby chic decorating skills.

Take, for instance, the Third Street Cottages in Langley, WA, the architects' first pocket project. Built to house singles and couples, the detached cottages were strategically placed to nest into each other; one home's public (open) space -- say, the living room -- would face the neighboring home's private (closed) space, of perhaps, a bedroom. The use of the commons is enforced by removing parking spaces and mailboxes from individual homes, and placing the two in communal areas to increase chance encounters with neighbors. This way you have more opportunity to find out what interests you share with the girl next door or how much mileage your neighbor's hybrid really gets to the gallon. I imagine myself surrounded by people who share my interests of gardening, composting, baseball, red wine. I'd also like to think that cooperative-owned outdoor space would promote a positive cycle of green behavior: reusing, reducing, and recycling. Some pocket neighborhoods by Ross Chapin Architects were later modeled to BuiltGreen and EnergyStar standards; you'll hopefully find me in a similar 'hood in a few years, relishing in my matured comfort of sharing a common green. But, do I really have to wait years to modify the boundaries of my personal space?

My colleague, Ben Carmichael, previously blogged about the significance of urban populations in an ever growing world in the midst of climate change. City dwellers take up less space than their suburban or rural counterparts and have a smaller carbon footprint on the planet. In NYC, there is emphasis on public transportation, creating a stronger energy grid that will soon run on renewable sources, preserving park space, upholding recycling codes -- all for the eight million or so people living atop one another.

Where am I to find that close neighborhood presence in a city so big? How do you begin to locate people with similar interests? Apparently, city life is not as lonely as the individual imagines. Cooperative thoughts and actions, collective space & gatherings, and collaborative efforts are all necessary in fostering a person's health -- social development, eating & drinking habits, happiness. Studies show that loneliness is relative in a place like NYC where single households outweigh married households. Many relationships are based on "weak ties," found through the network of acquaintances where one can form endless amounts of short-term/casual connections. I don't need to know when the people next door sit down for dinner, and I'll still get irked if I pass dog droppings on the ground, but I'd like to trust that my neighbors hold a sense of ownership over the city that we share.

What am I really looking for? I don't need to move into a pocket neighborhood to trust and grow with my neighbors in becoming good stewards of the community, and in turn, of the planet. The state has already put those controls in gear. Like any type of movement towards change, this begins with me, the individual. Step one: accept my uncovered porch. Step two: make the conscious effort to engage myself and others around me in conversations about living a sustainable life. Step three: slather on the sunblock.

And, so, to welcome spring into my home -- or should I say front yard -- I will come to terms with sharing the sight & smell of grilled corn-on-the-cob, zucchini, and barbecue chicken with those on my block. A three-pronged toast to warmer days, to being outdoors, and to the many faces you meet along the way.

Cheers!

(Image: flickr / only alice)